nd am I to blame? The poor boy was always too
sickly to do any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to
be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for
him?

HARDCASTLE. Latin for him! A cat and fiddle. No, no; the alehouse
and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I
believe we shan't have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his
face may see he's consumptive.

HARDCASTLE. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. He coughs sometimes.

HARDCASTLE. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. I'm actually afraid of his lungs.

HARDCASTLE. And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a
speaking trumpet--(Tony hallooing behind the scenes)--O, there he
goes--a very consumptive figure, truly.

Enter TONY, crossing the stage.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Won't you
give papa and I a little of your company, lovee?

TONY. I'm in haste, mother; I cannot stay.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. You shan't venture out this raw evening, my dear; you
look most shockingly.

TONY. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons expects me down
every moment. There's some fun going forward.

HARDCASTLE. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: I thought so.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. A low, paltry set of fellows.

TONY. Not so low, neither. There's Dick Muggins the exciseman, Jack
Slang the horse doctor, Little Aminadab that grinds the music box, and
Tom Twist that spins the pewter platter.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at
least.

TONY. As for disappointing them, I should not so much mind; but I
can't abide to disappoint myself.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. (detaining him.) You shan't go.

TONY. I will, I tell you.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. I say you shan't.

TONY. We'll see which is strongest, you or I. [Exit, hauling her
out.]

HARDCASTLE. (solus.) Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each
other. But is not the whole age in a combination to drive sense and
discretion out of doors? There's my pretty darling Kate! the fashions
of the times have almost infected her too. By living a year or two in
town, she is as fond of gauze and French frippery as the best of them.

Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.

HARDCASTLE. Blessings on my pretty innocence! drest out as usual, my
Kate. Goodness! What a quantity of superfluous s