Scene III Outside of Sir Tunrelly Clumsy’s House
Enter TOM FASHION and LORY.
TOM FASHION.
So here’s our inheritance, Lory, if we can but get into possession. But methinks the seat of our family looks like Noah’s ark, as if the chief part on’t were designed for the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the field.
LORY.
Pray, sir, don’t let your head run upon the orders of building here: get but the heiress, let the devil take the house.
TOM FASHION.
Get but the house, let the devil take the heiress! I say.—But come, we have no time to squander; knock at the door.—[LORY knocks two or three times at the gate.] What the devil! have they got no ears in this house?
—Knock harder.
LORY.
Egad, sir, this will prove some enchanted castle; we shall have the giant come out by-and-by, with his club, and beat our brains out. [Knocks again.]
TOM FASHION.
Hush, they come.
SERVANT.
[Within.] Who is there?
LORY.
Open the door and see: is that your country breeding?
SERVANT.
Ay, but two words to that bargain.—Tummus, is the blunderbuss primed?
TOM FASHION.
Ouns! give ’em good words, Lory,—or we shall be shot here a fortune catching.
LORY.
Egad, sir, I think you’re in the right on’t.—Ho! Mr. What-d’ye-call-’um, will you please to let us in? or are we to be left to grow like willows by your moat side? SERVANT appears at the window with a blunderbuss.
SERVANT.
Well naw, what’s ya’re business?
TOM FASHION.
Nothing, sir, but to wait upon Sir Tunbelly, with your leave.
SERVANT.
To weat upon Sir Tunbelly! why, you’ll find that’s just as Sir Tunbelly pleases.
TOM FASHION.
But will you do me the favour, sir, to know whether Sir Tunbelly pleases or not?
SERVANT.
Why, look you, d’ye see, with good words much may be done. Ralph, go thy ways, and ask Sir Tunbelly if he pleases to be waited upon—and dost hear, call to nurse, that she may lock up Miss Hoyden before the gates open.
TOM FASHION.
D’ye hear, that, Lory?
Enter SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY, with SERVANTS, armed with guns, clubs, pitchforks, &c.
LORY.
Oh! [Runs behind his master.] O Lord! O Lord! Lord! we are both dead men!
TOM FASHION.
Fool! thy fear will, ruin us. [Aside to LORY.]
LORY.
My fear, sir? ’sdeath, Sir, I fear nothing.—[Aside.] Would I were well up to the chin in a horse-pond!
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Who is it here hath any business with me?
TOM FASHION.
Sir, ’tis I, if your name be Sir Tunbelly Clumsy.
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Sir, my name is Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, whether you have any business with me or not.—So you see I am not ashamed of my name, nor my face either.
TOM FASHION.
Sir, you have no cause that I know of.
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Sir, if you have no cause either, I desire to know who you are; for, till I know your name, I shan’t ask you to come into my house: and when I do know your name, ’tis six to four I don’t ask you then.
TOM FASHION.
Sir, I hope you’ll find this letter an authentic passport. [Gives him a letter.]
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Cod’s my life, from Mrs. Coupler!—I ask your lordship’s pardon ten thousand times.—[To a SERVANT.] Here, run in a-doors quickly; get a Scotch coal fire in the parlour, set all the Turkey work chairs in their places, get the brass candlesticks out, and be sure stick the socket full of laurel—run!—[Turns to TOM FASHION.]—My lord, I ask your lordship’s pardon.—[To SERVANT.] And, do you hear, run away to nurse; bid her let Miss Hoyden loose again.—[Exit SERVANT.] I hope your honour will excuse the disorder of my family. We are not used to receive men of your lordship’s great quality every day. Pray, where are your coaches and servants, my lord?
TOM FASHION.
Sir, that I might give you and your daughter a proof how impatient I am to be nearer akin to you, I left my equipage to follow me, and came away post with only one servant.
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Your lordship does me too much honour—it was exposing your person to too much fatigue and danger, I protest it was: but my daughter shall endeavour to make you what amends she can: and, though I say it that should not say it, Hoyden has charms.
TOM FASHION.
Sir, I am not a stranger to them, though I am to her; common fame has done her justice.
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
My lord, I am common fame’s very grateful, humble servant. My lord, my girl’s young—Hoyden is young, my lord: but this I must say for her, what she wants in art she has in breeding; and what’s wanting in her age, is made good in her constitution.—So pray, my lord, walk in; pray, my lord, walk in.
TOM FASHION.
Sir, I wait upon you. [Exeunt.]