Speed the Plough | Page 7

the best of it by five pecks and a half, but it having been unfortunately proved, that at her ball there was room to dance and eat conveniently--that no lady received a black eye, and no coachman was killed, the thing was voted decent and comfortable, and scouted accordingly.
Miss B. Is comfort then incompatible with fashion?
Handy, jun. Certainly!--Comfort in high life would be as preposterous as a lawyer's bag crammed with truth, or his wig decorated with coquelicot ribbons! No--it is not comfort and selection that is sought, but numbers and confusion! So that a fashionable party resembles Smithfield market,--only a good one when plentifully stocked--and ladies are reckoned by the score, like sheep, and their husbands by droves, like horned cattle!
Miss B. Ha, ha! and the conversation--
Handy, jun. Oh! like the assembly--confused, vapid, and abundant; as "How do, ma'am!--no accident at the door?--he, he!"--"Only my carriage broke to pieces!"--"I hope you had not your pocket picked!"--"Won't you sit down to faro?"--"Have you many to-night?"--"A few, about six hundred!"--"Were you at Lady Overall's?"--"Oh yes; a delicious crowd, and plenty of peas, he, he!"--and thus runs the fashionable race.
Sir Abel. Yes; and a precious run it is--full gallop all the way: first they run on--then their fortune is run through--then bills are run up--then they are run hard--then they've a run of luck--then they run out, and then they run away!--But I'll forgive fashion all its follies in consideration of one of its blessed laws.
Handy, jun. What may that be!
Sir Abel. That husband and wife must never be seen together.
Enter SERVANT.
Serv. Miss Blandford, your father expects you.
Miss B. I hope I shall find him more composed.
Handy, jun. Is Sir Philip ill?
Miss B. His spirits are extremely depressed, and since we arrived here this morning his dejection has dreadfully increased.
Handy, jun. But I hope we shall be able to laugh away despondency.
Miss B. Sir, if you are pleased to consider my esteem as an object worth your possession, I know no way of obtaining it so certain as by your shewing every attention to my dear father. [As they are going,
Enter ASHFIELD.
Ash. Dame! Dame! she be come!
Dame. Who? Susan! our dear Susan?
Ash. Ees--zo--come along--Oh, Sir Abel! Lady Nelly, your spouse, do order you to go to her directly!
Handy, jun. Order! you mistake--
Sir Abel. No, he don't--she generally prefers that word.
Miss B. Adieu! Sir Abel. [Exeunt MISS BLANDFORD and HANDY, jun.
Sir Abel. Oh! if my wife had such a pretty way with her mouth.
Dame. And how does Susan look?
Ash. That's what I do want to know, zoa come along--Woo ye though--Missus, let's behave pratty--Zur if you pleaze, Dame and I will let you walk along wi' us.
Sir Abel. How condescending! Oh, you are a pretty behaved fellow! [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Farmer ASHFIELD'S Kitchen.
Enter LADY HANDY and SUSAN.
Susan. My dear home, thrice welcome!--What gratitude I feel to your ladyship for this indulgence!
Lady H. That's right, child!
Susan. And I am sure you partake my pleasure in again visiting a place, where you received every protection and kindness my parents could shew you, for, I remember, while you lived with my father--
Lady H. Child! don't put your memory to any fatigue on my account--you may transfer the remembrance of who I was, to aid your more perfect recollection of who I am.
Susan. Lady Handy!
Lady H. That's right, child!--I am not angry.
Susan. [Looking out.] Ah! I see my dear father and mother coming through the garden.
Lady H. Oh! now I shall be caressed to death; but I must endure the shock of their attentions.
Enter FARMER and DAME, with SIR ABEL.
Ash. My dear Susan! [They run to SUSAN.
Dame. My sweet child! give me a kiss.
Ash. Hald thee! Feyther first though--Well, I be as mortal glad to zee thee as never war--and how be'st thee? and how do thee like Lunnun town? it be a deadly lively place I be tuold.
Dame. Is not she a sweet girl?
Sir Abel. That she is.
Lady H. [With affected dignity.] Does it occur to any one present, that Lady Handy is in the room?
Sir Abel. Oh, Lud! I'm sure, my dear wife, I never forget, that you are in the room.
Ash. Drabbitit! I overlooked Lady Nelly, sure enow; but consider, there be zome difference between thee and our own Susan! I be deadly glad to zee thee, however.
Dame. So am I, Lady Handy.
Ash. Don't ye take it unkind I han't a buss'd thee yet--meant no slight indeed. [Kisses her.
Lady H. Oh! shocking! [Aside.
Ash. No harm I do hope, zur.
Sir Abel. None at all.
Ash. But dash it, Lady Nelly, what do make thee paint thy vace all over we rud ochre zoo? Be it vor thy spouse to knaw thee?--that be the way I do knaw my sheep.
Sir Abel. The flocks of fashion are all marked so, Farmer.
Ash. Likely! Drabbit it! thee do make a tightish kind