ROB ROY MACGREGOR;

AN OPERATIC DRAMA IN THREE ACTS.

Dramatis Personæ,

As Originally Acted in the Theatres Royal, Covent Garden, London, 1818, and Edinburgh, 1819; and as Performed in the latter, before and by command of His Majesty, King George the Fourth, Tuesday, August 27, 1822.

Highlanders, Travellers, Lennox Troopers, English Soldiers, &c.

ROB ROY.

Act First.

SCENE I.-The interior of a Village Inn.-TRAVELLERS preparing to set forward on their journey-HOST and HOSTESS attending them.-Sunset.

SoLc.

CHORUS.

GLEE.

Soon the sun will gae to rest,
Let's awa' thegither;

Company is aye the best,

Crossing o'er the heather.

Tak' each lad his stirrup cup,
His heart will feel the lighter;
Tak' each lass a wee bit sup,
Her e'e will sparkle brighter.

Bold Rob Roy, the Southrons say,
Is now upon the border;
Should he meet wi' us the day,
"Twad breed a sad disorder.

Soon the sun, &c.

HOST. Brawly sung, my maisters, brawly sung! I wish ye a' safe hame, for yer ain sakes, an' a quick return for mine. Here, wife, gi'e our frien's their stirrup-cup, while I rub down the table. I wish you a' gude e'en, frien's.

[Exeunt TRAVELLERS.

Odd! there are twa mair travellers just alighting. Wha'd ha'e thought o' mair company at the "Thistle an' Bagpipes" sae late i' the day? But what wi' Whigs and Tories, Jacobites an' Rob Roy, we in the North here drive a bonny trade o't.

Enter ROB ROY, dressed like a north-country grazier—and OWEN, in a plain brown suit, boots, a whip, &c., shown in by WILLIE.

WIL. Travellers to Glasco', maister.

ROB. Landlord, let us have your best, and quickly too.

HOST. Troth will I, sir; ye'll be for a dram, nae doubt, till we can toss ye up something het for yer late dinner.

[Exit HOST. (OWEN places a small saddle-bag on the table, and sinks into a chair, evidently greatly fatigued.)

OWEN. Oh, my poor bones! the firm of my constitution has been worse shaken than the great house of Osbaldistone and Co., Crane Alley, London.

(WILLIE places liquor and glasses on the table.)

Young man, have you sent my message to the Hall, hard by? (ROB ROY pours out, and OWEN drinks.)

WIL. Ay, sir, and the lassie will sune be back wi' the answer. [Exit.

ROB. Weel, fellow-traveller, how does our Scotch whisky agree with your English stomach?

OWEN. Thank you, sir, thank you :-it cheers the body, but it cannot raise the spirit. I'm quite below par, as we say in the city.

ROB. Try it again, man.

OWEN. I hope Mr Francis Osbaldistone will make hasteyet I have a sad tale to tell him.

ROB. Osbaldistone! I know something of that family, sir, and if there's anything I can serve you in. you may command me. OWEN. You are very kind, sir, but it is far beyond your help.

ROB. Perhaps not. Will you trust me with the matter? OWEN. Surely I will, sir. The affairs of the great commercial and banking house of Osbaldistone and Co., Crane Alley, London, are no secret by this time. All public as the Gazette. That I should live to see it and to say it! Oh dear!

ROB. Come, come; there's nought so bad but what it may be mended. Let's hear the business that brings you to the Hall.

OWEN. It's a long account, sir; but I'll sum it up by the shortest rules. You must know, sir, my name is Owen. I am head clerk and junior partner of the house of Osbaldistone and Co., Crane Alley, London; and I am now on my way to Glasgow to recover certain papers which have been taken-stolen, I'm afraid-in the absence of the head of the firm.

ROB. Stolen! by whom?