with one another-you're always in such a plaguy | for, in earnest-Very well; and, pray, how did humour. madam receive all this fine company? With a hearty welcome, and a courtsy down to the ground, ha? 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 them! 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 them ne'er did I set eyes on-twould 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 woman bore, and two as dainty deames as a man would 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 full of vaggots; but he'll bring back the six horses, for I told him we had a rear good steable. Mr Barn. Did you so, rascal? Did you so? [Beats him. Col. Doant, doant, sir; it would do you good to see sike cattle, i'faith; they look as if they had ne'er kept Lent. Lis. No, indeed, sir; she was very angry with them. Mr Barn. How! Angry with them, say you? Lis. Yes, indeed, sir; for she expected they would 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. 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. Then they shall learn religion at my house-Sirrah, do you take care they sup Mr Barn. How's that? a pheasant and parwithout oats to-night-What will become of me? tridges, say you? Let's see; very fine birds, truSince I bought this damned country-house, Ily: let me consider-to-morrow is not my fast spend more in a summer than would maintain me day; I mistook; tell my nephew he shall be welseven years. come-And, d'ye hear?-[To COLIN ]-Do you Col. Why, if you do spend money, han't you take these fowl and hang them up in a cool place good things for it? Come they not to see you the-and take this soldier in, and make him drinkwhole country raund? Mind how you're beloved, make him drink, d'ye see-a cup-ay, a cup of small beer-d'ye hear ? 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. 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 al-basket.]-Go, go! Mr Barn. The devil take them! What business have they here? But who are they? Lis. Why, sir, there's the fat abbot that ways 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 cameAnd who else? Lis. Then there's the young marquis, that won all my lady's money at cards. Mr Barn. Pox take him too! [Thrusts him out. Sol. Sir, sir, that won't hinder them from coming; for they retired a little distance off the camp, and because your house is near them, 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 Lis. Then there's the merry lady that's always varlets to eat them! in a good humour. Enter MR GRIFFARD. Grif. 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. C Mr Barn. Can I help it, brother? But what's the matter now? Grif. 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? Grif. Three or four rake-helly officers, with your nephew at the head of them. 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 plundered 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? Grif. I wish I could; 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? Grif. 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 would be mending the matter, indeed! Grif. 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 lived in it has been ruined. Grif. 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 tried that already, and it signified nothing-For they all got drunk, and lay in the barn, and next morning laughed it off for a frolic. Grif. Then there is but one remedy left that I can think of Mr Barn. What's that? Grif. You must c'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. Mar. 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. Mar. 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. Mar. Don't you know, Mr Barnard, that this house of yours is a little Paradise? Mr Barn. Then rot me if it be, sir! Mar. For my part, I think a pretty retreat in the country is one of the greatest comforts in 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. Mar. 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. Mar. 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 Messey has lost his hawk in our garden; he says it is perched 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. Enter the BARON DE MESSY. Sir, I'm your most humble servant, and ask you a thousand pardons, that I should live so long in your neighbourhood, and come upon such an occasion as this, to pay you my first respects. Mr Barn. It is very well, sir; but, I think people may be very good neighbours, without visiting one another. Baron. Pray, how do you like our country? Mr Barn. Not at all; I'm quite tired on't. Mar. Is it not the Baron? [Aside.] It is certainly he. Baron. How! my dear marquis! let me em Mar. My dear Mr Barnard, I'm your most brace you. humble servant! Mr Barn. I don't doubt it, sir. Mar. 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. Mar. My dear baron, let me kiss you! [They run, and embrace. Baron. We have not seen one another since we were school-fellows, before! Mar. The happiest rencontre ! Grif. These gentlemen seem to be very well acquainted, Baron. Dear marquis, I shall take it as a fa--I love to be free and generous-Since I came vour, if you'll do me that honour. Mar. Madam, let me present you to the flower of France. Baron. Madam, I shall think myself the happiest person in the world in your ladyship's acquaintance; and the little estate I have in this country, I esteem more than all the rest, because it lies so near your ladyship. Mr Barn. Sir, your most humble servant. Mar. Madam, the baron de Messy is the best humoured man in the world. I've prevailed with him to give us his company a few days. Mrs Barn. I'm sure you could not oblige Mr Barnard or me more. Mr Barn. That's a damned lie, I'm sure! [Aside. Baron. I'm sorry, madam, I can't accept of the honour-for it falls out so unluckily, that I've some ladies at my house, that I can't possibly leave. Mar. No matter, no matter, baron; you have ladies at your house, we have ladies at our house -let's join companies-Come, let's send for them immediately-the more the merrier. Mr Barn. An admirable expedient, truly! Baron. Well, since it must be so, I'll go for them myself. Mar. Make haste, dear baron; for we shall be impatient for your return. Baron. Madam, your most humble servant But I won't take my leave of you-I shall be back again immediately.Monsieur Barnard, to Paris, I've reformed half the court. Mrs Barn. You are of the most agreeable humour in the world, marquis. Mar. Always merry-But what have you done with the ladies? Mrs Barn. I left them at cards. Mar. Well, I'll wait upon them-but, madam, let me desire you not to put yourself to any extraordinary expence upon our accounts -You must consider we have more than one day to live together. Mrs Barn. You are pleased to be merry, marquis. Mar. Treat us without ceremony; good wine and poultry you have of your own; wild fowl and fish are brought to your door. You need not send abroad for any thing but a piece of butcher's meat, or so Let us have no extraordinaries. [Exit. Mr Barn. If I had the feeding of you, a thunder-bolt should be your supper! Mrs Barn. Husband, will you never change your humour? If you go on at this rate, it will be impossible to live with ye. Mr Barn. Very true; for, in a little time, I shall have nothing to live upon! Mrs Barn. Do you know what a ridiculous figure you make? Mr Burn. You'll make a great deal worse, when you han't money enough to pay for the washing of your shifts. Mrs Barn. It seems you married me only to dishonour me; How horrible is this! Mr Barn. I tell ye, you'll ruin me! Do you know how much money you spend in a year? Mrs Barn. Not I, truly; I don't understand arithmetic. Mr Barn. Arithmetic! O lud, O lud! Is it so hard to comprehend, that he, who receives but sixpence, and spends a shilling, must be ruined in the end? Mrs Barn. I never troubled my head with accounts, nor never will: But if ye did but know what ridiculous things the world says of ye Mr Barn. Rot the world!-Twill say worse of me when I'm in a jail! Mrs Barn. A very Christian-like saying, truly! Mr Barn. Don't tell me of Christian-Ads bud! I'll turn Jew; and no body shall eat at my table that is not circumcised. Enter LISETTA. Lis. Madam, there's the duchess of Twangdillo just fell down near our door; her coach was overturned. Mrs Barn. I hope her grace has received no hurt? Lis. No, madam; but her coach is broke. Mr Barn. Then, there's a smith in town may mend it. Lis. They say, 'twill require two or three days to fit it up again. Mrs Barn. I'm glad on't, with all my heart; for then I shall enjoy the pleasure of her grace's good company- -I'll wait upon her. Mr Barn. Very fine doings this! [Exeunt severally. SCENE I. Enter MR BARNARD. ACT II. Enter Servant, with a portmanteau. Ser. Sir, here's your cousin Janno, and cousin Mawkin, come from Paris. Mr Barn. What a plague do they want? Enter JANNO, leading in MAWKIN. Jan. Come, sister, come along- -O, here's cousin Barnard !- -Cousin Barnard, your servant-Here's my sister Mawkin, and I, are come to see you. Maw. Ay, cousin, here's brother Janno and I are come from Paris to see you: Pray, how does cousin Mariamne do? Jan. My sister and I wau'nt well at Paris; so my father sent us here for two or three weeks to take a little country air. Mr Barn. You could not come to a worse place; for this is the worst air in the whole county. Maw. Nay; I'm sure my father says it is the best. Mr Barn. You father's a fool! I tell ye, 'tis the worst. Jan. Nay, cousin, I fancy your mistaken, now; for I begin to find my stomach come to me already; in a fortnight's time, you shall see how I'll lay about me. Mr Barn. I don't at all doubt it. Maw. Father would have sent sister Flip, and little brother Humphrey; but the calash would not hold us all and so they don't come till tomorrow with mother. Jan. Come, sister, let's put up our things in our chamber; and, after you have washed my face, and put me on a clean neckcloth, we'll go in, and see how our cousins do. Maw. Ay, come along; we'll go and see cousin Mariamne. Jan. Cousin, we shan't give you much trouble; one bed will serve us; for sister Mawkin and I always lie together. Maw. But, cousin, mother prays you, that you'd order a little cock-broth for brother Janno and I, to be got ready as soon as may be. Jan. Ay, a-propos, cousin Barnard, that's true; my mother desires, that we may have some cockbroth, to drink two or three times a-day between meals, for my sister and I are sick folks. Maw. And some young chickens, too, the doctor said, would bring us to our stomachs very Mr Barn. What would this fool have? Col. Why, thanks, and money to-boot, an folk were grateful. Mr Barn. What's the matter? Col. Why, the matter is, if you have good store of company in your house, you have good store of meat to put in their bellies. Mr Barn. How so? how so? Col. Why, a large and stately stag, with a pair of horns on his head, Heaven bless you! your worship might be seen to wear them-comes towards our geat, a puffing and blawing like a cow in hard labour- Now, says I to myself, says I, if my measter refuse to let this fine youth come in-why, then he's a fool, d'ye see -So I opens him the geat, pulls off my hat with both my honds, and said, you're welcome, kind sir, to our house. Mr Barn. Well, well! Col. Well, well? ay, and so it is well, as you shall straight way find-So in he trots, and makes all this morning; they're now gone up to your wife's chamber. Mr Barn. The devil go with them! Grif. There's but one way to get rid of this plague, and that is, as I told you before, to set directly towards our barn, and goes bounce, bounce, against the door, as boldly as if he had been measter on't- -he turns' en about, and thawcks'n down in the straw; as who would say, here will I lay me till to-morrow morningBut he had no fool to deal with; for to the kit-your house on fire. chen goes I, and takes me down a musket, and, with a breace of balls, I hits'n such a slap in the feace, that he ne'er spoke a word more to me.Have I done well or no, measter? Mr Barn. Yes, you have done very well for once. Col. But this was not all; for a parcel of dogs came yelping after their companion, as I suppose; so I goes to the back yard-door, and as many as came by, Shu, says I, and drove them into the gearden- -So there they are, as safe as in a pawnd-Ha, ha!-But I can't but think what a power of pasties we shall have at our house-Ha, ha! [Exit COLIN. Mr Barn. I see Providence takes some care of me: this could never have happened in a better time. Enter Cook. Cook. Sir, sir! in the name of wonder, what do you mean? is it by your orders that all those dogs were let into the garden? Mr Barn. How! Cook. I believe there's forty or fifty dogs tearing up the lettuce and cabbage by the root. I believe, before they have done, they'll rout up the whole garden. Mr Barn. This is that rogue's doings. Cook. This was not all, sir; for three or four of them came into the kitchen, and tore half the meat off the spit that was for your worship's supper. Mr Barn. The very dogs plague me! Cook. And then there's a crew of hungry footmen who devoured what the dogs left; so that there's not a bit left for your worship's supper, not a scrap, not one morsel, sir! [Exit Cook. Mr Barn. Sure I shall hit on some way to get rid of this crew! Enter COLIN. Col. Sir, sir! here's the devil to do without yonder; a parcel of fellows swear they'll have our venison, and s'blead I swear they shall have none on't; so stand to your arms, measter. Mr Barn. Ay, you've done finely, rogue, rascal, have you not? [Beating him. Col. 'Shlead, I say they shan't have our venison. I'll die before I'll part with it. [Exit. Enter GRIFFard. Grif. Brother, there's some gentlemen within ask for you. Mr Barn. What gentlemen! Who are they? Grif. The gentlemen that have been hunting Mr Barn. That's doing myself an injury, not them. Grif. There's dogs, horses, masters and servants, all intend to stay here 'till to-morrow morning, that they may be near the woods to hunt the earlier-besides (I over-heard them) they're in a kind of plot against you. Mr Barn. What did they say? Grif. You'll be more angry if I should tell ye, than I am. Mr Barn. Can I be more angry? Grif. They said then, that it was the greatest pleasure in the world to ruin an old lawyer in the country, who had got an estate by ruining honest people in town. Mr Barn. There's rogues for ye! Grif. I'm mistaken if they don't play you some trick or other. Lis. Sir, my mistress desires you to walk up; she is not able, by herself, to pay the civilities due to so much good company. Mr Barn. O the carrion! What, does she play her jests upon me, too?—but mum; he laughs best that laughs last. Lis. What shall I tell her, sir? will you come? Mr Barn. Yes, yes; tell her I'll come with pox to her! [Exeunt MR BARNARD and GRIFFARD. Lis. Nay, I don't wonder he should be angry -they do try his patience, that's the truth on't." Enter MARIAMNE. What, madam, have you left your mother and the company? Mar. So much tittle tattle makes my head ache; I don't wonder my father should not love the country,; for, besides the expence he's at, he never enjoys a minute's quiet. Lis. But let's talk of your own affairs—have you writ to your lover? Mar. No, for I have not had time since I saw him. Lis. Now you have time, then, about it immediately, for he's a sort of a desperate spark, and a body does not know what he may do, if he |