Speed the Plough | Page 4

tell I he can zee a bit out
from the top of the chimbley--zoa, an you've a mind to crawl up you
may zee un too, he, he!
Sir Abel. Thank you--but damn your titter. [Reads.]--"Fish ponds well
stocked"--That's a good thing, Farmer.
Ash. Likely, likely--but I doant think the vishes do thrive much in theas
ponds.
Sir Abel. No! why?
Ash. Why, the ponds be always dry i'the zummer; and I be tould that
bean't wholesome vor the little vishes.
Sir Abel. Not very, I believe--Well said surveyor! "A cool summer
house."
Ash. Ees, zur, quite cool--by reason the roof be tumbled in.
Sir Abel. Better and better--"the whole capable of the greatest
improvement."--Come, that seems true however--I shall have plenty to
do, that's one comfort--I have such contrivances! I'll have a canal run
through my kitchen.--I must give this rustic some idea of my
consequence. [Aside.] You must know, Farmer, you have the honour of
conversing with a man, who has obtained patents for tweezers,
tooth-picks, and tinder boxes--to a philosopher, who has been consulted
on the Wapping docks and the Gravesend tunnel; and who has now in
hand two inventions which will render him immortal--the one is,
converting saw dust into deal boards, and the other is, a plan of
cleaning rooms by a steam engine--and, Farmer, I mean to give prizes
for industry--I'll have a ploughing match.
Ash. Will you, zur?

Sir Abel. Yes; for I consider a healthy young man, between the handles
of a plough, as one of the noblest illustrations of the prosperity of
Britain.
Ash. Faith and troth! there be some tightish hands in theas parts, I
promize ye.
Sir Abel. And, Farmer, it shall precede the hymeneal festivities--
Ash. Nan!
Sir Abel. Blockhead! The ploughing match shall take place as soon as
Sir Philip Blandford and his daughter arrive.
Ash. Oh, likely, likely.
Enter SERVANT.
Serv. Sir Abel, I beg to say, my master will be here immediately.
Sir Abel. And, sir, I beg to ask who possesses the happiness of being
your master?
Serv. Your son, sir, Mr. Robert Handy.
Sir Abel. Indeed! and where is Bob?
Serv. I left him, sir, in the belfrey of the church.
Sir Abel. Where?
Serv. In the belfrey of the church.
Sir Abel. In the belfrey of the church! What was he doing there?
Serv. Why, Sir, the natives were ringing a peal in honour of our
arrival--when my master finding they knew nothing of the matter, went
up to the steeple to instruct them, and ordered me to proceed to the
Castle--Give me leave, Sir Abel, to take this out of your way. [Takes

the camp chair.] Sir, I have the honour-- [Bows and Exit.
Sir Abel. Wonderful! My Bob, you must know, is an astonishing
fellow!--you have heard of the admirable Crichton, may be? Bob's of
the same kidney! I contrive, he executes--Sir Abel invenit, Bob fecit.
He can do everything--everything!
Ash. All the better vor he. I zay, zur, as he can turn his head to
everything, pray, in what way med he earn his livelihood?
Sir Abel. Earn his livelihood!
Ash. Ees, zur;--How do he gain his bread!
Sir Abel. Bread! Oh, he can't earn his bread, bless you! he's a genius.
Ash. Genius! Drabbit it, I have got a horze o' thic name, but dom' un,
he'll never work--never.
Sir Abel. Egad; here comes my boy Bob!--Eh! no--it is not! no.
Enter POSTBOY, with a round hat and cane.
Why, who the devil are you?
Postb. I am the postboy, your honour, but the gem'man said I did not
know how to drive, so he mounted my horse, and made me get
inside--Here he is.
Enter HANDY, jun. with a postboy's cap and whip.
Handy, jun. Ah, my old Dad, is that you?
Sir Abel. Certainly! the only doubt is, if that be you?
Handy, jun. Oh, I was teaching this fellow to drive--Nothing is so
horrible as people pretending to do what they are unequal to--Give me
my hat--That's the way to use a whip.

Postb. Sir, you know you have broke the horses' knees all to pieces.
Handy, jun. Hush, there's a guinea. [Apart.
Sir Abel. [To ASHFIELD.] You see, Bob can do everything. But, sir,
when you knew I had arrived from Germany, why did you not pay your
duty to me in London?
Handy, jun. Sir, I heard you were but four days married, and I would
not interrupt your honeymoon.
Sir Abel. Four days! oh, you might have come. [Sighing.
Handy, jun. I hear you have taken to your arms a simple rustic,
unsophisticated by fashionable follies--a full blown blossom of nature.
Sir Abel. Yes!
Handy, jun. How does it answer?
Sir Abel. So, so!
Handy, jun. Any thorns?
Sir Abel. A few.
Handy, jun. I