Speed the Plough | Page 5

must be introduced--where is she?
Sir Abel. Not within thirty miles; for I don't hear her.
Ash. Ha, ha, ha!
Handy, jun. Who is that?
Sir Abel. Oh, a pretty behaved tittering friend of mine.
Ash. Zarvent, zur--No offence, I do hope--Could not help tittering a bit
at Nelly--when she were zarvent maid wi' I, she had a tightish prattle
wi' her, that's vor zartain.

Handy, jun. Oh! so then my honoured mamma was the servant of this
tittering gentleman--I say, father, perhaps she has not lost the tightish
prattle he speaks of.
Sir Abel. My dear boy, come here--Prattle! I say did you ever live next
door to a pewterer's?--that's all--you understand me--did you ever hear
a dozen fire-engines full gallop?--were you ever at Billingsgate in the
sprat season?--or----
Handy, jun. Ha, ha!
Sir Abel. Nay, don't laugh, Bob.
Handy, jun. Indeed, sir, you think of it too seriously. The storm, I dare
say, soon blows over.
Sir Abel. Soon! you know what a trade wind is, don't you, Bob? why,
she thinks no more of the latter end of her speech, than she does of the
latter end of her life--
Handy, jun. Ha! ha!
Sir Abel. But I won't be laugh'd at--I'll knock any man down that laughs!
Bob, if you can say any thing pleasant, I'll trouble you; if not, do what
my wife can't--hold your tongue.
Handy, jun. I'll shew you what I can do--I'll amuse you with this native.
[Apart.
Sir Abel. Do--do--quiz him--at him, Bob.
Handy, jun. I say, Farmer, you are a set of jolly fellows here, an't you?
Ash. Ees, zur, deadly jolly--excepting when we be otherwise, and then
we bean't.
Handy, jun. Play at cricket, don't you?
Ash. Ees, zur; we Hampshire lads conceat we can bowl a bit or

thereabouts.
Handy, jun. And cudgel too, I suppose?
Sir Abel. At him, Bob.
Ash. Ees, zur, we sometimes break oon another's heads, by way of
being agreeable, and the like o'that.
Handy, jun. Understand all the guards? [Putting himself in an attitude
of cudgelling.]
Ash. Can't zay I do, zur.
Handy, jun. What! hit in this way, eh? [Makes a hit at ASHFIELD,
which he parries, and hits young HANDY violently.]
Ash. Noa, zur, we do hit thic way.
Handy, jun. Zounds and fury!
Sir Abel. Why, Bob, he has broke your head.
Handy, jun. Yes; he rather hit me--he somehow----
Sir Abel. He did indeed, Bob.
Handy, jun. Damn him--The fact is, I am out of practice.
Ash. You need not be, zur; I'll gi' ye a belly full any day, wi' all my
heart and soul.
Handy, jun. No, no, thank you--Farmer, what's your name?
Ash. My name be Tummas Ashfield--any thing to say against my name?
[Threatening.
Handy, jun. No, no--Ashfield! shou'd he be the father of my pretty
Susan--Pray have you a daughter?

Ash. Ees, I have--any thing to zay against she?
Handy, jun. No, no; I think her a charming creature.
Ash. Do ye, faith and troth--Come, that be deadly kind o'ye
however--Do you zee, I were frightful she were not agreeable.
Handy, jun. Oh, she's extremely agreeable to me, I assure you.
Ash. I vow, it be quite pratty in you to take notice of Sue. I do hope, zur,
breaking your head will break noa squares--She be a coming down to
theas parts wi' lady our maid Nelly, as wur--your spouse, zur.
Handy, jun. The devil she is! that's awkward!
Ash. I do hope you'll be kind to Sue when she do come, woolye, zur?
Handy, jun. You may depend on it.
Sir Abel. I dare say you may. Come, Farmer, attend us.
Ash. Ees, zur; wi' all respect--Gentlemen, pray walk thic way, and I'll
walk before you. [Exit.
Sir Abel. Now, that's what he calls behaving pretty. Damn his pretty
behaviour. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A Grove.
[MORRINGTON comes down the stage, wrapped in a great coat--He
looks about--then at his watch, and whistles--which is answered.]
Enter GERALD.
Mor. Here, Gerald! Well, my trusty fellow, is Sir Philip arrived?
Ger. No, sir; but hourly expected.

Mor. Tell me, how does the castle look?
Ger. Sadly decayed, sir.
Mor. I hope, Gerald, you were not observed.
Ger. I fear otherwise, sir; on the skirts of the domain I encountered a
stripling with his gun; but I darted into that thicket, and so avoided him.
[HENRY appears in the back ground, in a shooting dress, attentively
observing them.]
Mor. Have you gained any intelligence?
Ger. None: the report that reached us was false--The infant certainly
died with its mother--Hush! conceal yourself--we are observed--this
way.
[They retreat--HENRY advances.
Henry. Hold! as a friend, one word!
[They exeunt, he follows them, and returns.
Again they have escaped me--"The infant died with its mother"--This
agony of doubt is insupportable.
Enter EVERGREEN.
Everg.