Chapter 3

_Outside and gate of the Castle--Servants cross the stage, laden with different packages._

_Enter_ ASHFIELD.

_Ash._ Drabbit it, the wold castle 'ul be hardly big enow to hold all thic lumber.

_Sir Abel Handy._ [_Without._] Gently there! mind how you go, Robin. [_A crash._

_Ash._ Who do come here? A do zeem a comical zoart ov a man--Oh, Abel Handy, I suppoze.

_Enter_ SIR ABEL HANDY.--SERVANT _following._

_Sir Abel._ Zounds and fury! you have killed the whole county, you dog! for you have broke the patent medicine chest, that was to keep them all alive!--Richard, gently!--take care of the grand Archimedian corkscrews!--Bless my soul! so much to think of! Such wonderful inventions in conception, in concoction, and in completion!

_Enter_ PETER.

Well, Peter, is the carriage much broke?

_Peter._ Smashed all to pieces. I thought as how, sir, that your infallible axletree would give way.

_Sir Abel._ Confound it, it has compelled me to walk so far in the wet, that I declare my water-proof shoes are completely soaked through. [_Exit_ PETER.] Now to take a view with my new invented glass! [_Pulls out his glass._

_Ash._ [_Loud and bluntly._] Zarvent, zur! Zarvent!

_Sir Abel._ [_Starting._] What's that? Oh, good day.--Devil take the fellow? [_Aside._

_Ash._ Thankye, zur; zame to you with all my heart and zoul.

_Sir Abel._ Pray, friend, could you contrive _gently_ to inform me, where I can find one Farmer Ashfield.

_Ash._ Ha, ha, ha! [_Laughing loudly._] Excuse my tittering a bit--but your axing mysel vor I be so domm'd zilly [_Bowing and laughing._]--Ah! you stare at I beceas I be bashful and daunted.

_Sir Abel._ You are very bashful, to be sure. I declare I'm quite weary.

_Ash._ If you'll walk into the castle, you may zit down, I dare zay.

_Sir Abel._ May I indeed? you are a fellow of extraordinary civility.

_Ash._ There's no denying it, zur.

_Sir Abel._ No, I'll sit here.

_Ash._ What! on the ground! Why you'll wring your ould withers--

_Sir Abel._ On the ground--no, I always carry my seat with me [_Spreads a small camp chair._]--Here I'll sit and examine the surveyor's account of the castle.

_Ash._ Dickens and daizeys! what a gentleman you wou'd be to shew at a vair!

_Sir Abel._ Silence fellow, and attend--"An account of the castle and domain of Sir Philip Blandford, intended to be settled as a marriage portion on his daughter, and the son of Sir Abel Handy,--by Frank Flourish, surveyor.--Imprimis--The premises command an exquisite view of the Isle of Wight."--Charming! delightful! I don't see it though [_Rising._]--I'll try with my new glass--my own invention--[_He looks through the glass._] Yes, there I caught it--Ah! now I see it plainly--Eh! no--I don't see it, do you?

_Ash._ Noa, zur, I doant--but little zweepy do tell I he can zee a bit out from the top of the chimbley--zoa, an you've a mind to crawl up you may zee un too, he, he!

_Sir Abel._ Thank you--but damn your titter. [_Reads._]--"Fish ponds well stocked"--That's a good thing, Farmer.

_Ash._ Likely, likely--but I doant think the vishes do thrive much in theas ponds.

_Sir Abel._ No! why?

_Ash._ Why, the ponds be always dry i'the zummer; and I be tould that bean't wholesome vor the little vishes.

_Sir Abel._ Not very, I believe--Well said surveyor! "A cool summer house."

_Ash._ Ees, zur, quite cool--by reason the roof be tumbled in.

_Sir Abel._ Better and better--"the whole capable of the greatest improvement."--Come, 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 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._