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 qui's, and their quee's, and their
quod's,

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 skin full.
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, or your wid

geons;

But of all the gay birds in the air,
Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pi-

Third Fel. O damn anything that's low, I cannot bear it.

Fourth Fel. The genteel thing is the genteel thing at any time. If so be that a

gentleman bees in a concatenation accord ingly.

Third Fel. I like 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 Fel. 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 Fel. 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 Bett Bouncer and the miller's gray 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.

Land. There be two gentlemen in a postchaise 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 themt must be the gentleman that's coming dow to court my sister. Do they seem to be Londoners ?

Land. 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. Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough [Exit LANDLORD. company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the squeezing of a [Exeunt mob.

lemon.

Tony. (alone.) 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.

Mar. 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 three-score.

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

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

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

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

Tony. Nor the way you came?

Hast. 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.

Mar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that. Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask the place from whence you came ?

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

Hast. 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?

Land. Master Hardcastle's! Lock-adaisy, 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!

Mar. Cross down Squash Lane! Land. Then you were to keep straight forward, till you came to four roads.

Mar. Come to where four roads meet! Tony. Ay, but you must be sure to take only one of them.

Mar. O, sir, you're facetious.

Tony. Then keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come upon Crack-skull 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.

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

Hast. What's to be done, Marlow? Mar. This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the landlord can accommodate us.

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

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 ?

Hast. I hate sleeping by the fire-side. Mar. 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 country?

Hast. O ho! so we've escaped an adventure for this night, however.

Land. (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

SCENE I.-An old fashioned house. Enter HARDCASTLE, followed by three or four awkward servants.

Hard. 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.

Hard. When company comes you are not to pop out and stare, and then run in again, like frighted rabbits in a warren. Omnes. No, no.

Hard. 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.

Dig. 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—

Hard. 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.

Dig. By the laws, your worship, that's perfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory |

sees yeating going forward, ecod, he's al ways wishing for a mouthful himself. Hard. Blockhead! Is not a bellyful in the kitchen as good as a bellyful in the parlour? Stay your stomach with that reflection.

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

Hard. 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.

Dig. 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!

Hard. 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?

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

Hard. What, will nobody move?
First Ser. I'm not to leave this place.
Second Ser. I'm sure it is no place of

mine.

Third Ser. Nor mine, for sartin. Dig.Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine

Hard. You numbskulls! and so while, I like your betters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must be starved. Oh, you dunces! I find I must begin all over again,-But don't I hear a coach drive into the yard? To your posts you blockheads. I'll go in the meantime and give my old friend's son a hearty reception at the gate. [Exit HARDCASTLE. Dig. By the elevens, my place is gone quite out of my head.

Roger. I know that my place is to be everywhere.

First Ser. Where the devil is mine. Second Ser. My place is to be no where at all; and so ize go about my business. [Exeunt SERVANTS running about as if frightened, different ways.

Enter SERVANT, with candles, showing in MARLOW and HASTINGS.

Ser. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome! This way.

Hast. After the disappointments of the day, welcome once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well-looking house; antique, but creditable.

Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having first ruined the master by good housekeeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as an inn.

Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good sideboard or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame a reckoning confoundedly. Mar. Travellers, George, must pay in all places. The only difference is, that in good inns you pay dearly for luxuries, in bad inns you are fleeced and starved.

Hast. You have lived pretty much among them. In truth I have been surprised, that you, who have seen so much of the world, with your natural good sense, and your many opportunities, could never yet acquire a requisite share of assurance.

Mar. The Englishman's malady. But tell me, George, where could I have learned that assurance you talk of? My life has been chiefly spent in a college or an inn, in seclusion from that lovely part of the creation that chiefly teach men confidence. I don't know that I was ever familiarly acquainted with a single modest womanexcept my mother;-But among females of another class, you know

Hast. Ay, among them you are impudent enough of all conscience.

Mar. They are of us, you know. Hast. But in the company of women of reputation I never saw such an idiot, such a trembler; you look for all the world as if you wanted an opportunity of stealing out of the room.

Mar. Why, man, that's because I do want to steal out of the room. Faith, I have often formed a resolution to break the ice, and rattle away at any rate. But I don't know how, a single glance from a pair of fine eyes has totally overset my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty; but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever counterfeit impudence.

Hast. If you could but say half the fine things to them, that I have heard you lavish upon the bar-maid of an inn, or even a college bed-maker

Mar. Why, George, I can't say fine things to them: they freeze, they petrify me. They may talk of a comet, or a burning mountain, or some such bagatelle; but to me, a modest woman, drest out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation.

Hast. Ha! ha! ha! At this rate, man, how can you ever expect to marry?

Mar. Never, unless, as among kings and princes, my bride were to be courted by proxy. If indeed, like an eastern bridegroom, one were to be introduced to a wife we never saw before, it might be endured. But to go through all the terrors of a formal courtship, together with the episode of aunts, grandmothers, and cousins, and at last to blurt out the broad staring question of, Madam, will you marry me? Ño, no, that's a strain much above me, I assure you.

Hast. I pity you. But how do you intend behaving to the lady you are come down to visit at the request of your father?

Mar. As I behave to all other ladies. Bow very low. Answer yes or no to all her demands-But for the rest I don't think I shall venture to look in her face till I see my father's again.

Hast. I'm surprised that one who is so warm a friend can be so cool a lover.

Mar. To be explicit, my dear Hastings, my chief inducement down was to be instrumental in forwarding your happiness, not my own. Miss Neville loves you,