The play opens with a view of a country village; a public-house--sign the Salutation, on one side; on the other side, a baker's house and shop, and next door a butcher's house and shop; trees and a seat before it.
Enter the Rev. Mr. Shepherd--goes to the inn, and is shut out--he tries the baker, who will not give him a lodging--whereupon he proceeds to the butcher's. As he advances, he hears a hymn sung by the butcher's family, accompanied on the oboe. He is shortly after received by the butcher, and the scene changes to the inside of the butcher's house, where, as it is described, there is "everything remarkably neat, and even elegant in a plain way."
Enter Mrs. Goodman, George, and Ruth--then Goodman and the Rev. Mr. Shepherd.
GOODMAN. Mary, here is a gentleman will lodge here to-night. Muggins is in one of his surly fits, and has denied him. Put clean sheets on the bed, and you shall sleep with Ruth, and I with--George!
MRS. G. What will the gentleman be pleased to have? Pray, be seated, sir--take this great chair. Shall I do you a mutton chop, sir?
GOODMAN. Bring the ease-and-comfort, George.
In a long note Mr. Plumptree elaborately describes this machine, and benevolently observes, that no house should be without at least one of them.
MR. SHEPHERD. I thank you--if it will not be giving you too much trouble, I should prefer tea before everything--nothing refreshes me after fatigue like tea.
MRS. G. By all means, sir; the fire is not out in the back-house. Ruth, put on the kettle; it is hot; and get the tea-things.
GEORGE. (_Bringing the ease-and-comfort._) Here, father.
GOODMAN. Will you rest your legs on this, sir? we call it ease and comfort.
MR. SHEPHERD. 'Tis ease and comfort, indeed. I know it by the name of rest-and-be-thankful. I will beg, if you please, when I go to bed, the patriarchal hospitality of water for my feet, and that warm.
This conversation, which is quite refreshing from its naturalness, continues till it takes a turn in this manner:--
It will be observed that Goodman is a butcher.
GOODMAN. It is said that our laws do not allow a butcher to serve upon a jury in a case of life and death--supposing, from his business, that he must have less humanity than others.