Marl. From the excellence of your cup my old friend, I suppose you have a good deal of business in this part of the country. Warm work, now and then, at elections, I suppose.
Hard. No, sir, I have long given that work over. Since our betters have hit upon the expedient of electing each other, there's no business for us that sell ale.
Hast. So, then you have no turn for politics I see.
Hard. Not in the least. There was a time, indeed, I fretted myself about the mistakes of government, like other people; but, finding myself every day grow more angry, and the government growing no better, I left it to mend itself. Since that, I no more trouble my head about Heyder Alley, or Ally Cawn, than about Ally Croaker.—Sir, my service to you.
Hast. So that with eating above stairs, and drinking below; with receiving your friends within, and amusing them without, you lead a good pleasant bustling life of it.
Hard. I do stir about a great deal, that's certain. Half the differences of the parish are adjusted in this very parlour.
Marl. (After drinking.) And you have an argument in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in Westminster Hall.
Hard. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a little philosophy.
Marl. (Aside.) Well, this is the first time I ever heard of an inn-keeper's philosophy!
Hast. So then, like an experienced general, you attack them on every quarter. If you find their reason manageable, you attack it with your philosophy; if you find they have no reason, you attack them with this.—Here's your health, my philosopher.