Speed the Plough | Page 8

of a ladyship zure enow.
Dame. That you do, my lady! you remember the old house?
Ash. Aye; and all about it, doant ye? Nelly! my lady!
Lady H. Oh! I'm quite shock'd--Susan, child! prepare a room where I may dress before I proceed to the castle. [Exit SUSAN.
Enter HANDY, jun.
Handy, jun. I don't see Susan--I say, Dad, is that my mamma?
Sir Abel. Yes--speak to her.
Handy, jun. [Chucking her under the chin] A fine girl, upon my soul!
Lady H. Fine girl, indeed! Is this behaviour!
Handy, jun. Oh! beg pardon, most honoured parent. [She curtsies.]---that's a damned bad curtsey, I can teach you to make a much better curtsey than that!
Lady H. You teach me, that am old enough to--hem!
Handy, jun. Oh! that toss of the head was very bad indeed--Look at me!--That's the thing!
Lady H. Am I to be insulted? Sir Abel, you know I seldom condescend to talk.
Sir Abel. Don't say so, my lady, you wrong yourself.
Lady H. But, when I do begin, you know not where it will end.
Sir Abel. Indeed I do not. [Aside.
Lady H. I insist on receiving all possible respect from your son.
Handy, jun. And you shall have it, my dear girl!--Madam, I mean.
Lady H. I vow, I am agitated to that degree--Sir Abel! my fan.
Sir Abel. Yes, my dear--Bob, look here, a little contrivance of my own. While others carry swords and such like dreadful weapons in their canes, I more gallantly carry a fan. [Removes the head of his cane, and draws out a fan.] A pretty thought, isn't it? [Presents it to his lady.]
Ash. Some difference between thic stick and mine, beant there, zur? [To HANDY, jun.
Handy, jun. [Moving away.] Yes, there is.--[To Lady H.] Do you call that fanning yourself? [Taking the fan.] My dear ma'am, this is the way to manoeuvre a fan.
Lady H. Sir, you shall find [To HANDY, jun.] I have power enough to make you repent this behaviour, severely repent it--Susan! [Exit followed by DAME.
Handy, jun. Bravo! passion becomes her; she does that vastly well.
Sir Abel. Yes, practice makes perfect.
Enter SUSAN.
Susan. Did your ladyship call?--Heavens! Mr. Handy!
Handy, jun. Hush! my angel! be composed! that letter will explain. [Giving a letter, noticed by ASHFIELD.] Lady Handy wishes to see you.
Susan. Oh, Robert!
Handy, jun. At present, my love, no more. [Exit Susan, followed by ASHFIELD.
Sir Abel. What were you saying, sir, to that young woman?
Handy, jun. Nothing particular, sir. Where is Lady Handy going?
Sir Abel. To dress.
Handy, jun. I suppose she has found out the use of money.
Sir Abel. Yes; I'll do her the justice to say she encourages trade.--Why, do you know, Bob, my best coal pit won't find her in white muslins--round her neck hangs an hundred acres at least; my noblest oaks have made wigs for her; my fat oxen have dwindled into Dutch pugs, and white mice; my India bonds are transmuted into shawls and otto of roses; and a magnificent mansion has shrunk into a diamond snuff-box.
Enter COUNTRYMAN.
Coun. Gentlemen, the folks be all got together, and the ploughs be ready--and----
Sir Abel. We are coming. [Exit SERVANT.
Handy, jun. Ploughs?
Sir Abel. Yes, Bob, we are going to have a grand agricultural meeting.
Handy, jun. Indeed!
Sir Abel. If I could but find a man able to manage my new-invented curricle plough, none of them would have a chance.
Handy, jun. My dear sir, if there be any thing on earth I can do, it is that.
Sir Abel. What!
Handy. I rather fancy I can plough better than any man in England.
Sir Abel. You don't say so! What a clever fellow he is! I say, Bob, if you would--
Handy, jun. No! I can't condescend.
Sir Abel. Condescend! why not?--much more creditable, let me tell you, than gallopping a maggot for a thousand, or eating a live cat, or any other fashionable achievement.
Handy, jun. So it is--Egad! I will--I'll carry off the prize of industry.
Sir Abel. But should you lose, Bob.
Handy, jun. I lose! that's vastly well!
Sir Abel. True, with my curricle plough you could hardly fail.
Handy, jun. With my superior skill, Dad--Then, I say, how the newspapers will teem with the account.
Sir Abel. Yes.
Handy, jun. That universal genius, Handy, junior, with a plough----
Sir Abel. Stop--invented by that ingenious machinist, Handy, senior.
Handy, jun. Gained the prize against the first husbandmen in Hampshire--Let our Bond-street butterflies emulate the example of Handy, junior.--
Sir Abel. And let old city grubs cultivate the field of science, like Handy, senior--Ecod! I am so happy!
Lady H. [Without.] Sir Abel!
Sir Abel. Ah! there comes a damper.
Handy, jun. Courage! you have many resources of happiness.
Sir Abel. Have I? I should be very glad to know them.
Handy, jun. In the first place you possess an excellent temper.
Sir Abel. So much the worse; for if I had a bad one, I should be the better able to conquer hers.
Handy, jun. You enjoy good health--
Sir Abel. So