The Beaux-Stratagem: A comedy in five acts. George Farquhar

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      Bon. Veal, sir! we had a delicate loin of veal on Wednesday last.

      Aim. Have you got any fish, or wild fowl?

      Bon. As for fish, truly, sir, we are an inland town, and indifferently provided with fish, that's the truth on't; but then for wild fowl! – We have a delicate couple of rabbits.

      Aim. Get me the rabbits fricasseed.

      Bon. Fricasseed! Lard, sir, they'll eat much better smothered with onions.

      Arch. Pshaw! Rot your onions.

      Aim. Again, sirrah; – Well, landlord, what you please; but hold, I have a small charge of money, and your house is so full of strangers, that I believe it may be safer in your custody than mine; for when this fellow of mine gets drunk, he minds nothing – Here, sirrah, reach me the strong box.

      Arch. Yes, sir, – this will give us reputation. [Aside. – Brings the Box.

      Aim. Here, landlord, the locks are sealed down, both for your security and mine; it holds somewhat above two hundred pounds; if you doubt it, I'll count it to you after supper: But be sure you lay it where I may have it at a minute's warning: for my affairs are a little dubious at present; perhaps I may be gone in half an hour, perhaps I may be your guest till the best part of that be spent; and pray order your ostler to keep my horses ready saddled: But one thing above the rest I must beg, that you would let this fellow have none of your Anno Domini, as you call it; – for he's the most insufferable sot – Here, sirrah, light me to my chamber.

      Arch. Yes, sir!

      Bon. Cherry, daughter Cherry.

      Cher. D'ye call, father?

      Bon. Ay, child, you must lay by this box for the gentleman, 'tis full of money.

      Cher. Money! all that money! why sure, father, the gentleman comes to be chosen parliament man. Who is he?

      Bon. I don't know what to make of him; he talks of keeping his horses ready saddled, and of going, perhaps, at a minute's warning; or of staying, perhaps, till the best part of this be spent.

      Cher. Ay! ten to one, father, he's a highwayman.

      Bon. A highwayman! upon my life, girl, you have hit it, and this box is some new purchased booty. – Now, could we find him out, the money were ours.

      Cher. He don't belong to our gang.

      Bon. What horses have they?

      Cher. The master rides upon a black.

      Bon. A black! ten to one the man upon the black mare: and since he don't belong to our fraternity, we may betray him with a safe conscience: I don't think it lawful to harbour any rogues but my own. Lookye, child, as the saying is, we must go cunningly to work; proofs we must have; the gentleman's servant loves drink; I'll ply him that way, and ten to one he loves a wench; you must work him t'other way.

      Cher. Father, would you have me give my secret for his?

      Bon. Consider, child, there's two hundred pound, to boot. [Ringing without.] Coming, coming – child, mind your business.

      Cher. What a rogue is my father! My father! I deny it – My mother was a good, generous, free-hearted woman, and I can't tell how far her goodnature might have extended for the good of her children. This landlord of mine, for I think I can call him no more, would betray his guest, and debauch his daughter into the bargain, – by a footman too!

      Arch. What footman, pray, mistress, is so happy as to be the subject of your contemplation?

      Cher. Whoever he is, friend, he'll be but little the better for't.

      Arch. I hope so, for, I'm sure, you did not think of me.

      Cher. Suppose I had?

      Arch. Why then you're but even with me; for the minute I came in, I was considering in what manner I should make love to you.

      Cher. Love to me, friend!

      Arch. Yes, child.

      Cher. Child! manners; if you kept a little more distance, friend, it would become you much better.

      Arch. Distance! good night, saucebox. [Going.

      Cher. A pretty fellow; I like his pride. – Sir – pray, sir – you see, sir. [Archer returns.] I have the credit to be entrusted with your master's fortune here, which sets me a degree above his footman; I hope, sir, you an't affronted.

      Arch. Let me look you full in the face, and I'll tell you whether you can affront me or no. – 'Sdeath, child, you have a pair of delicate eyes, and you don't know what to do with them.

      Cher. Why, sir, don't I see every body!

      Arch. Ay, but if some women had them, they would kill every body. – Pr'ythee instruct me; I would fain make love to you, but I don't know what to say.

      Cher. Why, did you never make love to any body before?

      Arch. Never to a person of your figure, I can assure you, madam; my addresses have been always confined to people within my own sphere, I never aspired so high before.

      Cher. Will you give me that song, sir?

      Arch. Ay, my dear, take it while it is warm. [Kisses her.] Death and fire! her lips are honeycombs.

      Cher. And I wish there had been a swarm of bees too, to have stung you for your impudence.

      Arch. There's a swarm of Cupids, my little Venus, that has done the business much better.

      Cher. This fellow is misbegotten, as well as I. [Aside.] What's your name, sir?

      Arch. Name! egad, I have forgot it. [Aside.] Oh, Martin.

      Cher. Where were you born?

      Arch. In St. Martin's parish.

      Cher. What was your father?

      Arch. Of – of – St. Martin's parish.

      Cher. Then, friend, goodnight.

      Arch. I hope not.

      Cher. You may depend upon't.

      Arch. Upon what?

      Cher. That you're very impudent.

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