This play was first performed at the Grand Theatre Swansea
on 10 April 2013, with the following cast:

DOROTHY HARDCASTLE……………………………………Sonia Beck
HARDCASTLE………………………………………………………Robert Rowe
Voice of DOROTHY’S FATHER……………………………. Jim Carter
LUMPKIN/LANDLORD/MARLOW………………….Adrian Metcalfe
KATE HARDCASTLE…………………….Llinos Daniel

Directed by Derek Cobley

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER

or

THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT

Abridged and adapted by Jonathan Lamb

An 80-minute comedy with no interval for two male actors and two female

ACTOR 1: MR HARDCASTLE, old / LANDLORD /TRAVELLER, middle-aged
ACTOR 2: MARLOW / TONY, young / SERVANT, very old
ACTOR 3: MRS DOROTHY HARDCASTLE, oldish / LANDLADY
ACTOR 4: MISS KATE HARDCASTLE, young / MAID, middle-aged

Costumes: 18th Century 

Set: A chamber in an old-fashioned house,
represented by a high-backed wing chair

Props: 

Newspaper

Tray

Glass of wine

Locket

Gavel

Pewter beer mug

Knife

Fork

Bill of fare

Dip pen

Paper

SCENE 1

(Enter DOROTHY with newspaper followed by HARDCASTLE)

DOROTHY.  Oh Mr. Hardcastle.  (He pursues her goatishly)  Oh Mr. Hardcastle.  (She dodges him)  Dear Mr. Hardcastle, husband Hardcastle, Hardcastle mine.
Is there a creature in the whole country but ourselves, that does not go to London, once in a while,
To be with Harry and be fine?

HARDCASTLE:  Harry?

DOROTHY.  Hari-stocrats.  

HARDCASTLE.  Aristocrats?  I’m the Squire, dammit.

DOROTHY.  The Squire of Monkton Piddle.  Hardly an haristocrat.  J. Hardcastle, retired Colonel, owner of Hardcastle’s Brewery, the pride of Monkton Piddle.  (Reads from newspaper) Lord Warburton.  The Earl of Montevideo.  Lord Marchmain.  The Duchess of Spey.  (Lowers paper) 
J. Hardcastle Esquire.  Hooray.

HARDCASTLE.  I’m an old man, Dorothy, we live in an old house, I lead an old man’s life.  We have old servants.  

(SERVANT totters past)

But I’m happy, here by the fire, with a glass of my old wine, and my old wife.

DOROTHY.  Not as old as you, Mr Hardcastle.  I was a baby when you were already grown.

HARDCASTLE.  Yes, we have both lived before, I know, and each have children of our own.
My Kate is a jewel, of course –

DOROTHY.  Your Kate certainly likes jewels.  Getting her hands on mine, that’s her goal.

HARDCASTLE.  And your Tony is a diamond.  A rough diamond.  Very rough. More like a lump of coal.

DOROTHY (producing locket) –  Ah Tony!  My little baby!  My poor, defenceless foal!

HARDCASTLE.  Poor defenceless carthorse .  Here we go.   ‘What a treasure my boy Tony is!’

DOROTHY.   What a treasure my boy Tony is!  

HARDCASTLE.  ‘How can you look at him and not be fond?’

DOROTHY.  How can you look at him and not be fond?

HARDCASTLE.  Hah.  Full of tricks and mischief.  I’d as soon love a horse-pond.

DOROTHY.  The poor child, look at him, so sickly, so sensitive, so pale.HARDCASTLE.  Great drunken braggart.  Fifteen hundred a year, all spent on wagers and ale. Worrying the kittens, frightening the maids, burning the footmen’s suit: tying my wig to the back of my chair, damme, leaving me bald as a coot.

DOROTHY.  Humour, my dear; nothing but humour. You must allow him that.
And of course he’s consumptive, poor lamb.

HARDCASTLE.   Yes, if one of the symptoms of consumption is being disgustingly fat.

DOROTHY. He coughs sometimes.

HARDCASTLE. Hmm.  When his liquor goes the wrong way. 

DOROTHY. I’m actually afraid of his lungs.

HARDCASTLE.  So am I, when he hollers.  (TONY hollers, off)  Like a speaking trumpet.  And here the consumptive comes.

SCENE 2

Enter TONY, crossing the stage.

DOROTHY. Tony, where are you going, my charmer, my lambkin, my sweet?

TONY.  Out, mother.

DOROTHY.   Out, precious?  

HARDCASTLE.  Out down the pub.

TONY (glaring).  Out down the street.

DOROTHY.   Won’t you give us a little of your company, my loveliness?  I’ll call for Kate.

TONY.  Kate!  That mooncalf!  Stand aside, mother, you’re making me late.

HARDCASTLE.  Off he goes.  Down to the The Three Pigeons parlour. Like yesterday.

TONY.  Not the parlour!  The snug.

DOROTHY.  You shan’t venture out this raw evening, my dear.  Do stay.

TONY.  I’m going out, mother.

DOROTHY.  Out, poppet?

TONY.  Out, mother.  Out of my way!  (Pushes her aside.  She follows him off)

SCENE 3

HARDCASTLE. There goes a pair that only spoil each other.   Each just as bad. 

They’ll learn when they’re older.  Old´s best.  Old is what counts.
New may look fancy, but old’s passed the test.   Old nags make the best mounts.
Old wood is good wood, old wine is fine wine, old wives are… old wives.
All this new nonsense, this lust for satin and beaux, the world has gone mad.
Mad for the latest passion, mad for the latest quest, mad as mackerel for bait.
And speaking of the latest fashion, here is my beautiful daughter, Kate.

SCENE 4

(Enter KATE in an elegant cape)

Dressed out as usual, my dear?  My, what an ocean of cloth.
Bright as a flame!  May you attract a man, and not a moth.

KATE. You know our agreement, sir. You allow me the day
To dress in my own manner; and at night, to please you, I dress any old way.

HARDCASTLE.  Not any old way, my darling: the old way.  Old is best.  Old is good.

KATE.  You are old, sir.

HARDCASTLE.  I’m not old.  I’m pre-modernist.   Tonight you will dress as you should.

KATE.  Why?  Is someone coming?  Some handsome new suitor from town?

HARDCASTLE. Yes, someone is coming from town.  The man I hope may marry you.
Here is his father’s letter, my dear.  His son is set out; the father comes later; the son,
One Marlow by name, will shortly be here. 

KATE. Indeed!  I wish I had known something of this.  How to behave?
It’s a thousand to one I shan’t like him.  He will be well-mannered, and grave.

HARDCASTLE.  Your heart shall decide, my beloved, you’re young, it’s your choice.
I’m told he’s delightful.  He’s the son of my friend.   My old friend.  Choose him, and I shall rejoice.

KATE. Hmm. Delightful?

HARDCASTLE. A scholar.  Very generous.  Uncommonly handsome.

KATE. I believe I shall like him.

HARDCASTLE. Regrettably he’s young.

KATE.  How splendid!  I mean, how dreadful.  I’ll have him.

HARDCASTLE.  But with ladies, he’s shy.  The cat gets his tongue.

KATE.  Not shy!  On no. Shy lovers make suspicious husbands.  I am undone.

HARDCASTLE.  Ay, Kate, but he may not have you.  He may be too shy.  You are a lady, you see.

KATE.  A lady!  We’ll see about that.  Tongue-tied and blushing, is he?

HARDCASTLE.  So I’m told.  

KATE.  Sounds intriguing.  An odd character,  indeed.

HARDCASTLE.  Shy with ladies, you see.   But with servant girls, charming and bold.

KATE.   Hmm.  How interesting. What shall I do?  Dress plain.

(Exit KATE and HARDCASTLE)

SCENE 5

(Sounds of an alehouse room.  The chair is turned round.  TONY stands upon it like a toastmaster, hammer in hand.)

LANDLADY, off.  Now, gentlemen, silence for the squire and his new song!

ALL, off.   Ay, a song, a song!

TONY. Then I’ll sing you, gentlemen, a song I made upon this

alehouse, the Three Pigeons.  (Sings)

Come pass the beer-jug about

And let us be merry and clever,

Our hearts and our liquors are stout,

Here’s the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever

So give us our girls in the snug

Our kissings and squaddlings and squishings

We’re snug as a bug in a rug – what bug? (Inspects groin in alarm)

Here’s a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons!

(Enter LANDLADY doing a pigeon dance.  Repeat in chorus)

ALL.  Bravo, bravo!

LANDLADY.  There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise at the door.  They’m lost their way to Mr. Hardcastle’s house, and they look woundily like Londoners.

TONY.  Woundily like Londoners, eh?  One must be the gentleman from town
Who’s supposed to meet my stepsister.  A scheme of my father, J. Hardcastle, 

Maker of Hardcastle’s Ale! (Drinks ale. Cheering)
But in all other respects a complete boot-blister.

(Sings) For weeks he’s been calling me names
Like lazy and drunken and thievin’.
Well, it’s time for one of my games:
This may be a chance to get even. 

(Knock)

 Who goes there?

 (Enter TRAVELLER)

TRAVELLER.  Sir, I am travelling with my master Mr Marlow.  Is there a room?  We’re exhausted.  We’ve been in the saddle all day.TONY. Aha.  So you don’t know….these parts?

TRAVELLER.  No.

TONY.  Nor the way you came?

TRAVELLER.  No, sir: but if you can inform us –

TONY.  Why, sir, if you don’t know where you’re been,
or where you are, or where you’re heading,
I’d say you’re lost.  Is it a Mr Hardcastle you have come to seek?
A cross-grained, old-fashioned, tedious fellow, with an ugly face and a nose like a beak,
A daughter who’s as plain as a pikestaff, but a damnably good-looking stepson?

TRAVELLER.  We have not seen the gentleman; but that could be the one.

TONY.  The daughter, a tall, traipsing, trolloping, talkative maypole, with teeth;
The stepson, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, dwarfing all mortals beneath.

TRAVELLER.  Our information differs in this. The daughter is said to be well-bred and beautiful;
The stepson a complete clod.  Reared up and spoiled at his mother’s apron-string.

TONY.  Is he, by God? Well, you won’t reach Mr. Hardcastle’s house this night, I should say.

TRAVELLER.  Unfortunate!

TONY.  It’s a damn’d long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way.  (Turns to LANDLADY) No, Landlady?

LANDLADY. To Quagmire Marsh?  Damn’d long, boggy, dirty, dangerous.  Damnably long.

TONY.  Dangerously boggy.

TONY, LANDLADY.  It’s a damn’d long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way.

LANDLADY.  Any man who chanced his arm –

TONY.  Going along that road –

LANDLADY.  At night!

TONY, LANDLADY.  At night!

TONY.  – would be a damned fool. Fancy going along that road –

LANDLADY.   At night!

TONY, LANDLADY.   At night!

LANDLADY.  They use that road for training murderers at highwayman school.

TONY.  I should keep moving or you’ll catch a chill.  Try jumping up and down a while,
Or you could sing to keep warm.  ‘Where hast thou been since I saw thee?
On Ikley Moor bah Tat’.

LANDLADY.  We’ve only got one bed here, see, and there’s three people sleeping in that.

TONY.  Ah…  But a mile further on is the Buck’s Head, one of the best inns in the whole shire.

LANDLADY.  What? That’s your father’s house, you devil!  (Exit LANDLADY)

TONY.  Large old place on the left, just before you reach the edge of the moor.
Drive in and call stoutly about you.  Don’t trouble to knock on the door.
The innkeeper’s always there, but he’s a bit deaf.  And rather slow.  Thinks he’s a gent.
Humour him, the food’s good.  Insist the best wine be sent.  And if you think he’s slow,
Try his servants, they’re even slower.  But I will give you one tip: his daughter’s a goer.

SCENE 6

(Chamber music.  The chair is turned round.  HARDCASTLE’S house.  Enter HARDCASTLE and MAID)

HARDCASTLE.  Forks on the left, knives on the right.

MAID.  Knives on the left, forks on the right.

HARDCASTLE.  No, knives!

MAID.  No knives. Just forks?

HARDCASTLE.  Knives and forks.  All right!

MAID.  Knives and forks.  All on the right.

HARDCASTLE.  Aaargh!  And when you’re waiting, stand like this.

MAID.  Like this?

HARDCASTLE.  No, not like that.  Like this.

MAID.  Like this?

HARDCASTLE.  No, not like this.  Like that.

MAID.  Like that?

HARDCASTLE.  Aaargh!  And when they’re with you, don’t stare.

MAID.  Don’t stare.

HARDCASTLE.  No.

MAID.  Like this?

HARDCASTLE.  No, not like that.  Like this.

MAID.  Like this?

HARDCASTLE.  Aaargh!  And when they’re eating, no drooling.

MAID.  No drooling.  Like this? (Indicates from nose)

HARDCASTLE.  No, no not like that.  Like this. (From mouth)

MAID.  Oh, drooling!  I do that.

HARDCASTLE.  Yes I know.

MAID.  When I’m hungry.

HARDCASTLE.  Then don’t.

MAID.  Don’t be hungry?

HARDCASTLE.  Don’t show it.  Good grief, girl, did you never go to school?
…No you didn’t. Don’t slump, don’t stare, and above all don’t drool.

MAID.  Like this.

HARDCASTLE.  No, not like that, like this.  And don’t laugh.  When I tell my best stories
Like Prince Eugene at the battle of Belgrade –

MAID.  Oh, that’s a good ‘un.  I does always laugh at that one, I’m afraid.

HARDCASTLE.  Yes, it is rather good.  Well, you can laugh at that one.  But quiet as a mouse,
Especially when I am speaking.  Although they are important guests, they are in my house. 

(Enter MARLOW)

SCENE 7

MARLOW (to HARDCASTLE).  Ah.  My good man, will you take our bags up for us?  To the largest room.

HARDCASTLE.  What?

MARLOW.  (Aside) Oh yes, he’s deaf.  Bags.  Upstairs.  Largest…room!  My name is Marlow.

(MAID remembers and adopts wrong posture)

HARDCASTLE.  Did you knock?

MARLOW.  No.  (Arranging hair in imaginary mirror)  Nice place you’ve got here. 
Comfortable. Though the floor could do with a broom.
Now, lodgings.  Mind you don’t give me some rank old garret where the chamberpot stinks.
Where’s your bill of fare?  I shall make devilish work tonight in the larder, methinks.
Could you see to my boots?  Chop chop, I may need them tonight.  Though this chair
Looks comfortable enough to settle in.  Come along now, good fellow, don’t stare.

MAID (automatically) Don’t stare don’t slump don’t drool.

MARLOW.  Quite.  Does he usually drool?  Pull off my boots, man, will you? 

HARDCASTLE.  What?

MARLOW.  Boots.  Pull them off.  Dear oh dear, he’s worse than they said.

HARDCASTLE.  What? (MAID pulls off MARLOW’s boots and goes back to stand in wrong posture. MARLOW massages his stockinged feet. HARDCASTLE recoils from the smell. )

MARLOW.  Enough of ‘what’, good fellow.  Branch out.  Try ‘Why’ or ‘Wherefore’ instead.

HARDCASTLE.  What the…

MARLOW.  Aha, an article.  ‘What the.’  Well, it’s progress.  We’ll have you on nouns soon.

HARDCASTLE.  What the devil –

MARLOW. – are the servants up to?  (Sees MAID)  Why is she standing like that?  Drooling like a loon.

(To MAID)  Ho, girl, see my boots are looked after, please.  Cherish them, and I shall cherish you.

(MAID falls in love with him.)

MAID.  (to herself)  Don’t slump, don’t stare, don’t drool.

MARLOW.  Sound advice, my dear.  Pity they never gave it to the Royal Family.  Off you go.

(Exit MAID, sniffing his boots in rapture. )

SCENE 8

HARDCASTLE.  I’ll have you know, Sir, there are ladies in the house. 

MARLOW.  Ladies?  Oh the devil.  I can’t talk to ladies.  I get all tongue-tied.

HARDCASTLE.  Fortunately, sir, for your reputation, the ladies are outside.

MARLOW.  Ladies.   Oh damme, I’m blushing.  I can’t look at ladies. Bring me your bill of fare.

HARDCASTLE.  Bill of fare?

MARLOW.  Yes, the servants should have drawn one up.  If they can write, that is.  Maid!

(Enter MAID) 

SCENE 9

Could I see the bill of fare, please.  

(MAID strikes wrong posture and goes)

SCENE 10

HARDCASTLE.  What –

MARLOW.  Oh no, not again. 

HARDCASTLE.  How –

MARLOW.  Aha, an adverb.

HARDCASTLE.  How dare you –

MARLOW.  Take my advice, sir, and avoid rhetoric.  To be effective it needs to be done well.
Practise it by all means on your peers – the postman and the poultryman – and time will tell
Whether you have a talent for it.  In the meantime, keep to selling ale.  What!  Ho!  Maid, there!

SCENE 11

(Enter MAID with document.)  Ah, thank you my love.  At last, the bill of fare.  (MAID strikes pose)

And what do they call you, my dear?

MAID.  Pol.

MARLOW.  Poxy Pol, eh? 

MAID.  No sir.  I ain’t that kind of girl.

MARLOW.  Good for you.  Quite right too.  And do they treat you well in this establishment?

MAID.  Him shouts at me a lot.

MARLOW.  Well, if he does, tell me and I’ll shout at him.   There, there.  (Exit MAID) 

SCENE 12

Now, la carte.

HARDCASTLE.  I drew it up myself.

MARLOW.  So I should hope.  For the first course, a pig and prune sauce.
Damn your pig, say I.
And damn your prune sauce, damnedly.

HARDCASTLE.  That pig was fattened for your visit, sir.   That pig was one of the family!

MARLOW.  Indeed.  A twin brother, no doubt.  Item: calves’ tongue with brains.
Good sir, let your brains be knock’d out. I can’t abide them.

But clap your tongue on a plate for me, sir, And you’ve sold it. Here’s to your tongue: long may you hold it.  Item: a pork pie, a bream, a boiled rabbit, A shaking pudding and a dish of taffety cream.  Good lord, sir, Shall we be at dinner till two? Your fare looks exquisite, a couple of dishes will do.  
Now, my dress. I think I’ll change again.

HARDCASTLE.   What an excellent idea.  Please, use no ceremony, this is Liberty-Hall.

MARLOW (musing)  The blue waistcoat, or the white and gold?  To open the campaign.

HARDCASTLE.  As you wish, sir.  Should you need a servant, you have only to call.

MARLOW.  But if the campaign opens too fiercely at first, we may want ammunition Before it finishes.  I shall reserve the embroidery in case of a retreat.

HARDCASTLE. Your talking of a retreat, sir, puts me in mind of the Duke of Marlborough, When we went to besiege Denain. He first summoned the garrison—-

MARLOW. Or perhaps the brown waistcoat…less effete.  Mustn’t overpower the locals.

HARDCASTLE. He first summoned the garrison, of some five thousand men—-

MARLOW.  But no, again: brown and yellow mix but very poorly.

HARDCASTLE.  As I was telling you, he summoned the garrison,

which might consist of about five thousand men—-

MARLOW. (Still musing) The girls are what matter, surely.  And the girls like finery.

HARDCASTLE. Which might consist of about five thousand men, well appointed with stores, ammunition, and other implements of war. Now, says the Duke of Marlborough to George Brooks, that stood next to him–you must have heard of George Brooks–I’ll pawn my dukedom, says he, but I take that garrison without spilling a drop of blood. So—-

MARLOW. What, my good friend, if you exchanged history for winery And gave us a glass of punch in the meantime, hmm? We could then Lay siege with vigour.

HARDCASTLE. Punch, sir! (Aside.) They said this fellow was modest, would you believe. Asking for punch without so much as a by your leave!  You’re asking for a punch, sir.

MARLOW. Yes, sir, punch. Warm punch, after our journey.  Make it a jigger.

HARDCASTLE. Here’s a cup, sir.  I hope you’ll find it to your mind. 
I have prepared it with my own hands, and it should be tolerable.
Here’s to our better acquaintance. [Drinks.]

MARLOW. (Aside.) A very impudent fellow this! but he’s a character, of sorts,
And I’ll humour him a little.  Sir, my service to you.  [Drinks.]
Hmm. From the excellence of your cup, my old friend, you must have
A good deal of business in this part of the country. Warm work,
Now and then, at elections, and suchlike, I suppose?

HARDCASTLE. No, sir, I have long given that up.  I don’t give two figs For politics.  I’m old, sir: we care little for preening Tories, and less for powdering Whigs.  

 MARLOW. (After drinking.) Hmm. Well, you have an argument in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in Westminster-hall.

HARDCASTLE. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a little philosophy withal.

MARLOW. (Aside.) Well, this is the first time I heard of an innkeeper’s philosophy. So: so much for supper. And now to see that our beds are aired, and

that all the accoutrements of our toilet are properly prepared. 

HARDCASTLE. I entreat you’ll leave that to me. You shall not stir a muscle, sir.

MARLOW.  Stirring a muscle, sir, is what I intend to do.  They tell me
The daughter of the house is like a paper trail: easily laid.   Hmm?  What say you, sir? 

HARDCASTLE.   Daughter, sir?  What can you mean?  She is a virtuous maid.

MARLOW:  Hah!  Virtue and maids, sir, make infrequent bedfellows.
I have it on good authority, from one who by all accounts knoweth,

That the daughter of the house most undeniably and enthusiastically goeth.

HARDCASTLE.  Goeth, sir?  Where?

MARLOW.  Whither, I think you might find, is the term approved by attorney. Whither she goeth sir, no-one knoweth sir, but reportedly she enjoyeth the journey.

HARDCASTLE.  Your meaning, sir, is less than clear, but clearly shady.  I’ll have your room prepared.

MARLOW.  I’d rather do it myself, if you don’t mind.  Now run along And iron the newspaper for my perusal, will you?  (Exit HARDCASTLE)  Aaargh, a lady!  

SCENE 13

(Enter KATE in elegant dress)

KATE. (Aside.) Ah, a gentleman, with a demure face, and modest indeed in his display. (After a pause, in which he appears very uneasy and disconcerted.) I’m glad of your safe arrival, sir.
I’m told you had some accidents by the way.

MARLOW. (looking down) Only a f-f–few, madam. Yes, we had some. Yes, madam, a good many. Accidents, that is.  But I f-f-fear we should be sorry – madam- or rather glad of any – Accidents, that is – that are so agreeably f-f-f -concluded, I say.  Very f- f-fortunate.  Yes. Alas I f-f-fear I must leave you.  My dress is in disorder, I must adjust my dress.  

Till tomorrow?  Yes, tomorrow I shall be – better. Tomorrow, somewhere else It will be every bit as convenient – Tomorrow I shall, um, write you a letter.

KATE. I’m afraid you’re too kind, sir. You that have seen so much of the finest company in town, Can find little entertainment in this poor shire, this County Tumbledown.

MARLOW. (Gathering courage, but still without looking at her) I have lived, indeed, in the world, madam; but I have kept very little company, if truth be told.. I have seen life, madam,  As it were, full in the cup, but merely observed it while others, erm, rushed to sup.

KATE.  And lapped it up?

MARLOW (amused)  Ha ha!  A line well cast. 

KATE.  But he that laughs longest is the one that laughs last.  An observer, like you,  Upon life were, I fear, disagreeably employed, since you must have had More to see that it is to be disapproved of than is to be admired and enjoyed.

MARLOW. Pardon me, madam. I was always willing to be amused.  But the skin of the sensitive, madam, is, alas, too easily bruised.

KATE. (after a pause). Surely you have not been wholly an observer, I presume, sir: The ladies, I should hope, have employed some part of your address?

MARLOW. (Relapsing into timidity.) Ah.  Ladies.  Yes indeed, ladies,  Pardon me, madam, I am not worthy to approach the hem of a lady’s dress.

KATE. And that, some say, is the very worst way to obtain them.

MARLOW. Perhaps, madam,to obtain the less clever. But I love to converse only with the more Grave and sensible part of the sex. Small talk, I fear, is beyond my endeavour.

KATE.  Indeed, sir, there is nothing I like so much as grave conversation myself; In the grave you hear for ever. I have often been surprised how a man of feeling Could admire those idle words, where nothing is said that warrants revealing.

MARLOW. My sentiment, madam, but infinitely better expressed. And I can’t help but observe…. a….

KATE. (Aside.) Who could ever suppose this fellow could be rude or spiteful?

His modesty and bashfulness are quite delightful  What spirit!  What verve!  (To him.)  Your meaning is quite clear.  I understand you perfectly, sir.

MARLOW. (Aside.) Egad! and that’s more than I do myself. I tire you, madam.

KATE. No sir, not in the least; there’s something so agreeable and spirited in your manner, such life and force—pray go on.

MARLOW. Yes, madam. I was saying—-that there are some occasions,  When one would greatly like to have been witty and to have shone But when a total want of courage, madam, pours w-w-w-w on the f-f-f-f –

KATE.  Water on the fire?  I apprehend you well.  A momentary lapse of courage Betrays us when we most want to excel.

MARLOW. Yes, madam. Exactly.  Exactly!  But you have someone awaiting you in the next room. I would not intrude, madam, please.

KATE.  My mother, sir.  You must meet her.   I greatly enjoyed our conversation, sir, and  hope we may speak further.    (Exit KATE)

SCENE 14

MARLOW. (Aside.) This dialogue has done for me.   I could barely look at the lady.  She must be staying at the inn.  I’m all of a pother.  Damme, I never even asked the woman’s name.  And now I’m done for. There’s no escape, I must meet her mother.  (Grimaces courteously to beckoner offstage.  Exit towards her)

SCENE 15

(Enter HARDCASTLE, alone)

HARDCASTLE. What could my old friend Sir Charles ever have been thinking When he sent me this upstart as a modest youth? ‘Poultryman and postman’, forsooth.  (Calls). Polly!  To me he appears the most impudent piece of brass that ever spoke with a tongue.  (Calls again). Polly! His manners are dreadful, his servants are drunken, songs about landlords have been sung, Their master has taken possession of my best chair, my old chair by the fire, the chair that is mine, And has called for the cellar list – of only my best wine!  

(Enter MAID, still worshipping boot.). Polly, fetch me the cellar list.

MAID.  What?  (Puts down boot)

HARDCASTLE.   List.

(MAID leans to one side)

HARDCASTLE.  No, not that sort of list.  List!

(MAID cups hand to ear)

HARDCASTLE.   No, not that sort of list.  List!  Cellar list!

MAID.  But there’s only one.

HARDCASTLE.  What?

MAID.  Cellar.  There’s only one.  Why do you need a list?

HARDCASTLE.   Cellar list, you stupid girl.  Wine!

MAID.  (Whines)  Waaah!  

HARDCASTLE.   No, not that sort of whine.  Wine!  Cellar!

MAID.  Wine seller?  Wine merchant?  Where?

HARDCASTLE.  Aaargh!  List – of wines – in the cellar.  Go and ask cook for it.  (MAID goes to exit.  HARDCASTLE notices boot).   Aargh!  (Kicks boot).  And take this blasted boot!  Oh, my gout.  (Exit MAID with boot). Modest youth.  Modest youth.

Modest?  By God, that’s what I’ll give him. 

I’ll chop him up so modestly they’ll have to damn well sieve him!  (Exit HARDCASTLE)

SCENE 16

(Enter MARLOW and Mrs HARDCASTLE in a grotesque coiffure)

Mrs HARDCASTLE.   Well!  I vow, sir, you are very entertaining. There’s nothing in the world I love so much as talk, but Mercy, there’s never anyone to talk at.  To be a prattler And talk of London, sir, and fashion!  Town and gown,  London!  I love London, Though I was never there.  Pray, sir, how do you like this head?  I dressed it myself From a print in last year’s Tatler.  (Actually it was the year before).   I do declare, Since inoculation began, there is no such tedious monster allowed As a plain woman; so one must dress a little particular, or one may be lost in the crowd.   Of course it is of little avail to dress a la mode when I have such a piece of antiquity by my side As my husband, sir, that old commode.  You can’t argue down a button from his clothes. And I have tried, Sir, with passion. Pray, sir, what do you take to be the most fashionable age about town?  Forty or fifty?

Some time ago forty was all the rage; but I’m told the ladies intend to bring up fifty for the season,

Is that so? Alas, I shall be too young for the fashion.
My stepdaughter, however, will not.  You have met her, I see.
Yet she thinks herself a woman, and is as fond, sir, of jewels, as I sir.  Yes, I Sir.  Me.

Getting hold of the jewels as I am keeping safely for her until she comes of age
Is her only thought, and if she had them she’d be off, like her stepbrother, my son. Lor, how they sport!

They fall in and out ten times a day, the chitterlings, as if they were man and wife.
But he too just wants his fortune.  After all I have gone through: the tears and the dosing:
I’ve dosed him with this, I’ve dosed with that.  And what does he say?  ‘Stop dosing me’,

He cries, ‘I don’t want to be dosed.  Give me my freedom, I want to be free!’

Ah!  The ingratitude of youth.  I am undone.  The viper.  Poor, poor, poor, poor me!  (Exit DOROTHY, weeping)

SCENE 17

(Enter HARDCASTLE)

HARDCASTLE.  I vow, sir, this conduct of yours is passing strange.

MARLOW.  How’s that, my man?  I say, if I gave you ten guineas, would you have change?
The maid says her daughter is five tomorrow, and would love a pinny. 

HARDCASTLE.  The maid’s daughter?

MARLOW.  Yes, Pol’s daughter Minnie.  For Minnie, a pinny.  One guinea.

HARDCASTLE.  What?  I don’t know, sir, I really don’t know, I’ll have to see.  This is all damn’d odd.
If it weren’t for my old friend, I’d throw you out first thing tomorrow, by God.

MARLOW (who has not been listening).  Good man!  You can advance me the full amount

Or just give me a couple of guineas, and put them on my account. (Exit MARLOW)

SCENE 18

(Enter KATE, plainly dressed.)

HARDCASTLE.  On his account!  Well, my Kate, I see you have changed your dress, but not your dimple.

KATE.  I chose to obey you, sir, and put on something you would understand: something simple.

HARDCASTLE.  Touché.  I grant I was not clever in sending you our ‘modest’ visitor.

KATE.  You taught me to expect something exquisite.  The original was even exquisiter.

HARDCASTLE. I was never so surprised in my life! He has quite confounded me.

KATE. I never saw anything like him, papa, he is astounding, he has astounded me.

HARDCASTLE.  I’m not surprised.  What cheek he has!  What insults from that haughty  face!

KATE. That timid look!  That awkward bow, that downturned glance: such deference, such grace!

HARDCASTLE.   What?  Timid?

KATE.  What?  Haughty?

HARDCASTLE. Whose look? Whose manner, child?

KATE. Mr. Marlow’s: his bashfulness, his mild and honourable nature, struck me at the first.

HARDCASTLE. Then your first sight deceived you; for he is the most brazen knave I’ve ever cursed.

KATE. Sure, sir, you’re mistaken! I never saw any one so modest and demure.

HARDCASTLE. And can you be serious? I never saw such an arrogant, condescending, cocksure –

KATE. Arrogant!  He met me with a respectful bow, a stammering  voice, and a look fixed on the ground.

HARDCASTLE. Stammering!  He met me with a lordly air, and a familiarity that made my blood pound.

KATE. He treated me with diffidence and respect; censured

the manners of the age; admired the prudence of girls that never laughed; tired me with apologies for being tiresome; then left the room with a bow, and “Madam, I would not for the world detain you.”

HARDCASTLE. He spoke to me as if he knew me all his life before; asked twenty questions, and never waited for an answer; said the floor needed a broom; and interrupted my remarks with some silly pun. When I was in my best story of the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, he stopped me to enquire if I had not a good hand at making punch. Yes, Kate, I ask you!  

If I was a maker of punch!  I could have given him a fine punch.

KATE. One of us must certainly be mistaken.

HARDCASTLE. If he be what he has shown himself, my antipathy to him remains unshaken.

KATE. And if he be the sullen thing I take him, he shall not bring home my bacon.

HARDCASTLE. In one thing then we are agreed–to reject him.

(Pause.)

KATE.  But father, couldn’t we both have one more opportunity to inspect him?

Tonight is your ball in his honour!  Your invitation dance! 

HARDCASTLE.   Hrmph!  Very well.  We’ll give the scoundrel, the blackguard, one more chance.   

But if he asks me to take his boots off, or lend him a guinea or two,

I swear to you Kate, I shall take my regimental sabre, and run the bastard through!

(Exit HARDCASTLE followed by KATE. )

SCENE 19

(Enter TONY)  

TONY.  Good to see the plot is ticking over.  Now it’s surely time
To get Kate off my back. Mama wants us to marry, but I can’t stand her, see.

What’s more, I know that the feeling is mutual.  She can’t stand me.

The answer is this Marlow fellow.  She must elope with him.  She wants her jewels;

Mama has locked them in a casket, but I have acquired a key.  If I steal the jewels

And leave them on Marlow’s bed, perhaps he and she will take them and flee.
Tee hee!   I have the jewels.  Here comes Mama, let us set the wheels in motion.

SCENE 20

(Enter DOROTHY)

TONY.  Good day, mother.  Pray be assured of my devotion.  Have you seen your jewels?

DOROTHY.  They’re in my casket.  Safe from prying eyes and greedy fools.  And safe from Kate.

TONY.  Yes, she does seem to have been hankering for them of late.

DOROTHY.  Hankering, indeed!  She’s only Hardcastle’s daughter.  Well, she’ll have to wait.

TONY.  Be careful, mother, for there are highwaymen about.

DOROTHY.  Highwaymen?  What say you, highwaymen?

TONY.  Highwaymen, mother.

DOROTHY.  So one of them might steal my jewels?

TONY.  Yes.

DOROTHY:  Aha.  Then I shall say they’ve been stolen, and Kate can pester me no longer.  (Exit DOROTHY)

TONY.  A strong line to hold… but if someone really did take them, surely even stronger.  (Re-enter DOROTHY, screaming)

DOROTHY. Confusion! thieves! robbers! we are cheated, plundered, broke open, undone, double-crossed!

TONY. What’s the matter, what’s the matter, mamma? I hope nothing has happened to anyone?

DOROTHY. We are robbed. My bureau has been broken open with a knife.  The casket taken out, and I am lost.

TONY. Oh! is that all? Ha! ha! ha! By the laws, I never saw it acted better in my life.

Ecod, I thought you was ruined in earnest,  Ha! ha! ha! What fun!

DOROTHY. Why, boy, I AM ruined in earnest. My bureau has been broken open, and all taken away.

TONY. Stick to that: ha! ha! ha! stick to that. I’ll bear witness, you know; I know what to say.

DOROTHY. I tell you, Tony, by all that’s precious, the jewels are gone, and I shall be ruined for ever.

TONY. Sure I know they’re gone, and I’m to say so.  The jewels!  Stolen!  Well, I never.

DOROTHY. My dearest Tony, but hear me. They’re gone, I tell you.

TONY. By the laws, mamma, make me laugh, you act so well, you!

If this were Drury Lane we’d surely sell you!

DOROTHY. Was there ever such a blockhead, that can’t tell the difference between jest and earnest?  I tell you I´m not in jest, you half wit, you demijohn.

TONY. That’s right, that’s right; you must be in a bitter passion, and then nobody will suspect either of us. I’ll bear witness that they are gone.  Oh, cruel!  Cruel!  Gone, every jewel!

DOROTHY. Was there ever such a cross-grained brute, that won’t hear me? Get out of here, you dullard. (Exit TONY) Was ever poor woman so beset with fools on one hand, and thieves on the other?

TONY (Off). I can bear witness to that, mother.

DOROTHY. Bear witness again, you blockhead you, and I’ll wring your neck.
(TONY laughs, off.)
Do you laugh, you unfeeling brute?
Do you insult me, monster? I’ll teach you to vex your mother, I will.
Keep still so I can whack you.  Come here!  Keep still! (Exit DOROTHY)

SCENE 21

(Enter HARDCASTLE) 

HARDCASTLE.  Dorothy? Dorothy! Where is the woman?
This fellow is insufferable!  Dorothy, I say!
Damme, here the fellow comes.  (HARDCASTLE hides)

SCENE 22

(Enter MARLOW, then KATE in plain dress)

MARLOW. What a bawling in every part of the house! Nowhere is quiet.
If I go to the best room, there is my host and his story: if I fly to the gallery,
There is the lady with the hairdo from hell.  I need time to think. [Walks and muses.]

KATE. I am your maid, sir.  Did you call, sir? Did your honour call?

MARLOW. (Musing.) As for KATE, she’s too grave and sentimental for me.

KATE. Did your honour call? (She still places herself before him, he turning away.)

MARLOW. No, child. (Musing.) Too much black satin.  I like chintz.
Besides, from the glimpse I had of her, I think she squints.

KATE. I’m sure, sir, I heard the bell ring.

MARLOW. No, no. (Musing.) I have pleased my father, however, by coming down, and to-morrow I’ll please myself by going back to town. (Takes up the newspaper and reads.
Pause.  KATE draws to one side and sings a little while tidying)

MARLOW.  What an exquisite sound! (Looks full in her face.) Yes, child, I think I did call.
I wanted–I wanted–I vow, child, you are vastly handsome. 

KATE.  Oh la, sir, you are too kind. 

MARLOW.  Your eyes bewitch me.  They seize my heart, they freeze my every tissue.
I look upon them and am blind.  I know not where I am, but know that I must kiss you.

KATE.  I’ll be bound you did not treat KATE, that was here awhile ago,
In this obstropalous manner.  At the least, I dare say that before her you looked dashed, 

And kept bowing to the ground, and talked to her as to a justice of the peace.

MARLOW. (Aside.) Egad, she has hit it, sure enough! (To her.) In awe of her, child?

Ho! ho! ho! A mere awkward squinting thing; a gawky chit.  No no, I find you don’t know me. I laughed and rallied her a little; but that was it.
KATE. A gawky chit!  O! then, sir, you are a favourite, I find, among the ladies?

MARLOW. It seems so; but I don’t see what they find in me to follow.

At the Ladies’ Club in town I’m sought by Mrs. Mantrap, Lady Betty Blackleg,

Joan Mullhollow, Mrs. Langhorns, old Miss Biddy Buckskin…the whole troop.

KATE. Then it’s a very merry place, I suppose?

MARLOW. Yes, as merry as one can be with cards, wine, old women, and soup.
I swear, child, I would forget them all for one smile from those eyes.  One kiss from those lips… 

(KATE eludes him coquettishly and bids him leave. Exit MARLOW. HARDCASTLE comes out of hiding).

SCENE 23

HARDCASTLE. So, madam. I stand surprised.   Is THIS is your MODEST lover?
Your bashful beau?  This popinjay?  How could you deceive your father so?

KATE. Trust me, Papa: he is, by all that’s wonderful, that rare thing, a modest man.
Give me me one hour to prove it.  I can show you.  I really can.  His faults
Will pass with time, his grace will flower.  All I ask is one small hour.  Please, Papa?

HARDCASTLE. Pshaw.  Pooh.  Pah.  He should leave tonight.  Pshaw.  Pooh.  Pah.  Oh, all right.

KATE. Thank you Papa!  I knew you would.  You are a kind father, sir, and good.
(Exit KATE)
(HARDCASTLE, alone)

HARDCASTLE.  I no longer know my own house. It’s turned from topsy to turvy.
I’ve met a few knaves in my time, but never one so – (Enter MARLOW)

SCENE 24

 –   good day to you sir.
(Aside) The pup!  His servants are a complete disgrace, I’ll bear it no longer;

(They pass, making awkwardly gay bows)
It’s my house, I am the master here, we’ll see who’s stronger.

(To MARLOW)  My compliments, good sir!  (Aside.)

And yet, from my respect for his father, I’ll be calm. (To him.) Mr. Marlow, your servant. I’m your very humble servant. 
(Bowing low.)

MARLOW. Sir, your even humbler servant. (Aside.) Now what’s the alarm?
HARDCASTLE. Sir, your extremely humble servant at your service

MARLOW.  (Aside)  This fellow’s humility begins to make me nervous.
Sir, I hurl myself prostrately at your entire disposition and placement.
But pray, how long must we continue with this orgy of abasement?

HARDCASTLE.    I believe, sir, you must be sensible, sir, that no man
Alive ought to be more welcome than your father’s son, sir.
I can but hope you think so?

MARLOW.  I do from my soul, sir. I’m with you on that one, Lord knows. 
I generally make my father’s son welcome wherever he goes.

HARDCASTLE.  I believe you do, from my soul, sir. But though I say nothing to your own conduct, that of your servants causes me extreme dismay.
Their manner of drinking is leading our own servants astray.

MARLOW.  I protest, my very good sir, that is no fault of mine.
If they don’t drink as they ought, chastise them, berate them, I implore you.
I ordered them not to spare the cellar. I did, I assure you.

HARDCASTLE.  You gave them instructions for my hospitality to be abused?

MARLOW.  Quite so.  ‘Drink the place dry, lads!’ were, I believe, the words I used.
Listen, you can hear them singing. (Drunken singing OFF)  That fellow is drunk as a lord.
What more could you ask?  Unless you’d have their heels swinging,
The poor devils soused in a beer-barrel, and served as smorgasbord.

HARDCASTLE.  Zounds! he’ll drive me distracted, if I contain myself any longer. 

Mr. Marlow–Sir; I have submitted to your insolence for more
than four hours, and I see no benefit in our continuing to kowtow.  I’m now resolved to be master here, sir; and I desire that you and your drunken pack may leave my house instanter. Now.

MARLOW.  Leave your house!—-Sure you jest, my good friend! What?  When I’m doing what I can to please you more.  Sir, you banter.

HARDCASTLE.  I tell you, sir, you don’t please me; so I desire you’ll leave my house now, by that door.

MARLOW. Sure you cannot be serious? At this time o’ night, and such a night? Are you sure?

HARDCASTLE. I tell you, sir, I’m serious! and now that my passions are roused, you will hear the lion roar: this house is mine, sir, it is where I alone am housed,
And I command you to leave, now, forthwith, posthaste, this very night, by that door.

MARLOW. Ha! ha! ha! A puddle in a storm. I shan’t stir an inch, that’s what I say. (In a serious tone.)

This your house, fellow! You are but a proud starling, a chirping finch.

It’s my house, while I’m in it. This is my house. Mine, while I choose to stay. What right
have you to bid me leave this house, sir? Leave by that door?  I never met with such impudence, curse me; never
In my life before.

HARDCASTLE. Nor I, confound me if ever I did.  Gadzooks! Comes to my house,

Calls for what he likes, turns me out of my own chair, insults the
family, orders his servants to get drunk, gooses the cooks, and then tells me, “This house is mine, sir.” By all that’s impudent, it makes me laugh. Ha! ha! ha! Pray, sir (bantering), as you take the house, what think you of taking the rest of the furniture? There’s a pair of silver
candlesticks, and there’s a fire-screen, and here’s a pair of
brazen-nosed bellows; perhaps you may take a fancy to them?

MARLOW. Bring me your bill, sir; bring me your bill, and let’s make no more words about it.

HARDCASTLE. There are a set of prints, too. What think you of the Rake’s Progress, for your own apartment?

MARLOW. Bring me your bill, I say; and I’ll leave you and your infernal house directly.\\

HARDCASTLE. Then there’s a mahogany table that you may see your own face in.

MARLOW. My bill, I say.

HARDCASTLE. I had forgot the great chair for your own particular slumbers, after a hearty meal.\

MARLOW. Zounds! bring me my bill, I say, and let’s hear no more on’t.

HARDCASTLE. Young man, young man, from your father’s letter to me, I was taught to expect a well-bred modest man as a visitor here, but now I find him no better than a coxcomb and a bully; but he will be down here presently, and shall hear my complaint.  Fully. [Exit.]

SCENE 25

(Enter KATE in plain dress)

MARLOW. (Doubletake)  What did he say? My father’s letter? Child, a word with you.

KATE.   Sir, I am called for.  (Aside.) I believe he suspects.  But it’s too early for the full revelation.  

MARLOW.  Pray, child, answer me one question. What are you?  What is your business in this house?

KATE.  A relation of the family, sir.

MARLOW.  What, a poor relation?

KATE.  Yes, sir. A poor relation, a mere country mouse, appointed to keep the keys, and pour the guests their gin

MARLOW.  That is, you act as the bar-maid of this inn.

KATE.   Inn! O law—-what brought that in your head?
One of the best families in the country

Keep an inn…   Ha! ha! ha! old Mr. Hardcastle’s house an inn!

MARLOW. Mr. Hardcastle’s house! Is this Mr. Hardcastle’s house, child?

KATE. Ay, sure! Whose else should it be?

MARLOW. So then, all’s out, and I have been damnably reviled. O,
Good heavens, what a sausage, what a baloney. I have been made a complete clown.

Confound my thick head, I shall be laughed at over the whole town.

I shall be posted in the windows. The DULLISSIMO MACCARONI. 

To mistake this house of all others for an inn, and my
Father’s old friend for an innkeeper! What a swaggering puppy must he
Take me for! After all the introductions my Papa made. There again, may I
be hanged, my dear, but I mistook you for the bar-maid.

KATE. Dear me! dear me! I’m sure there’s nothing in my manner to suggest it.

MARLOW. Nothing, my dear, nothing.  I merely misguessed it.  I was high on a tide of
Blunders, you see, and could not help sweeping you along.  My stupidity took everything
That was right, and upended it on wrong. Your modesty I mistook

For allurement, and your grace for disgrace.  I most earnestly beg your pardon, madam.

In this house, I swear, I shall by God’s will, nevermore show my face.

KATE. I hope, sir, I have done nothing to disoblige you, I do indeed.

I should be sorry to hurt a gentleman who paid me such tender heed 

And was so polite, and said such kindnesses.  I should be sad 

to see
That people blamed me for his leaving (pretending to cry) and thought bad of me.

MARLOW. (Aside.) By Heaven! she weeps. This is the first mark of tenderness I ever had from a modest woman, 

and it touches me. (To her.) Excuse me, lovely girl; you are the only part of the family I shall be sad to leave.
But to be plain with you, the difference of our birth, fortune, and education

Would cast a slight upon your honour; though I might grieve, I am too dutiful

To think of basely seducing one whose only fault was being beautiful.

KATE. (Aside.) Generous man! I now begin to admire him. 
(To him.) But I am sure my family is as good as Kate’s, although I’m poor.

I have never sighed for money, but would give you all I have, and more.

MARLOW. (Aside.) This simplicity bewitches me.  I must away. Farewell, my dear.
Were it for me, and not the authority of a loving father I must honour and obey,

My place were here, my fortune by your side: alas, it may not be.  Remember me!   (Exit MARLOW)

SCENE 26

KATE.  Remember me!  Remember me!  A ghost of my affections shall he never be.

Delightful man.  I never knew half his merit till now.
He shall not go, if I can move somehow

To undeceive Papa.  I shall preserve the guise in which I STOOPED TO CONQUER

But see if I can stop him going far. [Exit.]

SCENE 27

(Enter HARDCASTLE. Writes.)

‘Dear Charles,

I hope this catches you before you depart.  I would like to compliment you, Charles,

On your son, but the reality has proved so deucedly odd
That I don’t know where to start.  He marched in, served himself gin,
Treated me ill, ordered lunch and asked if I made punch!

Me, J Hardcastle, of Hardcastle’s Brewery.  What monster of insolence, Charles, did you foster, or is this creature maybe some vile imposter?

Answer me soonest, please, or come and untangle him
Before the fellow goes too far, and I strangle him!’

SCENE 28

(Enter KATE in plain dress. Writes.)

‘Dear Sir,

We met in the withdrawing-room: I did not ask your name.

Withdrawing room was what you seemed to seek.  It looked like shame.

But you, sir, have nothing of which to feel shame
If greatness is the fire, you are its flame.

I was left with dumb desire, and then the certainty 

Afterwards, when all the pleasantries were done,

That there are some moments that can change you for eternity:

And this was one.’   (Exit Kate)

SCENE 29

(Enter TONY then DOROTHY)

TONY.  Mama!  Mama!  Come quick!  Appalling news.

This Marlow is not Marlow, he is a renegade, a Chinaman:

Mama, he’s got your jewels: he is a highwayman! 

DOROTHY.  A highwayman!  A highwayman!  I quake!  I quiver!

TONY.  (Hiding) A highwayman!  Throw down your purses!  Stand and deliver! 

DOROTHY. (Rushing about)  Tony!   The game is up!  Murder, robbery, kidnap, rape!  Raped, murdered, and raped again!

We are murdered, kidnapped, robbered!

TONY (Off)  Robbed, mother!

DOROTHY: We must escape! The thieves are moving in, Lord knows if we’ll survive! 

Go fetch the stagecoach, Tony, we must drive to save our skin: drive, man, drive!

(Exit DOROTHY)

SCENE 30

(Enter HARDCASTLE then MARLOW)

MARLOW. I come, sir, once more, to ask pardon for my strange conduct. 
I can scarce reflect on my insolence without confusion. I have been a green calf.

HARDCASTLE. Tut, boy, a trifle! You take it too gravely. You are among men. An hour or two with my daughter
will set it all to rights again. She’ll never like you the worse for it, and you can always use it to make her laugh.

MARLOW. Sir, I shall be always proud of her approbation.

HARDCASTLE. Approbation is but a cold word, Mr. Marlow; if I am not deceived, you have something more than approbation thereabouts. You take me?

MARLOW. Really, sir, I have not that happiness.

HARDCASTLE. Come, boy, I’m an old fellow, and know what’s what as well as you that are younger. I know what’s passed between you.

MARLOW. Sure, sir, nothing has passed between us.

HARDCASTLE. But she has told no tales, I assure you.

MARLOW. I never gave her the slightest cause.

HARDCASTLE. Well, well, I like modesty in its place well enough. But this is over-acting, young gentleman. You may be open. 

MARLOW. But why won’t you hear me? By all that’s just and true, I never gave Kate the slightest mark of my attachment, or even the most distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but one interview, and that was formal, modest, and uninteresting.

HARDCASTLE. (Aside.) This fellow’s formal modest impudence is beyond bearing.

MARLOW. As Heaven is my witness, I met the lady
without emotion, and parted without reluctance. I hope, sir,  you’ll exact no farther proof of my duty, nor prevent me leaving after so many mortiifcations under one roof.

(Exit MARLOW.)

SCENE 31

HARDCASTLE. Kate, come hither, child.  (Enter KATE)  Answer sincerely and without reserve:

Has Mr. Marlow made you any professions of love and affection?

KATE. The question is very abrupt, sir. But since you require unreserved sincerity, I think he has.

HARDCASTLE.  And pray, madam, have you and he had more than one interview?

KATE. Yes, sir, several.

HARDCASTLE.  But did he profess any attachment?

KATE. A lasting one.

HARDCASTLE.   Did he talk of love?

KATE. Much, sir.

HARDCASTLE.  Amazing! And all this formally?

KATE. Formally.

HARDCASTLE.  And how did he behave?

KATE. As most profest admirers do: normally.  Said some civil things of my face, talked much 

Of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine; his dreams of my capture; mentioned his heart,

Gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with protestations of rapture.

HARDCASTLE.  Extraordinary.  Yet now he protests the reverse.
That he should protest, or protest he never protested: I know not which is worse.  (Exit HARDCASTLE)

SCENE 32

(Enter TONY, booted and spattered. To KATE)

TONY. This riding at night, by the bye, is cursedly tiresome, and a bore.
It has shook me as much as the basket of a stage-coach.
No, more.  Five and twenty miles in two hours and a half
is no such bad driving. 

KATE:  But why, Tony?  Where have you been?

TONY.  Wearing out the horses, and Mama, so you can get away.

KATE.  Away?  Why?

TONY.  To a parson with yon Marlow fellow.  I know what it is you hope.
To get your jewels, and get away.  I left them with Marlow for you
The coast is clear; Mama is frightened sick; you can elope.
I’ll be glad to see the back of you, frankly. Lord knows why he likes you, the poor dope.

KATE.  The casket?  But I understand he gave it back!

TONY (not listening) The poor beasts have smoked for it: what a pack.
Rabbit me, but I’d rather ride forty miles after a fox than ten on such a hack.

KATE.  But where did you go?

TONY.  What’s that goes round the house, and round
the house, and never touches the house?  The garden path!  By jingo, I have led them astray.

Up the garden path, round and round the house.  Now’s the time, I say:  you can elope with all speed!

KATE.  And if there were no need?  Oh, what’s the use.  (Exit KATE)

SCENE 33

TONY (laughing) I first took them down Feather-bed Lane, where we stuck fast in the mud. I then rattled them crack over the stones of Up-and-down Hill. Next I introduced them to the gibbet on Heavy-tree Heath; and from that, with a circumbendibus, I fairly lodged them in the horse-pond

at the bottom of the garden. Mother is confoundedly frightened.  She thinks herself forty miles off. She’s sick of the journey;  and the horses can scarce crawl. So if Marlow’s cases are ready, you may elope withal.  

SCENE 34

(A shriek. Enter DOROTHY.)
DOROTHY. Oh, Tony, I’m killed! Shook! I am without breath.
I shall never survive. That last jolt did it.  Battered to death.
TONY. Alack, mamma, it was all your own fault, I say. You would be for running away by night, without knowing one inch of the way.

DOROTHY. I wish we were at home again. I never met so many accidents in so short a journey. Drenched in the mud, overturned in a ditch, pitched and tossed, jolted to a jelly, and now lost. Where are we, Tony?

TONY. By my guess we should be on Crackskull Common, where the footpads roam,
About thirty – no maybe forty, yes, forty’s more like it – forty miles from home.
Yes, Crackskull Common, that’s where we have strayed.

DOROTHY. O lud! O lud! Crackskull Common.  The most notorious spot in all the country. 

We only want a robbery to make a complete night on’t.  We are already slayed!

TONY. Slain, Mama, slain.  Don’t be afraid.  We can walk another mile.  Two of the five that kept here are hanged, and the other three may not find us, for a while. Don’t be afraid. –Is that a man that’s galloping behind us? No; it’s only a tree.–Don’t be afraid.

DOROTHY. The fright will certainly kill me.

TONY. Do you see anything like a black hat moving behind the thicket?

DOROTHY. Oh, death!

TONY. No; it’s only a cow. Don’t be afraid, mamma; don’t he afraid. 

DOROTHY. As I’m alive, Tony, I see a man
coming towards us.  Ah! I’m sure on’t. If he perceives us, 

we are undid.

TONY.  Undone, mother, undone. (Aside) My stepfather,
by all that’s unlucky.  (To her.) Ah, it’s a highwayman with pistols as long as my arm. A damned ill-looking fellow.

DOROTHY. Good Heaven defend us! He approaches.

TONY. Do you hide yourself in that thicket, and leave me to manage him. If there be any danger, I’ll cough, and cry hem. When I cough, be sure to keep close. (DOROTHY hides)

Scene 35

Enter HARDCASTLE.

HARDCASTLE. I’m mistaken, or I heard voices of people in want of help.
Oh, Tony! is that you? I did not expect you back so soon.
How is your mother?  Is she safe and sound?

TONY. Very safe, sir.  Sound, she’s never been.

DOROTHY. (From behind.) Ah, death! I find there’s danger.

HARDCASTLE. Forty miles in three hours; sure that’s too much, my boy.

TONY. Stout horses and willing minds make short journeys, as they say.  Hem.

DOROTHY. (From behind.) Sure he’ll do the dear boy no harm.

HARDCASTLE. But I heard a voice here; I should be glad to know from whence it came.

TONY. It was I, sir, talking to myself, sir. I was saying that forty miles in four hours was very good going. Hem.
As to be sure it was.  Hem. I have got a sort of cold by being out in the air. We’ll go in, if you please. Hem.

HARDCASTLE.  Why?

TONY.  Why, sir?  Because.

HARDCASTLE. But if you talked to yourself you did not answer yourself. I’m certain I heard two voices, and am resolved (raising his voice) to find the other out.

DOROTHY. (From behind.) Oh! he’s coming to find me out. Oh!

TONY. I’ll tell you all, sir. [Detaining him.]

HARDCASTLE. I tell you I will not be detained. I insist on seeing. 
It’s in vain to expect I’ll believe you.

DOROTHY. (Running forward from behind.) O lud! he’ll murder my poor boy, my darling! Here, good gentleman, whet your rage upon me. 
Take my money, my life, but spare that young gentleman; spare my child, if you have any mercy.

HARDCASTLE. My wife, as I’m a Christian. From whence can she come? or what does she mean?

DOROTHY. (Kneeling.) Take compassion on us, good Mr. Highwayman. Take our money, our watches, all we have, 

but spare our lives.  We will never bring you to justice; indeed we won’t, good Mr. Highwayman.

HARDCASTLE. I believe the woman’s out of her senses. What, Dorothy, don’t you know ME?

DOROTHY. Mr. Hardcastle, as I’m alive! My fears blinded me. 
But who, my dear, could have expected to meet you here, in this frightful place, so far from home? What has brought you to follow us?

HARDCASTLE. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost your wits? So far from home, when you are within forty yards of your own door! (To him.) 
This is one of your old tricks, you graceless rogue, you. (Exit TONY) 
Don’t you know the gate, and the mulberry-tree; and don’t you remember the horse-pond, my dear?

DOROTHY. Yes, I shall remember the horse-pond as long as Iive; I have caught my death in it. And it is to Tony,
that graceless varlet, I owe all this? 

I’ll teach him to abuse his mother, I will.  I’ll beat him scarlet!

Spoiled him, have I?  Give me a good plank of wood, and I’ll spoil him well and good!
Tony, where are you?  Tony, come here!  I’ll teach you, I will. (Exit)  Tony!  Stand still!

HARDCASTLE.  Ah me.  Old fools, young knaves. What a fuss. 
Young knaves, old fools: it was ever thus. [Exit HARDCASTLE]

SCENE 36
(Enter MARLOW, practising a speech)

MARLOW. Madam.  Though prepared for setting out, I come to take my leave; nor did I, till this moment, know the pain

I feel in the separation.  It makes me grieve; it must not be, madam. I have already trifled too long with my heart. 
My very pride begins to submit to my adoration. The disparity of education and fortune, the anger of a parent, and the contempt of my equals, are as nought: we must not part. Nothing can restore me to myself but this painful effort of determination. You have no fortune, madam!

Heavens!  Fortune was ever my smallest consideration.
Your beauty at first caught my eye; for who could see that
And not feel admiration? But every moment that I converse with you steals in some new grace, heightens the picture, and gives it stronger colouration. What at first seemed rustic plainness, now appears refined simplicity. What seemed forward assurance, now strikes me as the result of courageous innocence and unworthy deprivation. 

I am unmanned.  But I am now determined to stay, madam; when my father sees you he will understand .  No, no,
Too slow; again.  Madam.  Though prepared for setting out…

SCENE 37

(Enter KATE in plain dress)

KATE. (In her own natural manner.) Do you suffer, sir?

MARLOW.  Yes.  I suffer love. I shall suffer all my days.

KATE.  I believe sufferings cannot be very great, sir, which you can so easily erase. A day or two longer, perhaps, might lessen your uneasiness, before you forget, by showing the little value of what you now think proper to regret.

MARLOW. (Aside.) This girl every moment improves upon me. – I came, madam, for I fear, madam… that I must go.

KATE. Then go, sir: I’ll urge nothing more to detain you. 
Though my family be as good as hers you came down to visit, and my education, I hope, not inferior, what are these advantages without equal affluence? I must remain contented with the slight approbation of imputed merit;
I must not importune; I have only the mockery of your address, while all your serious aims are fixed on fortune.

SCENE 38
HARDCASTLE (entering, hiding behind chair) Hah!  Touché.  

That’s my Kate.  I’ll listen here, and bet she makes him pay.

MARLOW.  Fortune, madam? Fortune was ever my smallest consideration. Your beauty at first caught my eye; for who could see that without feeling bless’d? But every moment that I converse with you, steals in some new grace, 

Heightens the picture, and…damme, I have forgot the rest. 

KATE. No, Mr. Marlow, I will not, cannot detain you. Do
You think I could suffer a connexion in which there is the smallest room for repentance? Do you think I would take
the mean advantage of a transient passion, to load you with confusion? Do you think I could ever relish that happiness which was acquired by lessening yours?

MARLOW. By all that’s good, I can have no happiness but what’s in your power to grant me! Nor shall I ever feel repentance but in not having seen your merits before.
I will stay even contrary to your wishes; and though
you should persist to shun me, I will make my respectful
Assiduities atone for the levity of my past conduct.

KATE. Sir, I must entreat you’ll desist. As our acquaintance began, so let it end: indifferently.  I might have been amused an hour or two; but seriously, Mr. Marlow, do you think
I could ever submit to a connexion with a gentleman
such as you, where I must appear mercenary, and you imprudent?  I implore you –

MARLOW (kneeling). I am imprudent, madam.  Does this look like prudence? I adore you.

HARDCASTLE (breaking in).  Hah!  I can hold it no longer. Is this your indifference, sir, your uninteresting conversation? Your cold contempt; your formal interview!
What have you to say now?

MARLOW. That I’m all amazement! What can it mean?

HARDCASTLE. It means that you can say and unsay things
at pleasure: that you are at one moment a peer, and next
a porter; that you can address a lady in private,

And deny it in public: that you have one story for me, sir,
and another for my daughter.

MARLOW. Daughter! – This lady your daughter?

HARDCASTLE. Yes, sir, my only daughter; my Kate; who else’s should she be?

MARLOW. Oh, the devil!

KATE. Yes, sir, that very same squinting lady you described to me (courtseying); that gawky chit; she that you addressed
As of the grave; and as the bold, forward favourite of the Ladies’ Club.  Ha! ha! ha!

MARLOW. Zounds! there’s no bearing this; it’s worse
than death!

KATE. In which of your characters, sir, will you give us leave to address you?  As the gent with downcast eye, that speaks just to be heard, and hates fawning; or the loud confident creature, that keeps it up with Mrs. Mantrap, and old Miss Biddy Buckskin, till three in the morning? Ha! ha! ha!

MARLOW. O, curse on my noisy head. I never attempted to be impudent yet, that I was not taken down. I must be gone.

HARDCASTLE. By the hand of my body, but you shall not.

I see it was all a mistake, and I am rejoiced to find it.  My wife will be delighted too. Dorothy?  (Enter Dorothy) Good news, my dear. You shall not leave, sir, I tell you.  I know she’ll forgive you. Won’t you forgive him, Kate? Come, madam,
you are now driven to the very last scene of all your contrivances. I know you like him, I’m sure he loves you,
and you must and shall have him. We’ll all forgive you.
Take courage, man. (Joining their hands.) And I say so too. 

And, Mr. Marlow, if she makes as good a wife as she has a daughter, I don’t believe you’ll ever repent your bargain.
So now to supper. Tomorrow we shall gather all the poor of the parish about us, and the mistakes of the night 

Shall be crowned with a merry morning. So, boy, take her;
And as you have been mistaken in the mistress, my wish is, upon my old life, that you may grow old together, and never be mistaken in the wife.