# A Series of Plays in which it is attempted to delineate The Stronger Passions of the Mind, Volume Two/The Election Act 2

ACT II.
SCENE I. A room in Freeman's house; a table with drawings, &c, scattered upon it, in one corner, and a writing table near the front of the stage. Mrs. Freeman is discovered writing. Enter Charlotte and her Governess.
Mrs. Freeman. (raising her head.)
Come here, Miss Freeman: that gown sits with no grace in the world. (turning Char. round.) No, it is not at all what I intended: I shall have it taken to pieces again. (To the Gov.) Was she in the stocks this morning?
Gov. Yes, Madam,
Mrs. F. From her manner of holding her head one would scarcely believe it. Go to your drawing, and finish it if you can before Mr. Bescatti comes. (Charlotte sits down unwillingly to the drawing table; the Governess takes her work and sits by her; and Mrs. Freeman sits down again to write.)
Enter Mr. Bescatti.
Mrs. F. O Bescatti! you are just the very person I want. I have put a quotation from one of your Italian poets, expressive of the charms of friendship, into the letter I am writing to my dear, amiable Mrs. Sillabub; and as I know she shews all the letters she receives from her friends, I would not have ​a fault in it for the world. Look at it, pray! Will it do? (giving him the letter with an air of self-satisfaction.)
Bes. (shaking his head.) No, Madam; I must be free for to say, dat it won't do: de two first ords are wrong, and de two last ords are not right.
Mrs. F. (colouring and bridling up.) Why there are but four words of it altogether, Mr. Bescatti.
Bes. Yes, Madam; der you be very right; der you be under no mistake at all; der be just four ords in it, neider more nor less.
Mrs.F. Well, well, pray correct it for me! I suppose I was thinking of something else when I wrote it.
Bes. (after correcting the letter.) It is done, Madam. I hope de young lady will soon finish her drawing, dat I may have de honour to propose my little instruction.
Char. (rising from the table.) I can finish it tomorrow.
Mrs. F. Shew Mr. Bescatti your two last drawings (Char. shews him her drawings.) Every one from your country is fond of this delightful art. How do you like this piece?
Bes. It be very agreeable.
Gov. (looking over his shoulder.) O beautiful, charming! de most pretty of de world!
Mrs. F. There is such a fine glow in the colouring, so much spirit in the whole.
Bes. (tardily ) Yes. ​ Mrs. F. And so much boldness in the design.
Bes. (tardily) Yes.
Mrs. F. And the cattle in that landscape are so spirited and so correct.
Bes. O dey be de very pretty sheep, indeed.
Mrs. F. Why, those are cows, Mr. Bescatti—those are cows.
Bes. O, Madam, I make no doubt dat in reality dey are de cows, alto in appearance dey are de sheep.
Mrs. F. (shewing him another piece.) He will understand this better. The subject is so prettily imagined! a boy with an apple in his hand: such pleasing simplicity! look at those lights and shades: her master himself says it is touched with the hand of an artist.
Bes. Yes, he be a very pretty fellow—and a very happy one too: he has got one apple in his hand, and anoder in his mout.
Mrs. F. Another in his mouth! why that is the round swelling of his cheek, Mr. Bescatti. But look at this head (impatiently as he looks at the wrong one) No, no, this one.
Bes. O dat one—dat has one side of the face white and t'oder black!
Gov. O beautiful, excellent!—all dat der is of pretty—all dat der is of—of de most pretty!
Mrs. F. There is so much effect in it; so much force and distinctness.
Bes. Yes, der be good contrast; nobody will mistake de one side of de face for de oder. ​
Enter Servant.
Ser. Every thing in the next room is set out, Ma'am—Have you any orders?
Mrs. F. Don't trouble me about it; I'll look at it by and by, if I have nothing better to do. (Exit Ser.)—Miss Freeman, there is no time to lose; Bescatti and you must be busy, for I expect Mr. Tweedle this morning with a new song in his pocket.
Enter a Servant hastily.
Ser. All the voters are come. Ma'am, and my master says, we must open the great room immediately. (Opens folding-doors at the bottom of the stage, and discovers a large room with a long table set out, plentifully covered with cold meats, &c. &c.)
Mrs. F. What could possess the creatures to come so early? If I am to have the whole morning of it, I shall be dead before it is over. Heigh ho! here they are.
(Enter a great number of voters with their wives and daughters, and Freeman shewing them in himself.)
Free. (with a very affable smiling countenance.) Come in, ladies and gentlemen come in, my very good neighbours; my wife will be proud to see you. (presents them to Mrs. Freeman, who receives them with affected condescension; whilst Charlotte draws herself up by her mother's side, and curtseys to them in the same affected manner.)—This is my very good friend Mr. Ginger, my dear; and this is worthy Mr. Fudge.—But where is your wife, Mr. Fudge? we are near ​neighbours, you know, and I see no reason why your good woman and mine should not be better acquainted.
Mr. Fudge. She is standing close by you. Sir.
Free. O, I beg pardon, my dear Madam! I did not know you. (to Mrs. Fudge.)—My dear, this is Mrs. Fudge. (presenting her to Mrs. F.)—But my good Mr. Hassock, why have not you brought your pretty daughter with you?
Mr. Hassock. So I have, your honour; this be she. (pointing to his daughter.)
Free. She must give me her hand: I have a girl of my own too, you see; but she does not hold up her head so well as this young lady.
(More people still coming in.)
Ha! welcome, my good friends! welcome, my good neighbour Huskins, and you too my good Mrs. Huskins!——Ha, Mr. Grub! you do me honour. How do the soap-works go on? you will soon be the richest man in the country, though you do spare me a morning now and then.
Mr. Grub (conceitedly.) Aye, picking up a little in my poor way, just to keep the pot boiling. (Going up to Mrs. Freeman, and wiping his face.) Madam, I make bold, as the fashion goes on them there occasions. (Gives her a salute with a good loud smack, whilst she shrinks back disconcerted, and Bescatti and the Governess shrug up their shoulders, and Charlotte skulks behind their backs frightened.)
Mr. Fudge (spitting out his chew of tobacco and wiping his mouth.) As the fashion goes round, Madam—
​ Free. (preventing him as he is going up to Mrs. F.) No, no, my good neighbours: this is too much ceremony amongst friends. Let us go into the next room, and see if there is any thing to eat: I dare say there is some cold meat and cucumber for us. Let me have the honour, Mrs. Fudge. (They all go into the next room and seat themselves round the table. Re-enter Freeman in a great bustle.)
More chairs and more covers, here! Thomas! Barnaby! Jenkins! (the servants run up and down carrying things across the stage. Enter more people.) Ha! welcome—welcome, my good friends! we were just looking for you. Go into the next room, and try if you can find any thing you like.
Voter. O, Sir, never fear but we shall find plenty of good victuals. (Exeunt into the next room. Manet Charlotte, who comes forward.
Char. La, how I should like to be a queen, and stand in my robes, and have all the people introduced to me! for then they would kiss no more than my hand, which I should hold out so. No, no; it should be so. (stretching out her hand whilst Charles Baltimore, entering behind and overhearing her, takes and kisses it with a ludicrous bending of the knee.)
Charles. And which should be kissed so?
Char. (affectedly) You are always so silly, Mr. Charles Baltimore.
Charles. Are you holding court here for all those good folks? I thought there was no harm in looking in upon you, though I do belong to the other side. (peeping.) Faith they are busy enough! mercy ​on us, what a clattering of trenchers!—How do you like them?
Char. Oh they are such savages! I'm sure if I had not put lavender on my pocket handkerchief, like Mama, I should have fainted away.
Charles. How can you talk of fainting with cheeks like two cabbage roses?
Char. Cabbage roses!
Charles. No, no—pest take it!—I mean the pretty, delicate damask rose.
Char. La, now you are flattering me!
Charles. I am not indeed, Charlotte! you have the prettiest—(peeping at the other room and stopping short.)
Char. (eagerly) I have the prettiest what!
Charles. Is that a venison pasty they have got yonder!
Char. Poo, never mind!—have the prettiest what?
Charles. Yes, I mean the most beautiful (peeping again) By my faith and so it is a venison pasty, and a monstrous good smell it has! (Exit hastily into the eating room.
Char. (looking after him.) What a nasty creature he is! he has no more sense than one of our pointers; he's always running after a good smell. (Exit. ​
SCENE II.
An open lane near a country town. Enter Baltimore, who passes half way across the stage, and then stopping suddenly, shrinks back.
Balt. Ha, It is him!—I'll turn and go another way. (Turns hastily back again, and then stops short.) No, no, he sha'n't see me avoiding him. I'll follow Truebridge's advice, and be civil to him.—(Enter Freeman bowing with stiff civility) Good morning, Sir.
Free. And the same to you, Mr. Baltimore: how does your Lady do?
Balt. And your amiable lady, Mr. Freeman; she is a great scholar I hear.
Free. (with his face brightening up.) You are very good to say so; she does indeed know some few things pretty well; and though we are rivals for the present, why shouldn't we act liberally and speak handsomely of one another at the same time? Does Mrs. Baltimore like pine-apples as well as she used to do?
Balt. (shrinking back.) No she dislikes them very much.
Free. Don't say so now! I believe you don't like me to send them to you, but if you would just send over for them yourself when she wants them, I have mountains of them at her service.
Balt. (with a contemptuous smile.) Shall I send a tumbrel for them to-morrow morning? (Free. draws ​back piqued.) But you are liberal to every body, Mr. Freeman. I hope you and your friends have got over the fatigues of your morning feast? You were at it by times I hear.
Free. Yes, we have been busy in the eating and drinking way to be sure. I don't make speeches to them, and fill their heads with fine oratory; I give them from my plain stores what they like better, Mr. Baltimore.
Balt. And what you can spare better, Mr. Freeman. It is fortunate for both parties, that your stores are more applicable to the stomach than the head.
Free. It is better, at least, than flattering them up with advertisements in the newspapers, about their great dignity and antiquity, &c. I don't spend my money in feeding other people's vanity.
Balt. No, certainly, Sir; charity begins at home; and your own has, thank God! a very good appetite.
Free. Pamper'd vanity is a better thing, perhaps, than starved pride. Good morning, Sir. (Exit.
Balt. (looking after him.) See how consequentially he walks now, shaking his long coat-skirts with that abominable swing! I should detest my own brother if he swung himself about after that manner.——Resemblance to him do they say! I could lock myself up in a cell, if I thought so, and belabour my own shoulders with a cat-o'-nine tails.
(Enter Peter with one of his idle companions, and starts back upon seeing Baltimore.)
Pet. (aside to his Com.) Pest take it! a body can never be a little comfortable in a sly way, but there ​is always some cross luck happens to him. Yonder is my master, and he thinks I am half a dozen miles off with a letter that he gave me to Squire Houndly. Stand before me, man; perhaps he'll go past. (skulking behind his Com.)
Balt. (seeing him.) What, you careless rascal, are you here still, when I told you the letter was of consequence to me? To have this stick broke over your head is less than you deserve: where have you been, sirrah? (Holding up his stick in a threatening manner.)
Pet. O Lord, your honour! if you should beat me like stock fish I must e'en tell you the truth: for as I past by the cat and bagpipes a little while ago, I could not help just setting my face in at the door to see what they were all about; and there I found such a jolly company of 'Squire Freeman's voters, sitting round a bowl of punch, drinking his liquors and laughing at his grandeur, and making such a mockery of it, that I could not help staying to make a little merry with them myself.
Balt. (Lowering his stick.) Art thou sure that they laugh'd at him?—In his own inn, and over his own liquor?
Pet. Ay, to be sure, your honour: what do they care for that? When he orders a hogshead of ale for them out of his own cellar, they call it a pack of lamb's wool from the wool chamber. Don't they neighbour? (tipping the wink to his companion.)
Com. To be sure they do. ​ Balt. Ha, ha, ha! ungrateful merry varlets!—Well well! get thee along and be more expeditious with my letters another time. (to himself as he goes out.) Ha, ha! a good name for his ale truly. (Exit.
Pet. I wonder he did not give me a litte money now for such a story as this. Howsomever, it has saved my head from being broke.
Com. And that, I think is fully as much as it is worth. I wonder you an't ashamed to behave with so little respect to a gentleman and your own master.
Pet. Fiddle faddle with all that! do you think one gets on the blind side of a man to treat him with respect? When I first came to live with Mr. Baltimore, I must say I was woundily afraid of his honour, but I know how to manage him now well enough.
Com. I think thou dost, indeed. Who would have thought it, that had seen what a bumpkin he took thee from the plough's tail, but a twelvemonth ago, because he could not afford to hire any more fine trained servants to wait upon him?
Pet. Nay, I wa'n't such a simpleton as you took me for neither. I was once before that very intimate, in my fashion, with an old Squire of the North Country, who was in love with his grand-daughter's dairy-maid. I warrant you I know well enough how to deal with any body that has got any of them strange fancies working within them, for as great a bumpkin as you may take me to be; and if you don't see me, 'ere long time goes by, make a good ​penny of it too, I'll give you leave to call me a noodle. Come, away to the Blue-Posts again, and have another glass, man. (Exeunt.)
SCENE III. Freeman's library fitted up expensively with fine showy books and book-cases, &c. &c. Enter Freeman and Mrs. Freeman, speaking as they enter.
Free. They sh'a'nt come again, then, since it displeases you; but they all went away in such good humour, it did my heart good to see them.
Mrs. F. Oh the Goths and the Huns! I believe the smell of their nauseous tobacco will never leave my nostrils. You don't know what I have suffered to oblige you. To any body of delicacy and refinement, it was shocking. I shall be nervous and languid for a month. But I don't complain. You know I do every thing cheerfully that can promote your interest. Oh! I am quite overcome. (sits down languidly.)
Free. Indeed, my dear, I know you never complain, and I am sorry I have imposed such a task upon your goodness. But the adversary gains ground upon us, and if I do not exert myself, the ancient interest of the Baltimore's—the old prejudice of family, may still carry the day.
Mrs. F. (starting up eagerly, and throwing aside her assumed languor.) That it sha'nt do if gold and activity can prevent it! Old prejudice of family! Who has a better right than yourself to serve for the borough of Westown?
​ Free. So you say, my dear; and you are generally in the right. But I don't know; I don't feel as if I did altogether right in opposing Mr. Baltimore, in his own person, in the very spot where his family has so long presided. If he did not provoke me—
Mrs. F. What, have you not got over these scruples yet? Has not all the rancorous opposition you have met with from him, wound you up to a higher pitch than this, Mr. Freeman? It has carried you thro' with many petty struggles against his proud will already, and would you let him get the better of you now?
Free. (thoughtfully.) I could have wished to have lived in peace with him.
Mrs. Free. Yes, if he would have suffered you.
Free. Ay, indeed, if he would have suffered me. (musing for some time.) Well, it is very extraordinary this dislike which he seems to have taken to me: it is inexplicable! I came into his neighbourhood with the strongest desire to be upon good terms with, nay to be upon the most friendly and familiar footing with him; yet he very soon opposed me in every thing. (walking up and down and then stopping short.) I asked him to dine with me almost every day, just as one would ask their oldest and most intimate acquaintance; and he knew very well I expected no entertainments in return, which would have been a foolish expence in his situation, for I took care in the handsomest manner to let him understand as much.
​ Mrs. F. Well well, never trouble your head about that now; but think how you may be revenged upon him.
Free. Tho' his fortune was reduced, and I in possession of almost all the estates of the Baltimores, of more land, indeed, than they ever possessed, I was always at pains to assure him that I respected him as much as the richest man in the county; and yet, I cannot understand it, the more friendly and familiar I was with him, the more visibly his aversion to me increased. It is past all comprehension!
Mrs. F. Don't trouble yourself about that now.
Free. I'm sure I was ready upon every occasion to offer him my very best advice; and, after the large fortune I have acquired, I may be well supposed to be no novice in many things.
Mrs. F. O he has no sense of obligations.
Free. Ay, and knowing how narrow his income is in respect to the stile of living he has been accustomed to; when company came upon him unexpectedly, have I not sent and offered him every thing in my house, even to the best wines in my cellars, which he has pettishly and absurdly refused?
Mrs. F. O he has no gratitude in him!
Free. If I had been distant, and stood upon the reserve with him, there might have been some cause. Well, it is altogether inexplicable!
Mrs. F. I'm sure it is not worth while to think so much about it.
​ Free. Ah, but I can't help thinking! Have I not made the ground round his house, as well as my own, look like a well-weeded garden? I have cut down the old gloomy trees; and where he used to see nothing; from his windows but a parcel of old knotted oaks shaking themselves in the wind, he now looks upon two hundred rood of the best hot-walls in the North of England, besides two new summer-houses and a green-house,
Mrs. F. O he has no taste!
Free. The stream which I found running thro' the woods, as shaggy and as wild as if it had been in a desert island, and the foot of man never marked upon its banks, I have straightened, and levelled, and dressed, till the sides of it are as nice as a bowling-green.
Mrs. F. He has no more taste than a savage, that's certain. However, you must allow that he wants some advantages which you possess: his wife is a woman of no refinement.
Free. I don't know what you mean by refinement; She don't sing Italian and play upon the harp, I believe; but she is a very civil, obliging, good, reasonable woman.
Mrs. F. (contemptuously.) Yes, she is a very civil, obliging, good, reasonable woman. I wonder how some mothers can neglect the education of their children so! If she had been my daughter, I should have made a very different thing of her, indeed.
Free. I doubt nothing, my dear, of your good instructions and example. But here comes Jenkison. ​
Enter Jenkison.
How, now, Jenkison? things go on prosperously I hope.
Jen. Sir, I am concerned—or, indeed, sorry—that is to say, I wish I could have the satisfaction to say that they do.
Free. What say you? sorry and satisfied? You are a smooth spoken man, Mr. Jenkison, but tell me the worst at once. I thought I had been pretty sure of it as the poll stood this morning.
Jen. It would have given me great pleasure, Sir, to have confirmed that opinion; but unfortunately for you, and unpleasantly for myself——
Free. Tut, tut, speak faster, man! What is it?
Jen. An old gentleman from Ensford, who formerly received favours from Mrs. Baltimore's father, has come many a mile across the country, out of pure good will, to vote for him, with ten or twelve distant voters at his heels; and this, I am free to confess, is a thing that was never taken into our calculation,
Free. That was very wrong tho': we should have taken every thing into our calculation. Shall I lose it, think you? I would rather lose ten thousand pounds.
Mrs. F. Yes, Mr. Freeman, that is spoken like yourself.
Jen. A smaller sum than that, I am almost sure—that is to say, I think I may have the boldness to promise, would seecue it to you.
Free. How so?
​ Jen. Mr. Baltimore, you know, has many unpleasant claims upon him.
Free. Debts, you mean: but what of that?
Jen. Only that I can venture to assure you, many of his creditors would have the greatest pleasure in life in obliging me. And when you have bought up their claims, it will be a very simple matter just to have him laid fast for a little while. The disgrace of that situation will effectually prevent the last days of the poll from preponderating in his favour. It is the easiest thing in the world.
Free. (shrinking back from him.) Is that your scheme? O fie, fie! the rudest tongued lout in the parish would have blushed to propose it.
Mrs. F. If there should be no other alternative?
Free. Let me lose it then! To be a Member of Parliament, and not an honest man! O fie, fie, fie! (walking up and down much disturbed.)
Jen. To be sure—indeed it must be confessed, gentlemen have different opinions on these subjects; and I am free to confess, that I have great pleasure, upon this occasion, in submitting to your better judgment. And now, Sir, as I am sorry to be under the necessity of hurrying away from you upon an affair of some consequence to myself, will you have the goodness to indulge me with a few moments attention, just whilst I mention to you what I have done in regard to Southerndown church-yard?
Free. Well, it is my duty to attend to that. Have you ordered a handsome monument to be put ​up to my father's memory? Ay, to the memory of John Freeman, the weaver. They reproach me with being the son of a mechanic; but I will shew them that I am not ashamed of my origin. Ay, every soul of them shall read it if they please, "erected to his memory by his dutiful son," &c.
Jen. Yes, Sir, I have ordered a proper stone, with a neat plain tablet of marble.
Free. A plain tablet of marble! that is not what I meant. I'll have it a large and a handsome thing, with angels, and trumpets, and death's heads upon it, and every thing that a good handsome monument ought to have. Do you think I have made a fortune like a prince to have my father's tombstone put off with a neat plain tablet?
Mrs. F. Now, my dear, you must allow me to know rather more in matters of taste than yourself, and I assure you a plain tablet is the genteelest and handsomest thing that can be put upon it.
Free. Is it?
Mrs. F. Indeed is it. And as for the inscription about his dutiful son and all that, I think it would be more respectful to have it put into Latin.
Free. Very well; if it is but handsome enough I don't care; so pray, Jenkison, write again, and desire them to put a larger tablet, and to get the Curate to make the inscription, with as much Latin in it as he can conveniently put together. I should be glad likewise, if you would write to the Vicar of Blackmorton to send me the register of my baptism: ​I shall want it by and by, on account of some family affairs.
Jen. I shall have the greatest pleasure in obeying your commands. Good day!(Exit.
Free. Where is the state of the poll, and the list of the outstanding voters?
Mrs. F. Come to my dressing-room, and I'll shew you exactly how every thing stands. You won't surely give up your point for a little—
Free. What do you mean to say?
Mrs. F. Nothing—nothing at all.(Exeunt.
SCENE III. Baltimore's house. Enter Baltimore, followed by David, and speaking as he enters.
Balt. And so the crowd gave three cheers when good old Humphries tottered up to the hustings to give his vote, as he declared, for the grandson of his old benefactor, Mr. Legender Baltimore? I should have liked to have seen it.
Dav. O, your honour, they gave three such hearty cheers! and old goody Robson clapped her poor withered hands till the tears run over her eyes.
Balt. Did she so? She shall be remembered for this! I saw her little grandson running about the other day barefooted—he shall run about barefooted no longer.—And so my friends begin to wear a bolder face upon it?
Dav. Yes, Sir, they begin to look main pert upon it now.
​ Balt. Well, David, and do thou look pert upon it too. There's something for thee, (gives him money. A noise of laughing heard without.) Who is that without? is it not Peter's voice? Ho, Peter!
Enter Peter followed by Nat.
What were you laughing at there?
Pet. (with a broad grin) Only, Sir, at Squire Freeman, he, he, he! who was riding up the Back-lane, a little while ago, on his new crop-eared hunter, as fast as he could canter, with all the skirts of his coat flapping about him, for all the world like a clucking hen upon a sow's back, he, he, he!
Balt. (with his face brightening) Thou art pleasant, Peter; and what then?
Pet. When just turning the corner, your honour, as it might be so, my mother's brown calf, bless its snout! I shall love it for it as long as I live, set its face through the hedge, and said "Mow!"
Balt. (eagerly.) And he fell, did he?
Pet. O Lord, yes, your honour! into a good soft bed of all the rotten garbage of the village.
Balt. And you saw this, did you ?
Pet. O yes, your honour, as plain as the nose on my face.
Balt. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! and you really saw it?
David aside to Nat. I wonder my master can demean himself so as to listen to that knave's tales: I'm sure he was proud enough once.
Balt. (still laughing.) You really saw it?
Pet. Ay, your honour, and many more than me saw it. Did'nt they Nat.?
​ Balt. And there were a number of people to look at him too?
Pet. O! your honour, all the rag tag of the parish were grinning at him. Wa'nt they Nat.?
Balt. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! this is excellent! ha, ha, ha! He would shake himself but ruefully before them (still laughing violently.)
Pet. Ay, Sir, he shook the wet straws and the withered turnip-tops from his back. It would have done your heart good to have seen him.
Dav. Nay, you know well enough, you do, that there is nothing but a bank of dry sand in that corner (with some indignation to Pet.)
Balt. (impatiently to David.) Poo, silly fellow! it is the dirtiest nook in the village.—And he rose and shook himself, ha, ha, ha! (laughing still violently.) I did not know that thou wert such a humourous fellow, Peter. Here is money for thee to drink the brown calf's health.
Pet. Ay, your honour, for certain he shall have a noggen.
Dav. (aside) To think now that he should demean himself so!
Enter Mrs. Baltimore.
Mrs. B. (aside to Balt.) Mr. Freeman is at the door: should you wish to receive him? I hurried to give you notice. Will it be disagreeable to you?
Balt. O, not at all. Let him in by all means! (to the servants) I am at home. [Exeunt servants.
Mrs. B. Now, this is as it should be, my dear Baltimore. I like to see you in this good temper of mind.
​ Balt. Say no more about that. Things go on prosperously with me at present: there is a gleam of sunshine thrown across us.
Enter Freeman and Charles Baltimore.
(To Free.) Good morning, Sir: a very good morning to you.
Free. I thank you, Mr. Baltimore. You see I take, notwithstanding all that is going on between us at present, the liberty of a neighbour.
Balt. (smiling.) O, no apology, Sir! I am very glad to see you. This is a fine morning for riding on horseback, Mr. Freeman: I hope you have enjoyed it.
Free. (aside to Char.) How gracious he is! We are certainly come in a lucky moment.
Char. He is in a monstrous good humour certainly; now is the time to manage him. (aside to Free.)
Free. I am much obliged to you. Sir, for this good neighbourly reception; and I flatter myself you will think I am come on a neighbourly visit too.
Balt. O certainly, Sir, but let us talk a little more this fine morning; it is really a very fine morning for riding on horseback: How does your crop-eared hunter do?
Free. Eating his oats, I dare say very contentedly. All my horses are pretty well off: I buy the best oats in the country for them, and I pay the best price for them too. They are not to be sure so well lodged as they will be. My ​architect has just given me in his plan for my new stables: two thousand pounds is the estimate, and I suppose I must allow him to go a little beyond it, to have every thing handsome and complete. That is my way. Will you look at the plan? (taking a plan from his pocket.)
Balt. (drawing back with disgust.) I have no taste for architecture.
Free. That is a pity now, for it is really a complete thing. By the bye, are not you going to do something to the roof of your offices soon? They'll be down about you ears presently, and the longer you delay that job, the heavier it will be when it comes. (aside to Charles, on seeing Balt. bite his lips and turn away from him) What is the matter with him now?
Char. (aside) Only a little twitching at his heart: it will soon be off again.
Mrs. Balt. (aside to Balt.) For Heaven's sake don't let this discompose you; his absurdity makes me laugh.
Balt. (aside.) Does it? I did not see you laugh. Well, I am a fool to mind it thus. (going up to Free. with affected good humour.) I am glad to hear your horses are to be lodged in a manner suitable to their owner's dignity. But you are the best horseman too, as well as the best horse-master in the county, though your modesty prevents you from talking of it.
Free. O dear. Sir! I am but middling in that way.
Balt. Pray don't let your diffidence wrong you. ​What do you jockeys reckon the best way of managing a fiery mettled steed, when a brown calf sets his face through the hedge, and says "Mow?"
Free. Ha, ha, ha! faith you must ask your friend Mr. Saunderson that question. His crop-eared horse has thrown him in the lane a little while ago, and he has some experience in the matter. As for myself, I have the rheumatism in my arm, and I have not been on horseback for a week. (Balt. looks mortified and disappointed.)
Mrs. B. (to Free.) He is not hurt, I hope?
Free. No, Madam; he mounted again and rode on.
Char. It was no fault of the horse's neither, if the goose had but known how to sit on his back. He has as good blood in him as any horse in—
Free. No, no, Charles! not now if you please. (going up frankly to Balt.) And now, Sir, that we have had our little laugh together, and it is a long time, it must be confessed, since we have had a joke together— ha, ha, ha! I like a little joke with a friend as well as any man—ha, ha, ha!
Balt, (retreating as Free. advances.) Sir.
Free. But some how you have been too ceremonious with me, Mr. Baltimore, and I'm sure I have always wish'd you to consider me as a neighbour, that would be willing to do you a kind office, or lend you or any of your family a lift at any time. (still advancing familiarly to Balt.)
Balt. (still retreating.) Sir, you are very gracious.
Free. So as I said, since we have had our little ​joke together, I'll make no more preface about it, my good neighbour. (still advancing as Balt. retreats, till he gets him close to the wall, and then, putting out his hand to take hold of him by the buttons, Balt. shrinks to one side and puts up his arm to defend himself.)
Balt. (hastily) Sir, there is no button here! (recovering himself, and pointing in a stately manner to a chair.) Do me the honour. Sir, to be seated, and then I shall hear what you have to say.
Free. (offended.) No, Sir, I perceive that the shorter I make my visit here the more acceptable it will be; I shall therefore say what I have to say, upon my legs. (assuming consequence.) Sir, I have by my interest, and some small degree of influence which I believe I may boast of possessing in the country, procured the nomination of a young man, to a creditable and advantageous appointment in the East Indies. If you have no objection, I bestow it upon your relation, here, Mr. Charles Baltimore, of whom I have a very good opinion.
Balt. Sir, I am at a loss to conceive how you should take it into your head to concern yourself in the affairs of my family. If Mr. Charles Baltimore chooses to consider himself as no longer belonging to it, he may be glad of your protection.
Mrs. B. My dear Mr. Baltimore, how strangely you take up this matter! Indeed, Mr. Freeman, you are very good: and pray don't believe that we are all ungrateful.
​ Balt. (angrily to Charles.) And you have chosen a patron, have you!
Char. I'm sure I did not think—I'm sure I should be very glad—I'm sure I don't know what to do.
Free. Good morning, Madam: I take my leave. (slightly to Balt.) Good morning. (Exit.
Char. I'm sure I don't know what to do.
Mrs. B. Whatever you do, I hope you will have the civility, at least, to see that worthy man down stairs, and thank him a hundred times over for his goodness.
Char. That I will.(Exit hastily.
Mrs. B. Oh, Baltimore! how could you treat any body so, that came to you with offers of kindness?
Balt. (striding up and down.) What would you have had me do? what would you have had me do, Madam? His abominable fingers were within two inches of my nose.
Mrs. B. Oh, Baltimore, Baltimore!
Balt. Leave me, Madam!(Exit Mrs. B. with her handkerchief to her eyes.)
(He still strides up and down; then stopping suddenly to listen.)
Enter Peter.
What, dost thou dare to appear before me with that serpent's tongue of thine, sloughed over with ​lies? You dare to bring your stories to me, do you? (shaking him violently by the collar.)
Pet. Oh! mercy, mercy, your honour! I'm sure it was no fault of mine that it was not Squire Freeman that fell. I'm sure I did all I could to make it him.
Balt. Do what thou can'st now, then, to save thy knave's head from the wall, (throwing Peter violently from him, after shaking him well; and exit into an inner room, flapping the door behind him with great force.)
Pet. (after looking ruefully and scratching his head for some time.) Well, I sees plainly enough that a body who tells lies should look two or three ways on every side of him before he begins.(Exit very ruefully.)
END OF THE SECOND ACT.