_Postb._ I am the postboy, your honour, but the gem'man said I did not know how to drive, so he mounted my horse, and made me get inside--Here he is. _Enter_ HANDY, jun. _with a postboy's cap and whip._ _Handy, jun._ Ah, my old Dad, is that you? _Sir Abel._ Certainly! the only doubt is, if that be you? _Handy, jun._ Oh, I was teaching this fellow to drive--Nothing is so horrible as people pretending to do what they are unequal to--Give me my hat--That's the way to use a whip. _Postb._ Sir, you know you have broke the horses' knees all to pieces. _Handy, jun._ Hush, there's a guinea. [_Apart._ _Sir Abel._ [_To_ ASHFIELD.] You see, Bob can do everything. But, sir, when you knew I had arrived from Germany, why did you not pay your duty to me in London? _Handy, jun._ Sir, I heard you were but four days married, and I would not interrupt your honeymoon. _Sir Abel._ Four days! oh, you might have come. [_Sighing._ _Handy, jun._ I hear you have taken to your arms a simple rustic, unsophisticated by fashionable follies--a full blown blossom of nature. _Sir Abel._ Yes! _Handy, jun._ How does it answer? _Sir Abel._ So, so! _Handy, jun._ Any thorns? _Sir Abel._ A few. _Handy, jun._ I must be introduced--where is she? _Sir Abel._ Not within thirty miles; for I don't hear her. _Ash._ Ha, ha, ha! _Handy, jun._ Who is that? _Sir Abel._ Oh, a pretty behaved tittering friend of mine. _Ash._ Zarvent, zur--No offence, I do hope--Could not help tittering a bit at Nelly--when she were zarvent maid wi' I, she had a tightish prattle wi' her, that's vor zartain. _Handy, jun._ Oh! so then my honoured mamma was the servant of this tittering gentleman--I say, father, perhaps she has not lost the tightish prattle he speaks of. _Sir Abel._ My dear boy, come here--Prattle! I say did you ever live next door to a pewterer's?--that's all--you understand me--did you ever hear a dozen fire-engines full gallop?--were you ever at Billingsgate in the sprat season?--or---- _Handy, jun._ Ha, ha! _Sir Abel._ Nay, don't laugh, Bob. _Handy, jun._ Indeed, sir, you think of it too seriously. The storm, I dare say, soon blows over. _Sir Abel._ Soon! you know what a trade wind is, don't you, Bob? why, she thinks no more of the latter end of her speech, than she does of the latter end of her life-- _Handy, jun._ Ha! ha! _Sir Abel._ But I won't be laugh'd at--I'll knock any man down that laughs! Bob, if you can say any thing pleasant, I'll trouble you; if not, do what my wife can't--hold your tongue. _Handy, jun._ I'll shew you what I can do--I'll amuse you with this native. [_Apart._ _Sir Abel._ Do--do--quiz him--at him, Bob. _Handy, jun._ I say, Farmer, you are a set of jolly fellows here, an't you? _Ash._ Ees, zur, deadly jolly--excepting when we be otherwise, and then we bean't. _Handy, jun._ Play at cricket, don't you?