TONY. No, no. But I tell you though, the landlord is rich, and going to leave off business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving your presence, he! he! he! He'll be for giving you his company, and ecod, if you mind him, he'll persuade you that his mother was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of the peace. LAND. A troublesome old blade, to be sure; but a keeps as good wines and beds as any in the whole country. MARL. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no further connexion. We are to turn to the right, did you say? TONY. No, no; straightforward. I'll just step myself, and show you a piece of the way. (_To the landlord._) Mum. LAND. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant-damn'd mischievous son of a whore. _Exeunt._ ACT II. SCENE.—_An old-fashioned house._ _Enter_ HARDCASTLE, _followed by three or four awkward Servants_. HARD. Well, I hope you're perfect in the table exercise I have been teaching you these three days. You all know your posts and your places; and can show that you have been used to good company, without stirring from home. OMNES. Ay, ay. HARD. When company comes, you are not to pop out and stare, and then run in again, like frighted rabbits in a warren. OMNES. No, no. HARD. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a show at the side-table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself behind _my_ chair. But you're not to stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you. See how Diggory carries his hands. They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter. DIGG. Ay; mind how I hold them. I learned to hold my hands this way, when I was upon drill for the militia. And so being upon drill— HARD. You must not be so talkative, Diggory. You must be all attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not think of talking; you must see us drink, and not think of drinking; you must see us eat, and not think of eating. DIGG. By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forward, ecod he's always wishing for a mouthful himself. HARD. Blockhead! Is not a belly-full in the kitchen as good as a belly-full in the parlour? Stay your stomach with that reflection. DIGG. Ecod, I thank your worship I'll make a shift to stay my stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantry. HARD. Diggory you are too talkative. Then if I happen to say a good thing, or tell a good story at table, you must not all burst out a-laughing, as if you made part of the company. DIGG. Then ecod, your worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room: I can't help laughing at that—he! he! he!—for the soul of me. We have laughed at that these twenty years—ha! ha! ha!