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demerits, and brought her to condign punishment.
Ann. While Margery has her liberty, there's no fear of her being hurt, poor tiling.
Mar. Poor thing! Why, she's a nuisance, no one has a moment's peace or quiet for her; she's so cunning and so spiteful, and such a devil of a glutton !—do you know that bird will tuck down pretty near as much as would serve me for a lunch.
Ann. Ha! ha! ha!
Pie. Ha! ha! ha!.
Mar. There! always mocking people. Ey! you mischievous monkey.
Ann. Don't be angry, don't hurt her, Martin.
Mar. Why, one wouldn't go to set one's wit to a poor bird, you know; but godmother says Mag has more wit than I have—O she does—and thinks her company more entertaining and agreeable too.
Ann. Never mind, Martin, I think your company very agreeable and entertaining; but I mustn't enjoy it any longer, for I've a great many things to do, so good bye, Martin, good bye [Music—Annette enters the House.)
Mar. Good bye, Annette. O bless you! That's the kindest soul in the village—every body loves her—and so do I—pity she has such examples before her as my godmother. and Margery here, —(Going to the Magpie.) Eh! you nasty little pyebald giggler.
Dame G. (Coming from the House.) Make haste, Annette, make haste, and get every tiling in order—Oh, I'm so delighted, so overjoyed! In one hour more our dear child, our dear Henry will be with us again —but where is that lazy fellow, Martin?
Mar. Oh, oh !—(Magpie biles him.)
Dame G. What, you are there, are you, teazing my bird again!
Mar. Confound her, she has bit me to the bone.
Dame G. And served you right,—why don't you leave her alone, pretty creature.
Mar. Devilish pretty! looks like a chimneysweep pelted with snow-balls.
Dame G- Go, run, prepare the great table, and lay it out under those trees—now I think of it, 'twill be more convenient, for the farmer has invited all his friends to welcome home our Henry.
Mar. What, Henry coming home?
Dame G. Yes, Martin, we expect him this very evening, and I'm so happy, that I don't think I shall scold you again—
Davie G. No, not till to-morrow—'tis now six years since he was a soldier, and nearly two since I have seen him—but he shall never leave me again.
Mar. Oh, how I shall love to hear him tell all about the wars—how many times he covered himself with glory, and how many wounds he received in battle.
Dame G. Wounds!
Mar. Yes, but I hope he has got no scars upon his face, godmother, for he was very handsome, you know, and it would be a pity if he was to come back with a broken head.
Dame G. Go along, you stupid fellow, or you shall have a broken head of your own.
Mar. I'm going, godmother.
(Music—Farmer Gerald appears at the back, r Oiling a cask of J fine.)
Ger. Martin, come here, my boy, and lend a hand.
Mar. I'm coming, godfather.
Dame G. What have you got there, husband?
Ger. Comfort—a cask of wine," good wife.
(Martin helps him to set up the Cask.) Dame G. A nine gallon cask! Oh, it's too mu<»h.
Ger. Not a drop—I'm determined they shall have their skins full, to make a day's sport go off swimmingly—there's nothing like good wine to set them afloat —I've order'd some fiddlers too for the girls.
Mar. Some fiddlers! Oh then, they must have their skins full too, for a fiddler without drink is as bad as his bow without rozin.
Dame G.y I'll rozin you, you blockhead, if you don't go and mind your business—(Martin goes off) — Can't get one of them to do any thing for me—I'm oblig'd to think, and to talk, till I quite tire myself.
Ger. Yes, 8nd tire me into the bargain. If you would but think a little more, and talk a little less, it would improve my health and your temper wonderfully.
(When Martin goes off( the preparations for the Supper begin, and Martin is continually on and off the Stage, directing the Servants, and attending to the conversation in front.) Dame G. Temper! my temper! —ivir. Gerrald, I defy you to find a woman with more mildness, more patienGe, more good nature — Mar. Ha! ha! ha ! - Oil Lord! Oh Lord! Dame G. What are you laughing at, Sirrah? Mar. Oh—I—I was only laughing at youj mag—your Magpie, godmother.
Dame G. Then there's Annette, another dawdle —quite as idle as the rest—
Ger. Come, come, wife, that's not true; Annette is a worthy good girl; exact in her duty, , and obliging in her disposition.
Dame G. Yes, obliging with a vengeance!— she hardly gives me time to mention my orders, before theyare executed—I don't like that—Now, Martin I can scold twenty times a day, and whenever I lay a stick across his back it does me as much good as it does him; it circulates the blood, and makes me feel quite alive.
Mar. Does it,—I wish you'd get another doctor, tho'—
Dame G. The fact is, yon have half spoilt the girl —" my good Annette,'' and, "my charming Annette"—O' my conscience, every body seems in love with her.—I verily believe that old fool, Mr. Malcour, the Justice, has taken a fit of fondness for her now.
Ger. Pho! Malcour's a rascal; he never was fond of any thing but himself—a mere pettifogging attorney, who, by art and chicanery, has sorcw'd himself into the Commission, and is as much a disgrace to the situation he now holds, as he was to the honourable profession he was bred to—But listen, wife—
Dame G. Listen!
Ger. Yes, you have talk'd yourself out of breath, and I think its my turn now.
Dame G. Well, husband, well—
Ger. That girl must no longer be considered as a servant in this house—Her mother was my relation; and tho' her death has made Annette dependant upon us, and unavoidable misfortunes have forced her father to become a soldier, it is my duty, and should be your pleasure, to honour the parent who has shed his blood in the service of his country, and sliew kindness to the child bequeathed to our care and protection.
Dame G. Well, well, as you say—Poor Mr. Granville !— Ah! his wife was a kind-hearted soul.
Ger. Well, my dear, I have been thinking;, when Henry returns—
Dame G. That's well thought of, indeed —if we take a walk over the hill, we shall see him a full quarter of an hour sooner—Annette! I'll just speak a word to her—
Ger. First let me speak a word to you—I have a plan to marry Henry.
Dame G. How! marry! softly there, Mr. Gerald, if you please—that affair belongs entirely to me—I'll tell you who Henry shall marry—
Pie. Annette! Annette!
Ger. Egad, Mag has hit it—she is the very person.
Dame G. What, Annette!
Ann. Here, Ma'am—did you call? What are your commands?
Ger. Pretty little soul '.—Look at her (to Mrs. Ger. apart).
Dame G. Pshaw, nonsense! I won't hear of such a thing (Aside to Ger.)—Now the cloth is laid, Annette, you may place the silver, and the napkins on it. I shall go and fetch the plate-basket myself. But be careful that none of them are mislaid—don't let it be it was my last birthday, when a silver fork was lost.
Ann. Be assured, Madam, I shall take every care of them —that fork has caused me so much uneasiness, so much trouble—