



Produced by G. R. Young





"SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER"

by Oliver Goldsmith



She Stoops To Conquer; Or, The Mistakes Of A Night.

A Comedy.


To Samuel Johnson, LL.D.


Dear Sir,--By inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean
so much to compliment you as myself.  It may do me some honour to
inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you.
It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the
greatest wit may be found in a character, without impairing the most
unaffected piety.

I have, particularly, reason to thank you for your partiality to this
performance.  The undertaking a comedy not merely sentimental was very
dangerous; and Mr. Colman, who saw this piece in its various stages,
always thought it so.  However, I ventured to trust it to the public;
and, though it was necessarily delayed till late in the season, I have
every reason to be grateful.

I am, dear Sir, your most sincere friend and admirer,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.




PROLOGUE,

By David Garrick, Esq.


Enter MR. WOODWARD, dressed in black, and holding a handkerchief
to his eyes.

     Excuse me, sirs, I pray--I can't yet speak--
     I'm crying now--and have been all the week.
     "'Tis not alone this mourning suit," good masters:
     "I've that within"--for which there are no plasters!
     Pray, would you know the reason why I'm crying?
     The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying!
     And if she goes, my tears will never stop;
     For as a player, I can't squeeze out one drop:
     I am undone, that's all--shall lose my bread--
     I'd rather, but that's nothing--lose my head.
     When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier,
     Shuter and I shall be chief mourners here.
     To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
     Who deals in sentimentals, will succeed!
     Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents;
     We can as soon speak Greek as sentiments!
     Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up.
     We now and then take down a hearty cup.
     What shall we do?  If Comedy forsake us,
     They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us.
     But why can't I be moral?--Let me try--
     My heart thus pressing--fixed my face and eye--
     With a sententious look, that nothing means,
     (Faces are blocks in sentimental scenes)
     Thus I begin: "All is not gold that glitters,
     "Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters.
     "When Ignorance enters, Folly is at hand:
     "Learning is better far than house and land.
     "Let not your virtue trip; who trips may stumble,
     "And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble."

     I give it up--morals won't do for me;
     To make you laugh, I must play tragedy.
     One hope remains--hearing the maid was ill,
     A Doctor comes this night to show his skill.
     To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
     He, in Five Draughts prepar'd, presents a potion:
     A kind of magic charm--for be assur'd,
     If you will swallow it, the maid is cur'd:
     But desperate the Doctor, and her case is,
     If you reject the dose, and make wry faces!
     This truth he boasts, will boast it while he lives,
     No poisonous drugs are mixed in what he gives.
     Should he succeed, you'll give him his degree;
     If not, within he will receive no fee!
     The College YOU, must his pretensions back,
     Pronounce him Regular, or dub him Quack.




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

     MEN.

     SIR CHARLES MARLOW           Mr. Gardner.
     YOUNG MARLOW (His Son)       Mr. Lee Lewes.
     HARDCASTLE                   Mr. Shuter.
     HASTINGS                     Mr. Dubellamy.
     TONY LUMPKIN                 Mr. Quick.
     DIGGORY                      Mr. Saunders.

     WOMEN.

     MRS. HARDCASTLE              Mrs. Green.
     MISS HARDCASTLE              Mrs. Bulkley.
     MISS NEVILLE                 Mrs. Kniveton.
     MAID                         Miss Williams.

     LANDLORD, SERVANTS, Etc. Etc.




ACT THE FIRST.


SCENE--A Chamber in an old-fashioned House.


Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE and MR. HARDCASTLE.


MRS. HARDCASTLE.  I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you're very particular.  Is
there a creature in the whole country but ourselves, that does not take
a trip to town now and then, to rub off the rust a little?  There's the
two Miss Hoggs, and our neighbour Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month's
polishing every winter.

HARDCASTLE.  Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the
whole year.  I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home!  In
my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they
travel faster than a stage-coach.  Its fopperies come down not only as
inside passengers, but in the very basket.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  Ay, your times were fine times indeed; you have been
telling us of them for many a long year.  Here we live in an old
rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we
never see company.  Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the
curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master; and all
our entertainment your old stories of Prince Eugene and the Duke of
Marlborough.  I hate such old-fashioned trumpery.

HARDCASTLE.  And I love it.  I love everything that's old: old
friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and I believe,
Dorothy (taking her hand), you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old
wife.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your
Dorothys and your old wifes.  You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan,
I promise you.  I'm not so old as you'd make me, by more than one good
year.  Add twenty to twenty, and make money of that.

HARDCASTLE.  Let me see; twenty added to twenty makes just fifty and
seven.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  It's false, Mr. Hardcastle; I was but twenty when I
was brought to bed of Tony, that I had by Mr. Lumpkin, my first
husband; and he's not come to years of discretion yet.

HARDCASTLE.  Nor ever will, I dare answer for him.  Ay, you have
taught him finely.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  No matter.  Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune.  My son
is not to live by his learning.  I don't think a boy wants much
learning to spend fifteen hundred a year.

HARDCASTLE.  Learning, quotha! a mere composition of tricks and
mischief.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  Humour, my dear; nothing but humour.  Come, Mr.
Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humour.

HARDCASTLE.  I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond.  If burning the
footmen's shoes, frightening the maids, and worrying the kittens be
humour, he has it.  It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back
of my chair, and when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs.
Frizzle's face.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  And am I to blame?  The poor boy was always too
sickly to do any good.  A school would be his death.  When he comes to
be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for
him?

HARDCASTLE.  Latin for him!  A cat and fiddle.  No, no; the alehouse
and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I
believe we shan't have him long among us.  Anybody that looks in his
face may see he's consumptive.

HARDCASTLE.  Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  He coughs sometimes.

HARDCASTLE.  Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  I'm actually afraid of his lungs.

HARDCASTLE.  And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a
speaking trumpet--(Tony hallooing behind the scenes)--O, there he
goes--a very consumptive figure, truly.


Enter TONY, crossing the stage.


MRS. HARDCASTLE.  Tony, where are you going, my charmer?  Won't you
give papa and I a little of your company, lovee?

TONY.  I'm in haste, mother; I cannot stay.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  You shan't venture out this raw evening, my dear; you
look most shockingly.

TONY.  I can't stay, I tell you.  The Three Pigeons expects me down
every moment.  There's some fun going forward.

HARDCASTLE.  Ay; the alehouse, the old place: I thought so.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  A low, paltry set of fellows.

TONY.  Not so low, neither.  There's Dick Muggins the exciseman, Jack
Slang the horse doctor, Little Aminadab that grinds the music box, and
Tom Twist that spins the pewter platter.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at
least.

TONY.  As for disappointing them, I should not so much mind; but I
can't abide to disappoint myself.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  (detaining him.)  You shan't go.

TONY.  I will, I tell you.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  I say you shan't.

TONY.  We'll see which is strongest, you or I.  [Exit, hauling her
out.]

HARDCASTLE.  (solus.)  Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each
other.  But is not the whole age in a combination to drive sense and
discretion out of doors?  There's my pretty darling Kate! the fashions
of the times have almost infected her too.  By living a year or two in
town, she is as fond of gauze and French frippery as the best of them.


Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.


HARDCASTLE.  Blessings on my pretty innocence! drest out as usual, my
Kate.  Goodness!  What a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou got
about thee, girl!  I could never teach the fools of this age, that the
indigent world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  You know our agreement, sir.  You allow me the
morning to receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and
in the evening I put on my housewife's dress to please you.

HARDCASTLE.  Well, remember, I insist on the terms of our agreement;
and, by the bye, I believe I shall have occasion to try your obedience
this very evening.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  I protest, sir, I don't comprehend your meaning.

HARDCASTLE.  Then to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young
gentleman I have chosen to be your husband from town this very day.  I
have his father's letter, in which he informs me his son is set out,
and that he intends to follow himself shortly after.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  Indeed!  I wish I had known something of this
before.  Bless me, how shall I behave?  It's a thousand to one I
shan't like him; our meeting will be so formal, and so like a thing of
business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem.

HARDCASTLE.  Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your choice; but
Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir
Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often.  The young
gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in
the service of his country.  I am told he's a man of an excellent
understanding.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  Is he?

HARDCASTLE.  Very generous.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  I believe I shall like him.

HARDCASTLE.  Young and brave.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  I'm sure I shall like him.

HARDCASTLE.  And very handsome.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  My dear papa, say no more, (kissing his hand), he's
mine; I'll have him.

HARDCASTLE.  And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and
reserved young fellows in all the world.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  Eh! you have frozen me to death again.  That word
RESERVED has undone all the rest of his accomplishments.  A reserved
lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband.

HARDCASTLE.  On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that
is not enriched with nobler virtues.  It was the very feature in his
character that first struck me.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  He must have more striking features to catch me, I
promise you.  However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so
everything as you mention, I believe he'll do still.  I think I'll have
him.

HARDCASTLE.  Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle.  It's more than
an even wager he may not have you.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  My dear papa, why will you mortify one so?--Well, if
he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only
break my glass for its flattery, set my cap to some newer fashion, and
look out for some less difficult admirer.

HARDCASTLE.  Bravely resolved!  In the mean time I'll go prepare the
servants for his reception: as we seldom see company, they want as much
training as a company of recruits the first day's muster.  [Exit.]

MISS HARDCASTLE.  (Alone).  Lud, this news of papa's puts me all in a
flutter.  Young, handsome: these he put last; but I put them foremost.
Sensible, good-natured; I like all that.  But then reserved and
sheepish; that's much against him.  Yet can't he be cured of his
timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife?  Yes, and can't
I--But I vow I'm disposing of the husband before I have secured the
lover.


Enter MISS NEVILLE.


MISS HARDCASTLE.  I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear.  Tell me,
Constance, how do I look this evening?  Is there anything whimsical
about me?  Is it one of my well-looking days, child?  Am I in face
to-day?

MISS NEVILLE.  Perfectly, my dear.  Yet now I look again--bless
me!--sure no accident has happened among the canary birds or the gold
fishes.  Has your brother or the cat been meddling? or has the last
novel been too moving?

MISS HARDCASTLE.  No; nothing of all this.  I have been threatened--I
can scarce get it out--I have been threatened with a lover.

MISS NEVILLE.  And his name--

MISS HARDCASTLE.  Is Marlow.

MISS NEVILLE.  Indeed!

MISS HARDCASTLE.  The son of Sir Charles Marlow.

MISS NEVILLE.  As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my
admirer.  They are never asunder.  I believe you must have seen him
when we lived in town.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  Never.

MISS NEVILLE.  He's a very singular character, I assure you.  Among
women of reputation and virtue he is the modestest man alive; but his
acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of
another stamp: you understand me.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  An odd character indeed.  I shall never be able to
manage him.  What shall I do?  Pshaw, think no more of him, but trust
to occurrences for success.  But how goes on your own affair, my dear?
has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony as usual?

MISS NEVILLE.  I have just come from one of our agreeable
tete-a-tetes.  She has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting
off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  And her partiality is such, that she actually thinks
him so.  A fortune like yours is no small temptation.  Besides, as she
has the sole management of it, I'm not surprised to see her unwilling
to let it go out of the family.

MISS NEVILLE.  A fortune like mine, which chiefly consists in jewels,
is no such mighty temptation.  But at any rate, if my dear Hastings be
but constant, I make no doubt to be too hard for her at last.  However,
I let her suppose that I am in love with her son; and she never once
dreams that my affections are fixed upon another.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  My good brother holds out stoutly.  I could almost
love him for hating you so.

MISS NEVILLE.  It is a good-natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure
would wish to see me married to anybody but himself.  But my aunt's
bell rings for our afternoon's walk round the improvements.  Allons!
Courage is necessary, as our affairs are critical.

MISS HARDCASTLE.  "Would it were bed-time, and all were well."
[Exeunt.]


SCENE--An Alehouse Room.  Several shabby Fellows with punch and
tobacco.  TONY at the head of the table, a little higher than the
rest, a mallet in his hand.


OMNES.  Hurrea! hurrea! hurrea! bravo!

FIRST FELLOW  Now, gentlemen, silence for a song.  The'squire is
going to knock himself down for a song.

OMNES.  Ay, a song, a song!

TONY.  Then I'll sing you, gentlemen, a song I made upon this
alehouse, the Three Pigeons.


SONG.

     Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain
          With grammar, and nonsense, and learning,
     Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
          Gives GENUS a better discerning.
     Let them brag of their heathenish gods,
          Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians,
     Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods,
          They're all but a parcel of Pigeons.
               Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

     When methodist preachers come down,
          A-preaching that drinking is sinful,
     I'll wager the rascals a crown,
          They always preach best with a skinful.
     But when you come down with your pence,
          For a slice of their scurvy religion,
     I'll leave it to all men of sense,
          But you, my good friend, are the Pigeon.
               Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

     Then come, put the jorum about,
          And let us be merry and clever,
     Our hearts and our liquors are stout,
          Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.
     Let some cry up woodcock or hare,
          Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;
     But of all the GAY birds in the air,
          Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.
               Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.


OMNES.  Bravo, bravo!

FIRST FELLOW.  The'squire has got spunk in him.

SECOND FELLOW.  I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us
nothing that's low.

THIRD FELLOW.  O damn anything that's low, I cannot bear it.

FOURTH FELLOW.  The genteel thing is the genteel thing any time: if so
be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.

THIRD FELLOW.  I likes the maxum of it, Master Muggins.  What, though I
am obligated to dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that.
May this be my poison, if my bear ever dances but to the very
genteelest of tunes; "Water Parted," or "The minuet in Ariadne."

SECOND FELLOW.  What a pity it is the'squire is not come to his own.
It would be well for all the publicans within ten miles round of him.

TONY.  Ecod, and so it would, Master Slang.  I'd then show what it was
to keep choice of company.

SECOND FELLOW.  O he takes after his own father for that.  To be sure
old 'Squire Lumpkin was the finest gentleman I ever set my eyes on.
For winding the straight horn, or beating a thicket for a hare, or a
wench, he never had his fellow.  It was a saying in the place, that he
kept the best horses, dogs, and girls, in the whole county.

TONY.  Ecod, and when I'm of age, I'll be no bastard, I promise you.  I
have been thinking of Bet Bouncer and the miller's grey mare to begin
with.  But come, my boys, drink about and be merry, for you pay no
reckoning.  Well, Stingo, what's the matter?


Enter Landlord.


LANDLORD.  There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise at the door.  They
have lost their way upo' the forest; and they are talking something
about Mr. Hardcastle.

TONY.  As sure as can be, one of them must be the gentleman that's
coming down to court my sister.  Do they seem to be Londoners?

LANDLORD.  I believe they may.  They look woundily like Frenchmen.

TONY.  Then desire them to step this way, and I'll set them right in a
twinkling. (Exit Landlord.)  Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough
company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the
squeezing of a lemon.  [Exeunt mob.]

TONY.  (solus).  Father-in-law has been calling me whelp and hound this
half year.  Now, if I pleased, I could be so revenged upon the old
grumbletonian.  But then I'm afraid--afraid of what?  I shall soon be
worth fifteen hundred a year, and let him frighten me out of THAT if he
can.


Enter Landlord, conducting MARLOW and HASTINGS.


MARLOW.  What a tedious uncomfortable day have we had of it!  We were
told it was but forty miles across the country, and we have come above
threescore.

HASTINGS.  And all, Marlow, from that unaccountable reserve of yours,
that would not let us inquire more frequently on the way.

MARLOW.  I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself under an
obligation to every one I meet, and often stand the chance of an
unmannerly answer.

HASTINGS.  At present, however, we are not likely to receive any
answer.

TONY.  No offence, gentlemen.  But I'm told you have been inquiring for
one Mr. Hardcastle in these parts.  Do you know what part of the
country you are in?

HASTINGS.  Not in the least, sir, but should thank you for
information.

TONY.  Nor the way you came?

HASTINGS.  No, sir: but if you can inform us----

TONY.  Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road you are going, nor
where you are, nor the road you came, the first thing I have to inform
you is, that--you have lost your way.

MARLOW.  We wanted no ghost to tell us that.

TONY.  Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold so as to ask the place from
whence you came?

MARLOW.  That's not necessary towards directing us where we are to go.

TONY.  No offence; but question for question is all fair, you know.
Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle a cross-grained,
old-fashioned, whimsical fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a
pretty son?

HASTINGS.  We have not seen the gentleman; but he has the family you
mention.

TONY.  The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trolloping, talkative maypole;
the son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody is fond
of.

MARLOW.  Our information differs in this.  The daughter is said to be
well-bred and beautiful; the son an awkward booby, reared up and
spoiled at his mother's apron-string.

TONY.  He-he-hem!--Then, gentlemen, all I have to tell you is, that you
won't reach Mr. Hardcastle's house this night, I believe.

HASTINGS.  Unfortunate!

TONY.  It's a damn'd long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way.  Stingo,
tell the gentlemen the way to Mr. Hardcastle's!  (Winking upon the
Landlord.)  Mr. Hardcastle's, of Quagmire Marsh, you understand me.

LANDLORD.  Master Hardcastle's!  Lock-a-daisy, my masters, you're come
a deadly deal wrong!  When you came to the bottom of the hill, you
should have crossed down Squash Lane.

MARLOW.  Cross down Squash Lane!

LANDLORD.  Then you were to keep straight forward, till you came to
four roads.

MARLOW.  Come to where four roads meet?

TONY.  Ay; but you must be sure to take only one of them.

MARLOW.  O, sir, you're facetious.

TONY.  Then keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come
upon Crackskull Common: there you must look sharp for the track of the
wheel, and go forward till you come to farmer Murrain's barn.  Coming
to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the
left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old
mill--

MARLOW.  Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude!

HASTINGS.  What's to be done, Marlow?

MARLOW.  This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the
landlord can accommodate us.

LANDLORD.  Alack, master, we have but one spare bed in the whole
house.

TONY.  And to my knowledge, that's taken up by three lodgers already.
(After a pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.)  I have hit it.
Don't you think, Stingo, our landlady could accommodate the gentlemen
by the fire-side, with----three chairs and a bolster?

HASTINGS.  I hate sleeping by the fire-side.

MARLOW.  And I detest your three chairs and a bolster.

TONY.  You do, do you? then, let me see--what if you go on a mile
further, to the Buck's Head; the old Buck's Head on the hill, one of
the best inns in the whole county?

HASTINGS.  O ho! so we have escaped an adventure for this night,
however.

LANDLORD.  (apart to TONY).  Sure, you ben't sending them to your
father's as an inn, be you?

TONY.  Mum, you fool you.  Let THEM find that out.  (To them.)  You
have only to keep on straight forward, till you come to a large old
house by the road side.  You'll see a pair of large horns over the
door.  That's the sign.  Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you.

HASTINGS.  Sir, we are obliged to you.  The servants can't miss the
way?

TONY.  No, no: but I tell you, though, the landlord is rich, and going
to leave off business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving
your presence, he! he! he!  He'll be for giving you his company; and,
ecod, if you mind him, he'll persuade you that his mother was an
alderman, and his aunt a justice of peace.

LANDLORD.  A troublesome old blade, to be sure; but a keeps as good
wines and beds as any in the whole country.

MARLOW.  Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no farther
connexion.  We are to turn to the right, did you say?

TONY.  No, no; straight forward.  I'll just step myself, and show you a
piece of the way.  (To the Landlord.)  Mum!

LANDLORD.  Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant--damn'd
mischievous son of a whore.  [Exeunt.]




ACT THE SECOND.


SCENE--An old-fashioned House.


Enter HARDCASTLE, followed by three or four awkward Servants.


HARDCASTLE.  Well, I hope you are perfect in the table exercise I have
been teaching you these three days.  You all know your posts and your
places, and can show that you have been used to good company, without
ever stirring from home.

OMNES.  Ay, ay.

HARDCASTLE.  When company comes you are not to pop out and stare, and
then run in again, like frightened rabbits in a warren.

OMNES.  No, no.

HARDCASTLE.  You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make
a show at the side-table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the
plough, are to place yourself behind my chair.  But you're not to stand
so, with your hands in your pockets.  Take your hands from your
pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you.  See how Diggory
carries his hands.  They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no
great matter.

DIGGORY.  Ay, mind how I hold them.  I learned to hold my hands this
way when I was upon drill for the militia.  And so being upon drill----

HARDCASTLE.  You must not be so talkative, Diggory.  You must be all
attention to the guests.  You must hear us talk, and not think of
talking; you must see us drink, and not think of drinking; you must see
us eat, and not think of eating.

DIGGORY.  By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossible.
Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forward, ecod, he's always wishing
for a mouthful himself.

HARDCASTLE.  Blockhead!  Is not a belly-full in the kitchen as good as
a belly-full in the parlour?  Stay your stomach with that reflection.

DIGGORY.  Ecod, I thank your worship, I'll make a shift to stay my
stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantry.

HARDCASTLE.  Diggory, you are too talkative.--Then, if I happen to say
a good thing, or tell a good story at table, you must not all burst out
a-laughing, as if you made part of the company.

DIGGORY.  Then ecod your worship must not tell the story of Ould
Grouse in the gun-room: I can't help laughing at that--he! he!
he!--for the soul of me.  We have laughed at that these twenty
years--ha! ha! ha!

HARDCASTLE.  Ha! ha! ha!  The story is a good one.  Well, honest
Diggory, you may laugh at that--but still remember to be attentive.
Suppose one of the company should call for a glass of wine, how will
you behave?  A glass of wine, sir, if you please (to DIGGORY).--Eh, why
don't you move?

DIGGORY.  Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the
eatables and drinkables brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld
as a lion.

HARDCASTLE.