Speed the Plough | Page 4

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 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