Act 1 — SCENE.—A Room in the Inn. (Two Waiters disputing.)

FIRST WAITER Sir Harbottle Hammond, you may depend upon it.

SECOND WAITER Sir Hardy Hardcastle, I tell you.

FIRST WAITER The Hammonds of Huntingdonshire.

SECOND WAITER The Hardcastles of Hertfordshire.

FIRST WAITER The Hammonds.

SECOND WAITER Don't tell me: does not Hardcastle begin with an H?

FIRST WAITER So does Hammond for that matter.

SECOND WAITER Faith, so it does if you go to spell it. I did not think of that. I begin to be of your opinion; he is certainly a Hammond.

FIRST WAITER Here comes Susan Chambermaid, may be she can tell.

Enter Susan.

BOTH Well, Susan, have you heard any thing who the strange gentleman is?

SUSAN Haven't you heard? it's all come out; Mrs. Guesswell, the parson's widow, has been here about it. I overheard her talking in confidence to Mrs. Setter and Mrs. Pointer, and she says, they were holding a sort of cummitty about it.

BOTH What? What?

SUSAN There can't be a doubt of it, she says, what from hisfigger and the appearance he cuts, and his sumpshous way of living, and above all from the remarkable circumstance that his surname should begin with an H., that he must be—

BOTH Well, well—

SUSAN Neither more nor less than the Prince.

BOTH Prince!

SUSAN The Prince of Hessy-Cassel in disguise.

BOTH Very likely, very likely.

SUSAN Oh, there can't be a doubt on it. Mrs. Guesswell says she knows it.

FIRST WAITER Now if we could be sure that the Prince of Hessy what-do-you-call-him was in England on his travels.

SECOND WAITER Get a newspaper. Look in the newspapers.

SUSAN Fiddle of the newspapers, who else can it be?

BOTH That is very true (gravely).

Enter Landlord.

LANDLORD Here, Susan, James, Philip, where are you all? The London coach is come in, and there is Mr. Fillaside, the fat passenger, has been bawling for somebody to help him off with his boots. (The Chambermaid and Waiters slip out.)

(Solus.) The house is turned upside down since the strange gentleman came into it. Nothing but guessing and speculating, and speculating and guessing; waiters and chambermaids getting into corners and speculating, ostlers and stable-boys speculating in the yard, I believe the very horses in the stable are speculating too, for there they stand in a musing posture, nothing for them to eat, and not seeming to care whether thay have any thing or no; and after all what does it signify? I hate such curious—odso, I must take this box up into his bed-room—he charged me to see to it myself—I hate such inquisitive—I wonder what is in it, it feels heavy (Reads) "Leases, title deeds, wills." Here now a man might satisfy his curiosity at once. Deeds must have names to them, so must leases and wills. But I wouldn't—no I wouldn't—it is a pretty box too—prettily dovetailed—I admire the fashion of it much. But I'd cut my fingers off, before I'd do such a dirty—what have I to do—curse the keys, how they rattle—rattle in one's pockets—the keys and the halfpence (takes out a bunch and plays with them). I wounder if any of these would fit; one might just try them, but I wouldn't lift up the lid if they did. Oh no, what should I be the richer for knowing? (All this time he tries the keys one by one.) What's his name to me? a thousand names begin with an H. I hate people that are always prying, poking and prying into things,—thrusting their finger into one place—a mighty little hole this—and their keys into another. Oh Lord! little rusty fits it! but what is that to me? I wouldn't go to—no no—but it is odd little rusty should just happen. (While he is turning up the lid of the box, MR. H. enters behing him unperceived.)

MR. H. What are you about, you dog?

LANDLORD Oh Lord, Sir! pardon; no thief as I hope to be saved. Little Pry was always honest.

MR. H. What else could move you to open that box!

LANDLORD Sir, don't kill me, and I will confess the whole truth. This box happened to be lying—that is, I happened to be carrying this box, and I happened to have my keys out, and so—little rusty happened to fit—

MR. H. So little rusty happened to fit!—and would not a rope fit that rogue's neck? I see the papers have not been moved: all is safe, but it was as well to frighten him a little (aside).

Come, Landlord, as I think you honest, and suspect you only intended to gratify a little foolish curiosity—

LANDLORD That was all, Sir, upon my veracity.

MR. H. For this time I will pass it over. Your name is Pry, I think.

LANDLORD Yes, Sir, Jeremiah Pry, at your service.

MR. H. An apt name, you have a prying temper. I mean, some little curiosity, a sort of inquisitiveness about you.

LANDLORD A natural thirst after knowledge you may call it, Sir. When a boy I was never easy, but when I was thrusting up the lids of some of my school-fellows' boxes,—not to steal any thing, upon my honour, Sir,—only to see what was in them; have had pens stuck in my eyes for peeping through key-holes after knowledge; could never see a cold pie with the legs dangling out at top, but my fingers were for lifting up the crust,—just to try if it were pigeon or partridge,—for no other reason in the world. Surely I think my passion for nuts was owing to the pleasure of cracking the shell to get at something concealed, more than to any delight I took in eating the kernel. In short, Sir, this appetite has grown with my growth.

MR. H. You will certainly be hanged some day for peeping into some bureau or other, just to see what is in it.

LANDLORD That is my fear, Sir. The thumps and kicks I have had for peering into parcels, and turning of letters inside out,—just for curiosity. The blankets I have been made to dance in for searching parish-registers for old ladies' ages,—just for curiosity! Once I was dragged through a horse-pond, only for peeping into a closet that had glass doors to it, while my Lady Bluegarters was undressing,—just for curiosity!

MR. H. A very harmless piece of curiosity, truly; and now, Mr. Pry, first have the goodness to leave that box with me, and then do me the favour to carry your curiosity so far, as to enquire if my servants are within.

LANDLORD I shall, Sir. Here, David, Jonathan,—I think I hear them coming,—shall make bold to leave you, Sir.

[Exit.]

MR. H. Another tolerable specimen of the comforts of going anonymous!

Enter two Footmen.

FIRST FOOTMAN You speak first.

SECOND FOOTMAN No, you had better speak.

FIRST FOOTMAN You promised to begin.

MR. H. They have something to say to me. The rascals want their wages raised, I suppose; there is always a favour to be asked when they come smiling. Well, poor rogues, service is but a hard bargain at the best. I think I must not be close with them. Well, David—well, Jonathan.

FIRST FOOTMAN We have served your honour faithfully——

SECOND FOOTMAN Hope your honour won't take offence——

MR. H. The old story, I suppose—wages?

FIRST FOOTMAN That's not it, your honour.

SECOND FOOTMAN You speak.

FIRST FOOTMAN But if your honour would just be pleased to——

SECOND FOOTMAN Only be pleased to——

MR. H. Be quick with what you have to say, for I am in haste.

FIRST FOOTMAN Just to——

SECOND FOOTMAN Let us know who it is——

FIRST FOOTMAN Who it is we have the honour to serve.

MR. H. Why me, me, me; you serve me.

SECOND FOOTMAN Yes, Sir; but we do not know who you are.

MR. H. Childish curiosity! do not you serve a rich master, a gay master, an indulgent master?

FIRST FOOTMAN Ah, Sir! the figure you make is to us, your poor servants, the principal mortification.

SECOND FOOTMAN When we get over a pot at the public-house, or in a gentleman's kitchen, or elsewhere, as poor servants must have their pleasures—when the question goes round, who is your master? and who do you serve? and one says, I serve Lord So-and-so, and another, I am Squire Such-a-one's footman——

FIRST FOOTMAN We have nothing to say for it, but that we serve Mr. H.

SECOND FOOTMAN Or Squire H.

MR. H. Really you are a couple of pretty modest, reasonable personages; but I hope you will take it as no offence, gentlemen, if, upon a dispassionate review of all that you have said, I think fit not to tell you any more of my name, than I have chosen for especial purposes to communicate to the rest of the world.

FIRST FOOTMAN Why then, Sir, you may suit yourself.

SECOND FOOTMAN We tell you plainly, we cannot stay.

FIRST FOOTMAN We don't chuse to serve Mr. H.

SECOND FOOTMAN Nor any Mr. or Squire in the alphabet——

FIRST FOOTMAN That lives in Chris-cross Row.

MR. H. Go, for a couple of ungrateful, inquisitive, senseless rascals! Go hang, starve, or drown!—Rogues, to speak thus irreverently of the alphabet—I shall live to see you glad to serve old Q—to curl the wig of great S—adjust the dot of little i—stand behind the chair of X, Y, Z—wear the livery of Et-caetera—and ride behind the sulky of And-by-itself-and!

[Exit in a rage.]