Thomas Morton

“ Handy, jun. Nay, sir, by your own confession I am where I ought to be.
Sir Abel. No! you ought to be at the Castle—Sir Philip is there, and Miss Blandford is there, and Lady Handy is there, and therefore—
Handy, jun. You are not there. In one word, I shall not marry Miss Blandford.
Sir Abel. Indeed! who told you so?
Handy, jun. One who never lies—and, therefore, one I am determined to make a friend of—my conscience. ”

“ Sir Philip. Aye, he knows that well. Young man, mark me:—This Morrington, whose precepts wear the face of virtue, and whose practice seems benevolence, was the chief of the hellish banditti that ruined me.
Henry. Is it possible?
Sir Philip. That bond you hold in your hand was obtained by robbery.
Henry. Confusion!
Sir Philip. Not by the thief who, encountering you as a man, stakes life against life, but by that most cowardly villain, who, in the moment when reason sleeps, and passion is roused, draws his snares around you, and hugs you to your ruin. ”

“ Sir Philip. Then all is discovered.
Handy, jun. Hush, for Heaven's sake collect yourself!
Enter Henry, in great agitation.
Miss B. Ah! [Shrieks.] Thank Heaven, he's safe! What urged you, Henry, again to venture in the Castle?
Henry. Fate! the desperate attempt of a desperate man!
Sir Philip. Ah!
Henry. Yes; the mystery is developed. In vain the massy bars, cemented with their cankerous rust, opposed my entrance—in vain the heated suffocating damps enveloped me—in vain the hungry flames flashed their vengeance round me! What could oppose a man struggling to know his fate? ”

“ Oh, my brother! we soon shall meet again—And let me hope, that, stripped of those passions which make men devils, I may receive the heavenly balm of thy forgiveness, as I, from my inmost soul, do pardon thee.
[Morrington becomes convulsed with agony, and falls into Gerald's arms.]
Ah! what means that agony? He faints! give him air!
[They throw open his cloak and hat.]
[Starts.] Angels of mercy! my brother! 'tis he! he lives! Henry, support your father!
Henry. [Running to Morrington.] Ah, my father! he revives!
Sir Philip. Hush! ”

“ Ash. Will you, zur?
Sir Abel. Yes; for I consider a healthy young man, between the handles of a plough, as one of the noblest illustrations of the prosperity of Britain.
Ash. Faith and troth! there be some tightish hands in theas parts, I promize ye.
Sir Abel. And, Farmer, it shall precede the hymeneal festivities—
Ash. Nan!
Sir Abel. Blockhead! The ploughing match shall take place as soon as Sir Philip Blandford and his daughter arrive. ”

“ Mor. Well, never despair.
Ash. I never do, zur. It is not my way. When the sun do shine I never think of voul weather, not I; and when it do begin to rain, I always think that's a zure zign it will give auver.
Mor. Is that young man your son?
Ash. No, zur—I do wish he were wi' all my heart and zoul.
Gerald. [To Morrington.] Sir, remember.
Mor. Doubt not my prudence. Young man, your appearance interests me;—how can I serve you?
Henry. By informing me who are my parents.
Mor. That I cannot do.
Henry. Then, by removing from me the hatred of Sir Philip Blandford.
Mor. Does Sir Philip hate you? ”

“ Enter Handy, jun.
Handy, jun. I don't see Susan—I say, Dad, is that my mamma?
Sir Abel. Yes—speak to her.
Handy, jun. [Chucking her under the chin] A fine girl, upon my soul!
Lady H. Fine girl, indeed! Is this behaviour!
Handy, jun. Oh! beg pardon, most honoured parent. [She curtsies.] —-that's a damned bad curtsey, I can teach you to make a much better curtsey than that!
Lady H. You teach me, that am old enough to—hem!
Handy, jun. Oh! that toss of the head was very bad indeed—Look at me!—That's the thing!
Lady H. Am I to be insulted? Sir Abel, you know I seldom condescend to talk.
Sir Abel. ”

“ Sir Abel. My dear boy, come here—Prattle! I say did you ever live next door to a pewterer's?—that's all—you understand me—did you ever hear a dozen fire-engines full gallop?—were you ever at Billingsgate in the sprat season?—or——
Handy, jun. Ha, ha!
Sir Abel. Nay, don't laugh, Bob.
Handy, jun. Indeed, sir, you think of it too seriously. The storm, I dare say, soon blows over.
Sir Abel. Soon! you know what a trade wind is, don't you, Bob? why, she thinks no more of the latter end of her speech, than she does of the latter end of her life—
Handy, jun. Ha! ha! ”

“ The daughter has not less decorum in love, than the father in murder.—That a character, grave and stern, as Sir Philip Blandford is described, should entrust any man, especially such a man as Bob Handy, with a secret, on which, not only his reputation, but his life depended, can upon no principle of reason be accounted for; unless the author took into consideration, what has sometimes been observed,—that a murderer, in contrivance to conceal his guilt, foolishly fixes on the very means, which bring him to conviction. ”

“ Sir Philip. Well, I am willing to give you every indulgence.
Ash. Be you, zur? that be deadly kind. Dear heart! it will make my auld dame quite young again, and I don't think helping a poor man will do your honour's health any harm—I don't indeed, zur—I had a thought of speaking to your worship about it—but then, thinks I, the gentleman, mayhap, be one of those that do like to do a good turn, and not have a word zaid about it—zo, zur, if you had not mentioned what I owed you, I am zure I never should—should not, indeed, zur. ”

“ Sir Philip. [Weeps.] Will you? [Embraces him.] I am unused to kindness from man, and it affects me. Oh! can you press to your guiltless heart that bloodstained hand!
Handy, jun. Sir Philip, let men without faults condemn—I must pity you. ”

“ Dame Ashfield discovered at work with her needle, Henry sitting by her.
Dame. Come, come, Henry, you'll fret yourself ill, child. If Sir Philip will not be kind to you, you are but where you were.
Henry. [Rising.] My peace of mind is gone for ever. Sir Philip may have cause for hate;—spite of his unkindness to me, my heart seeks to find excuses for him—oh! that heart doats on his lovely daughter.
Dame. [Looking out.] Here comes Tummas home at last. Heyday what's the matter with the man! He doesn't seem to know the way into his own house. ”

“ Compared with this castle, the Cretan labyrinth was intelligible; and unless some kind Ariadne gives me a clue, I shan't have the pleasure of seeing you above once a-week.
Sir Philip. I beg your pardon, I have been an inattentive host.
Handy, jun. Oh, no; but when a house is so devilish large, and the party so very small, they ought to keep together; for, to say the truth, though no one on earth feels a warmer regard for Robert Handy than I do—I soon get heartily sick of his company—whatever he may be to others, he's a cursed bore to me.
Sir Philip. Where's your worthy father? ”

“ Exeunt Handy, jun. leading Sir Philip.
ACT THE FIFTH. SCENE I. A wooded view of the country.
Enter Susan Ashfield, who looks about with anxiety, and then comes forward.
Susan. I fear my conduct is very imprudent.—Has not Mr. Handy told me he is engaged to another? But 'tis hard for the heart to forego, without one struggle, its only hope of happiness; and, conscious of my honour, what have I to fear? Perhaps he may repent of his unkindness to me—at least I'll put his passion to the proof; if he be worthy of my love, happiness is for ever mine ”

“ The various characters of this play are admirably designed, but not so happily finished as the author meant them to be—witness, Bob Handy, who begins a self-conceited coxcomb, and ends a tragedy confidant.
But the good intentions of an author are acceptable: execution will not always follow conception; and the last may often give as much instruction, though not equal delight with the former: as an instance, who does not see the folly of attempting to do every thing in Handy, though he is more the shadow, than the substance of a character. ”

“ Sir Abel. It is not mixed.
Handy, jun. Where's your fire escape?
Sir Abel. It is not fixed.
Handy, jun. Where's your patent fire engine?
Sir Abel. 'Tis on the road.
Handy, jun. Well, you are never at a loss.
Sir Abel. Never.
Handy, jun. What's to be done?
Sir Abel. I don't know. I say, Bob, I have it—perhaps it will go out of itself!
Handy, jun. Go out! it increases every minute—Let us run for assistance—Let us alarm the family.
[Exit.
Sir Abel. Yes—dear me! dear me!
Servant. [Without.] Here, John! Thomas! some villain has set fire to the Castle. ”

“ Ecod, I believe now, as thy feyther zays, thee canst do every thing!
Handy, jun. No; for there is one thing I cannot do—injure the innocence of woman.
Ash. Drabbit it! I shall walk in the road all day to zee Sue ride by in her own coach.
Susan. You must ride with me, father.
Dame. I say, Tummas, what will Mrs. Grundy say then?
Ash. I do hope thee will not be asham'd of thy feyther in laa, wool ye?
Handy, jun. No; for then I must also be ashamed of myself, which I am resolved not to be again.
Enter Sir Abel Handy.
Sir Abel. Heyday, Bob! why an't you gallanting your intended bride? ”

“ Sir Abel. [Imitating.] Come, come—That's a damn'd clever fellow! Joy, joy, my boy! Here, here, your hands—The first use I make of liberty, is to give happiness—I wish I had more imitators—Well, what will you do? [Walks about exultingly.] Where will you go? I'll go any where you like—Will you go to Bath, or Brighton, or Petersburgh, or Jerusalem, or Seringapatam? all the same to me—we single fellows—we rove about—nobody cares about us—we care for nobody.
Handy, jun. I must to the Castle, father.
Sir Abel. Have with you Bob. [Singing.] ”

“ Handy, jun. And you shall have it, my dear girl!—Madam, I mean.
Lady H. I vow, I am agitated to that degree—Sir Abel! my fan.
Sir Abel. Yes, my dear—Bob, look here, a little contrivance of my own. While others carry swords and such like dreadful weapons in their canes, I more gallantly carry a fan. [Removes the head of his cane, and draws out a fan.] A pretty thought, isn't it? [Presents it to his lady.]
Ash. Some difference between thic stick and mine, beant there, zur?
[To Handy, jun.
Handy, jun. [Moving away.] Yes, there is.— [To Lady H.] Do you call that fanning yourself? ”

“ Sir Abel. Wonderful! My Bob, you must know, is an astonishing fellow!—you have heard of the admirable Crichton, may be? Bob's of the same kidney! I contrive, he executes—Sir Abel invenit, Bob fecit. He can do everything—everything!
Ash. All the better vor he. I zay, zur, as he can turn his head to everything, pray, in what way med he earn his livelihood?
Sir Abel. Earn his livelihood!
Ash. Ees, zur;—How do he gain his bread!
Sir Abel. Bread! Oh, he can't earn his bread, bless you! he's a genius.
Ash. Genius! Drabbit it, I have got a horze o' thic name, but dom' un, he'll never work—never. ”

“ And he deserves to be loved—Why, he's as handsome as a peach tree in blossom; and his mind is as free from weeds as my favourite carnation bed. But, Thomas, run to the castle, and receive Sir Abel and his son.
Ash. I wool, I wool—Zo, good day. [Bowing.] Let every man make his bow, and behave pratty—that's what I say.—Missus, do'ye show un Sue's letter, woolye? Do ye letten see how pratty she do write feyther. ”

“ The characters of Sir Philip Blandford, his brother, and his nephew, may have been imported from Germany, but surely, all the other personages of the drama are of pure English growth.
The reception of this play, when first performed, and the high station it still holds in the public opinion, should make criticism cautious of attack—but as works of genuine art alone are held worthy of investigation, and as all examinations tend to produce a degree of censure, as well as of praise, "Speed the Plough" is not exempt from the general lot of every favourite production. ”

“ Enter Farmer and Dame, with Sir Abel.
Ash. My dear Susan!
[They run to Susan.
Dame. My sweet child! give me a kiss.
Ash. Hald thee! Feyther first though—Well, I be as mortal glad to zee thee as never war—and how be'st thee? and how do thee like Lunnun town? it be a deadly lively place I be tuold.
Dame. Is not she a sweet girl?
Sir Abel. That she is.
Lady H. [With affected dignity.] Does it occur to any one present, that Lady Handy is in the room?
Sir Abel. Oh, Lud! I'm sure, my dear wife, I never forget, that you are in the room.
Ash. Drabbitit! I overlooked Lady Nelly, sure enow ”

“ No harm I do hope, zur.
Sir Abel. None at all.
Ash. But dash it, Lady Nelly, what do make thee paint thy vace all over we rud ochre zoo? Be it vor thy spouse to knaw thee?—that be the way I do knaw my sheep.
Sir Abel. The flocks of fashion are all marked so, Farmer.
Ash. Likely! Drabbit it! thee do make a tightish kind of a ladyship zure enow.
Dame. That you do, my lady! you remember the old house?
Ash. Aye; and all about it, doant ye? Nelly! my lady!
Lady H. Oh! I'm quite shock'd—Susan, child! prepare a room where I may dress before I proceed to the castle. ”

“ Ash. No, but thee shat'un—thee shat'un—I tell thee. Thee have givun me thy hand on't, and dom'me if thee sha't budge one step out of this house. Drabbit it! what can he do? he can't send us to jail. Why, I have corn will zell for half the money I do owe'un—and han't I cattle and sheep? deadly lean to be zure—and han't I a thumping zilver watch, almost as big as thy head? and Dame here a got——How many silk gowns have thee got, dame!
Dame. Three, Tummas—and sell them all—and I'll go to church in a stuff one—and let Mrs. Grundy turn up her nose as much as she pleases.
Henry. ”

“ Lady Handy, some of your people were inquiring for you.
Lady H. Thank you, sir. Come, Sir Abel.
[Exit.
Sir Abel. Yes, my lady—I say [To Evergreen.] cou'dn't you give me a hint of the way he had—
Lady H. [Without.] Sir Abel!
Sir Abel. Coming, my soul!
[Exit.
Sir Philip. So! you have well obeyed my orders in keeping this Henry from my presence.
Everg. I was not to blame, master.
Sir Philip. Has Farmer Ashfield left the Castle?
Everg. No, sir.
Sir Philip. Send him hither. [Exit Evergreen.] That boy must be driven far, far from my sight—but where?—no matter! the world is large enough. ”