Act 1 — SCENE III.

Enter Mr. Barnard beating Colin.

Mr. Barn. Rogue! rascal! did not I command you? Did not I give you my orders, sirrah?

Col. Why, you gave me orders to let no body in; and Madam, her gives me orders to let every body in——why the Devil himself can't please you boath, I think.

Mr. Barn. But, sirrah, you must obey my orders, not hers.

Col. Why the gentlefolks asked for her, they did not ask for you—what do you make such a noise about?

Mr. Barn. For that reason, sirrah, you shou'd not have let 'em in.

Col. Hold, Sir, I'd rather see you angry than her, that's true; for when you're angry you have only the devil in ye, but when Madam's in a passion she has the devil and his dam both in her belly.

Mr. Barn. You must mind what I say to you, sirrah, and obey my orders.

Col. Ay, ay, Measter——but let's not quarrel with one another—you're always in such a plaguy humour.

Mr. Barn. What are these people that are just come?

Col. Nay, that know not I——but as fine volk they are as ever eye beheld, heaven bless 'em.

Mr. Barn. Did you hear their names?

Col. Noa, noa, but in a coach they keam all besmeared with gould, with six breave horses, the like on 'em ne'er did I set eyes on——'twou'd do a man's heart good to look on sike fine beast, Measter.

Mr. Barn. How many persons are there?

Col. Vour——two as fine men as ever women bore, and two as dainty deames as a man wou'd desire to lay his lips to.

Mr. Barn. And all this crew sets up at my house.

Col. Noa, noa, Measter, the coachman is gone into the village to set up his coach at some inn, for I told him our coach-house was vull of vaggots, but he'll bring back the six horses, for I told him we had a rear good stable.

Mr. Barn. Did you so, rascal? Did you so?

[Beats him.

Col. Doant, doant, Sir, it wou'd do you good to see sike cattle, i'faith they look as if they had ne'er kept Lent.

Mr. Barn. Then they shall learn religion at my house——Sirrah, do you take care they sup without oats to-night——What will become of me? Since I bought this damn'd country house, I spend more in a summer than wou'd maintain me seven years.

Col. Why, if you do spend money, han't you good things for it? Come they not to see you the whole country raund? Mind how you're belov'd, Measter.

Mr. Barn. Pox take such love——How now, what do you want?

Enter Lisetta.

Lis. Sir, there's some company in the garden with my mistress, who desire to see you.

Mr. Barn. The devil take 'em, what business have they here? But who are they?

Lis. Why, Sir, there's the fat Abbot that always sits so long at dinner, and drinks his two bottles by way of whet.

Mr. Barn. I wish his church was in his belly, that his guts might be half full before he came——and who else?

Lis. Then there's the young Marquis that won all my Lady's money at cards.

Mr. Barn. Pox take him too.

Lis. Then there's the merry Lady that's always in a good humour.

Mr. Barn. Very well.

Lis. Then there's she that threw down all my Lady's china t'other day, and laugh'd at it for a jest.

Mr. Barn. Which I paid above fifty pounds for in earnest—very well, and pray how did Madam receive all this fine company?——With a hearty welcome, and a courtsy with her bum down to the ground, ha.

Lis. No indeed, Sir, she was very angry with 'em.

Mr. Barn. How, angry with 'em, say you?

Lis. Yes indeed, Sir, for she expected they wou'd have staid here a fortnight, but it seems things happen so unluckily that they can't stay here above ten days.

Mr. Barn. Ten days! How! what! four persons with a coach and six, and a kennel of hungry hounds in liveries, to live upon me ten days.

[Exit Lisetta.

Enter a soldier.

So, what do you want?

Sol. Sir, I come from your nephew, Captain Hungry.

Mr. Barn. Well, what does he want?

Sol. He gives his service to you, Sir, and sends you word that he'll come and dine with you to-morrow.

Mr. Barn. Dine with me! no, no, friend, tell him I don't dine at all to-morrow, it is my fast-day, my wife died on't.

Sol. And he has sent you here a pheasant and a couple of partridges.

Mr. Barn. How's that, a pheasant and partridges, say you?——let's see——very fine birds, truly——let me consider—To-morrow is not my fast-day, I mistook, tell my nephew he shall be welcome——And d'ye hear? [To Colin.] do you take these fowls and hang them up in a cool place——and take this soldier in, and make him drink—make him drink, d'ye see——a cup,——ay, a cup of small beer——d'ye hear?

Col. Yes, Sir——Come along; our small beer is reare good.

Sol. But, Sir, he bade me tell you that he'll bring two or three of his brother officers along with him.

Mr. Barn. How's that! Officers with him——here, come back——take the fowls again; I don't dine to-morrow, and so tell him [Gives him the basket.] Go, go.

[Thrusts him out.

Sol. Sir, Sir, that won't hinder them from coming, for they retir'd a little distance off the camp, and because your house is near 'em, Sir, they resolve to come.

Mr. Barn. Go, begone, Sirrah,

[Thrusts him out.

There's a rogue now, that sends me three lean carrion birds, and brings half a dozen varlets to eat them.

Enter Mr. Griffard.

Griff. Brother, what is the meaning of these doings? If you don't order your affairs better, you'll have your fowls taken out of your very yard, and carried away before your face.

Mr. Barn. Can I help it, brother? But what's the matter now?

Griff. There's a parcel of fellows have been hunting about your grounds all this morning, broke down your hedges, and are now coming into your house——don't you hear them?

Mr. Barn. No, no, I don't hear them: who are they?

Griff. Three or four rake-helly officers, with your nephew at the head of 'em.

Mr. Barn. O the rogue! he might well send me fowls——but is it not a vexatious thing, that I must stand still and see myself plunder'd at this rate, and have a carrion of a wife who thinks I ought to thank all these rogues that come to devour me! but can't you advise me what's to be done in this case?

Griff. I wish I cou'd; for it goes to my heart to see you thus treated by a crew of vermin, who think they do you a great deal of honour in ruining of you.

Mr. Barn. Can there be no way found to redress this?

Griff. If I were you, I'd leave this house quite, and go to town.

Mr. Barn. What, and leave my wife behind me? ay that wou'd be mending the matter indeed!

Griff. Why don't you sell it then?

Mr. Barn. Because nobody will buy it; it has got as bad a name as if the plague were in't; it has been sold over and over, and every family that has liv'd in it has been ruin'd.

Griff. Then send away all your beds and furniture; except what is absolutely necessary for your own family, you'll save something by that, for then your guests can't stay with you all night, however.

Mr. Barn. I've try'd that already, and it signified nothing——For they all got drunk and lay in the barn, and next morning laugh'd it off for a frolick.

Griff. Then there is but one remedy left that I can think of.

Mr. Barn. What's that?

Griff. You must e'en do what's done when a town's on fire, blow up your house that the mischief may run no farther——But who is this gentleman?

Mr. Barn. I never saw him in my life before, but for all that, I'll hold fifty pound he comes to dine with me.

Enter the Marquis.

Marq. My dear Mr. Barnard, I'm your most humble servant.

Mr. Barn. I don't doubt it, Sir.

Marq. What is the meaning of this, Mr. Barnard? You look as coldly upon me as if I were a stranger.

Mr. Barn. Why truly, Sir, I'm very apt to do so by persons I never saw in my life before.

Marq. You must know, Mr. Barnard, I'm come on purpose to drink a bottle with you.

Mr. Barn. That may be, Sir; but it happens that at this time I am not at all dry.

Marq. I left the ladies at cards waiting for supper; for my part, I never play; so I came to see my dear Mr. Barnard; and I'll assure you I undertook this journey only to have the honour of your acquaintance.

Mr. Barn. You might have spared yourself that trouble, Sir.

Marq. Don't you know, Mr. Barnard, that this house of yours is a little paradise?

Mr. Barn. Then rot me if it be, Sir.

Marq. For my part, I think a pretty retreat in the country is one of the greatest comforts of life; I suppose you never want good company, Mr. Barnard?

Mr. Barn. No, Sir, I never want company; for you must know I love very much to be alone.

Marq. Good wine you must keep above all things, without good wine and good cheer I would not give a fig for the country.

Mr. Barn. Really, Sir, my wine is the worst you ever drank in your life, and you'll find my cheer but very indifferent.

Marq. No matter, no matter, Mr. Barnard; I've heard much of your hospitality, there's a plentiful table in your looks——and your wife is certainly one of the best women in the world.

Mr. Barn. Rot me if she be, Sir.

Enter Colin.

Col. Sir, Sir, yonder's the Baron de Messy has lost his hawk in our garden; he says it is pearch'd upon one of the trees; may we let him have'n again, Sir?

Mr. Barn. Go tell him that——

Col. Nay, you may tell him yourself, for here he comes.