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Exec. Of Utrecht, sir.

Barn. Of Utrecht! Wherefore, prithee, Art thou appointed here?

Exec. To tell you true, sir,

I won this place at dice: we were three appointed.

Barn. Am I become a general game? a rest For every slave to pull at? Thank ye still! You are grown the noblest in your favours, gentlemen.

What's that hangs there? what, a coffin?

Ist Lord. How it stirs him!

2nd Lord. The body, sir, of Leidenberch, the traitor.

Barn. The traitor?

2nd Lord. Ay! the traitor, the foul traitor, Who, though he killed himself to clear his

cause,

Justice has found him out, and so proclaimed him.

Barn. Have mercy on his soul! I dare behold him.

1st Lord. (Aside.) Believe me, he's much moved.

2nd Lord. (Aside) He has much reason. Barn. Are these the holy prayers ye prepare for me?

The comforts to a parting soul? Still I thank ye,

Most heartily and lovingly I thank ye.
Will not a single death give satisfaction,
Oh, you most greedy men and most ungrateful,
The quiet sleep of him you gape to swallow,
But you must trim up death in all its terrors,
And add to souls departing frights and fevers ?
Hang up a hundred coffins! I dare view 'em ;
And on their heads subscribe a hundred
treasons!

It shakes not me: thus dare I smile upon 'em, And strongly thus outlook your fellest justice. 2nd Lord. Will ye bethink ye, sir, of what ye come for?

Barn. I come to die. Bethink you of your Justice,

And with what sword ye strike, the edge of

The greatness of your friends, corruptly purchased,

The crying up of your many services,
Which, looked into, wither away like mush-

rooms, Shall scandal us.

2nd Lord. Your Roman end, to make men Imagine your strong conscience fortified, No! nor your ground, Religion. Examine

all men

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Branded for such foul sins as you now die for,
And you shall find their first step still go
Religion.

Gowrie in Scotland, 'twas his main pretension;
Was not he honest too, his country's father?
Those fiery spirits next that hatched in England
That bloody Powder Plot, and thought like

meteors

And to you all, that I have bred like children,
Not a more faithful father, but more fortunate!
Do not I stay too long?

2nd Lord. Take your own time, sir.

Barn. I have a wife, my Lords, and wretched children,

Unless it please his grace to look upon 'em, And your good honours, with your eyes of favour.

'Twill be a little happiness in my death That they partake not with their father's ruins. 1st Lord. Let not that trouble ye! They 130 shall not find it.

Barn. Commend my last breath to his ex-
cellence!

Tell him the sun he shot at is now setting,
Setting this night, that he may rise to-morrow,
For ever setting! Now let him reign alone,
And with his rays give life and light to all
men!

May he protect with honour, fight with fortune,
And die with general love, an old and good
Prince !

My last petition, good countrymen,-forget

Amet. I cannot yet conceive what you infer

By art and nature.

Men. I shall soon resolve you.

A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather, Indeed, entranced my soul: As I stole nearer, Invited by the melody, I saw

This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute,

With strains of strange variety and harmony, Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge To the clear choristers of the woods, the birds, That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent,

Wond'ring at what they heard. I wondered

He could not run division with more art

Upon his quaking instrument, than she,
The nightingale, did with her various notes
Reply to: for a voice, and for a sound,
Amethus, 'tis much easier to believe

That such they were, than hope to hear again.
Amet. How did the rivals part?
Men. You term them rightly;

For they were rivals, and their mistress, harmony.

Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last

Into a pretty anger, that a bird

Whom art had never taught clefs, moods, or notes,

Should vie with him for mastery, whose study

Had busied many hours to perfect practice:
To end the controversy, in a rapture
Upon his instrument he plays SO swiftly,
So many voluntaries, and so quick,
That there was curiosity and cunning,
Concord in discord, lines of differing method
Meeting in one full centre of delight.
Amet. Now for the bird.

Men. The bird, ordained to be
Music's first martyr, strove to imitate

These several sounds: which, when her warbling throat

Failed in, for grief, down dropped she on his lute,

And brake her heart! It was the quaintest

I. ACT I.-Scene 2.

MARLOW, HASTINGS, LANDLORD, TONY

LUMPKIN.

An Alehouse Room.

Enter LANDLORD, conducting MARLOW and HASTINGS.

Mar. What a tedious, uncomfortable day have we had of it! We were told it was but forty miles across the country, and we have come above threescore.

Hast. And all, Marlow, from that unaccount

able reserve of yours, that would not let us inquire more frequently on the way.

Mar. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself under an obligation to every one I meet, and often stand the chance of an unmannerly answer.

Hast. At present, however, we are not likely to receive any answer.

Tony. No offence, gentlemen. But I'm told you have been enquiring for one Mr Hardcastle in these parts. Do you know what part of the country you are in?

Hast. Not in the least, sir, but should thank you for information.

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Tony. Nor the way you came? Hast. No, sir; but if you can inform usTony. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road you are going, nor where you are, nor the road you came, the first thing I have to inform you is, that--you have lost your way. Mar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that. Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask the place from whence you came? Mar. That's not necessary towards directo ing us where we are to go.

D

Tony. No offence; but question for question is all fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle a cross-grained, oldfashioned, whimsical fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son?

Hast. We have not seen the gentleman; but he has the family you mention.

a

Tony. The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trolloping, talkative maypole; the son, pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody is fond of?

Mar. Our information differs in this: the daughter is said to be well-bred and beautiful; the son an awkward booby, reared up and spoiled at his mother's apron-string.

Tony. He-he-hem!-Then, gentlemen, all I
have to tell you is, that you won't reach Mr
Hardcastle's house this night, I believe.
Hast. Unfortunate!

, Tony. It's a long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way. Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr Hardcastle's! (Winking upon the Landlord.) Mr Hardcastle's of Quagmire Marsh. You understand me.

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Land. Master Hardcastle's? Lack-a-daisy, my masters, you're come a deadly deal wrong! When you came to the bottom of the hill, you should have crossed down Squash Lane.

Mar. Cross down Squash Lane?

Land. Then you were to keep straight forward, till you came to four roads."

Mar. Come to where four roads meet? Tony. Ay; but you must be sure to take only one of them.

Mar. O, sir, you're facetious.

Tony. Then, keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come upon Crackskull Common: there you must look sharp for the track of the wheel, and go forward till you come to Farmer Murrain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old mill

Mar. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude!

Hast. What's to be done, Marlow?

Mar. This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the landlord can accommodate us.

Land. Alack, master, we have but one spare bed in the whole house.

Tony. And, to my knowledge, that's taken up by three lodgers already. (After a pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.) I have hit it. Don't you think, Stingo, our landlady would accommodate the gentlemen by the fireside, with-three chairs and a bolster?

Hast. I hate sleeping by the fireside. Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster.

Tony. You do, do you !-Then, let me seewhat if you go on a mile further, to the Buck's Head; the old Buck's Head on the hill, one of the best inns in the whole county?

Hast. O ho! so we have escaped an adventure for this night, however.

Land. (Aside to Tony.) Sure, you bean't sending them to your father's as an inn, be you?

Tony. (Aside.) Mum, you fool, you. Let them find that out. (Aloud.) You have only to keep on straight forward till you come to a large old house by the road side. You'll see a pair of large horns over the door. That's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you.

Hast. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants can't miss the way?

Tony. No, no: but I tell you, though, the landlord is rich, and going to leave off business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving your presence, he! he! he! He'll be for giving you his company; and, ecod, if you mind him, he'll persuade you that his mother was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of peace.

Land. A troublesome old blade, to be sure; but a' keeps as good wines and beds as any in the whole county.

Mar. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no further connection. We are to turn to the right, did you say?

Tony. No, no; straight forward. I'll just step myself, and show you a piece of the way. (To the Landlord.) Mum!

Land. Ah, bless your heart for a sweet, pleasant, mischievous devil! (Aside.) [Exit.

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to pop out and stare, and then run in again, like frighted rabbits in a warren.

All. No, no.

Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a show at the sidetable; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself behind my chair. But you're not to stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you! See how Diggory carries his hands. They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter.

Dig. Ay, mind how I hold them. I learned to hold my hands this way when I was upon drill for the militia. And so being upon

drill

Hard. You must not be so talkative, Diggory. You must be all attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not think of talking; you must see us drink, and not think of drinking; you must see us eat, and not think of eating.

Dig. By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forwards, ecod! he's always wishing for a mouthful himself.

Hard. Blockhead! is not a bellyful in the kitchen as good as a bellyful in the parlour? Stay your stomach with that reflection.

Dig. Ecod, I thank your worship, I'll make a shift to stay my stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantry.

Hard. Diggory, you are too talkative.-Then, if I happen to say a good thing, or tell a good story at table, you must not all burst out alaughing, as if you made part of the company.

Dig. Then, ecod! your worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room: I can't help laughing at that-he! he! he!— for the soul of me. We have laughed at that these twenty years-ha! ha! ha!

Hard. Ha! ha! ha! The story is a good onc. Well, honest Diggory, you may laugh at that; but still remember to be attentive. Suppose one of the company should call for a glass of wine, how will you behave? A glass of wine, sir, if you please. (To Diggory.) -Eh, why don't you move?

Dig. Ecod! your worship, I never have courage till I see the eatables and drinkables 60 brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld

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as a lion.

Hard. What, will nobody move?

1st Serv. I'm not to leave this place.
2nd Serv. I'm sure it's no place of mine.
3rd Serv. Nor mine, for sartain.

Dig. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine. Hard. You numskulls! and so while, like your betters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must be starved. O you dunces! I find I must begin all over again - But don't I hear a coach drive into the yard?

Enter SERVANT, showing in MARLOW and HASTINGS.

Serv. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome! This way.

Hast. After the disappointments of the day, welcome once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well-looking house; antique but creditable.

Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having first ruined the master by good housekeeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as an inn.

Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good sideboard, or a marble chimneypiece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame a reckoning confoundedly.

Mar. Travellers, George, must pay in all places: the only difference is, that in good inns you pay dearly for luxuries; in bad inns you are fleeced and starved.

Hast. You have lived very much among them. In truth, I have been often surprised, that you, who have seen so much of the world, with your natural good sense, and your many opportunities, could never yet acquire a requisite share of assurance.

But tell

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Mar. The Englishman's malady. me, George, where could I have learned that assurance you talk of? My life has been 110 chiefly spent in a college or an inn, in seclusion from that lovely part of the creation that chiefly teach men confidence. I don't know that I was ever familiarly acquainted with a single woman, except my mother.

Hast. In the company of women I never saw such an idiot, such a trembler; you look for all the world as if you wanted an opportunity of stealing out of the room.

Mar. Why, man, that's because I do want 120 to steal out of the room. Faith! I have often formed a resolution to break the ice, and rattle away at any rate. But I don't know how, a single glance from a pair of fine eyes has totally overset my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty, but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever counterfeit impudence.

Hast. If you could say but half the fine