but this is not enough; as I have been the means of losing your daughter one husband, it is but just I should get her another; and, since the farmer is so scrupulous, there is a young man in the house here, whom I have some influence over, and I dare say he will be less squeamish.

think

Fair. To be sure, my lord, you have, in all honest ways, a right to dispose of me and mine, as you proper.

Lord A. Go then immediately, and bring Patty hither; I shall not be easy till I have given you entire satisfaction. But, stay and take a letter, which I am stepping into my study to write: I'll order a chaise to be got ready, that you may go backward and forward with greater expedition. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Near the Mill.

Enter FANNY, following RALPH.

Fanny. Ralph! Ralph!

Ralph. What do you want with me,

eh?

Fanny. Lord, I never knowed such a man as you are since I comed into the world; a body can't speak to you, but you fall straightways into a passion: Ifollowed you up from the house, only you run so there was no such a thing as overtaking you, and I have been waiting there at the back-door ever so long.

Ralph. Well, and now you may go and wait at the fore-door, if you like it but I forewarn you and your

gang not to keep lurking about our mill any longer; for if you do, I'll send the constable after you, and have you every mother's skin clapped into the county gaol: you are such a pack of thieves, one can't hang so much as a rag to dry for you: it was but the other day that a couple of them came into our kitchen to beg a handful of dirty flour, to make them cakes, and before the wench could turn about, they had whipped off three brass candlesticks and a pot-lid.

Fanny. Well, sure it was not I!

Ralph. Then you know that old rascal, that you call father; the last time I catched him laying snares for the hares, I told him I'd inform the gamekeeper, and I'll expose all

Fanny. Ah, dear Ralph, don't be angry with me. Ralph. Yes, I will be angry with you-what do you come nigh me for?-You sha'n't touch meThere's the skirt of my coat, and if you do but lay a finger on it, my lord's bailiff is here in the court, and I'll call him and give you to him.

Fanny. If you'll forgive me, I'll go down on my knees.

Ralph. I tell you I won't.-No, no, follow your gentleman; or go live upon your old fare, crows and pole-cats, and sheep that die of the rot; pick the dead fowl off the dunghills, and squench your thirst at the next ditch, 'tis the fittest liquor to wash down such dainties-skulking about from barn to barn, and lying upon wet straw, on commons, and in green lanes-go, and be whipped from parish to parish, as you used to be.

Funny. How can you talk so unkind?

Ralph. And see whether you will get what will keep you as I did, by telling of fortunes, and coming with pillows under your apron, among the young farmers' wives, to make believe you are breeding, with "The Lord Almighty bless you, sweet mistress, you cannot tell how soon it may be your own case.”

You know I am acquainted with all your tricks-and how you turn up the whites of your eyes, pretending you were struck blind by thunder and lightning. Fanny. Pray, don't be angry, Ralph.

Ralph. Yes, but I will though; spread your cobwebs to catch flies; I am an old wasp, and don't value them a button.

AIR.

When you meet a tender creature,
Neat in limb, and fair in feature,
Full of kindness and good nature,
Prove again as kind to she;
Happy mortal! to possess her,
your bosom, warm, to press her,
Morning, noon, and night caress her,
And be fond as fond can be.

In

But if one you meet that's froward,
Saucy, jilting, and untoward,
Should you act the whining coward,
'Tis to mend her ne'er the whit.
Nothing's tough enough to bind her;
Then agog, when once you find her,
Let her go, and never mind her;

Heart alive, you're fairly quit.

[Exit.

Fanny. I wish I had a draught of water. I don't know what's come over me; I have no more strength than a babe; a straw would fling me down. He has a heart as hard as any parish officer; I don't doubt now but he would stand by and see me whipped himself; and we shall all be whipped, and all through my means- -The devil run away with the gentleman, and his twenty guineas too, for leading me astray: if I had known Ralph would have taken it so, I would

have hanged myself before I would have said a word -but I thought he had no more gall than a pigeon.

AIR.

O, what a simpleton was I,

To make my bed at such a rate!
Now lay thee down, vain fool, and cry,
Thy true-love seeks another mate.

No tears, alack!

Will call him back,

No tender words his heart allure;
I could bite

My tongue through spite

Some plague bewitch'd me, that's for sure.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A Room in the Miller's House.

Enter GILES, followed by PATTY, and THEODOSIA.

Giles. Why, what the plague's the matter with you? What do you scold at me for? I am sure I did not say an uncivil word, as I know of; I'll be judged by the young lady if I did.

Patty. 'Tis very well, Farmer; all I desire is, that you will leave the house: you see my father is not at home at present; when he is, if you have any thing to say, you know where to come.

Giles. Enough said, I don't want to stay in the house, not I; and I don't much care if I had never come into it.

Theod. For shame, Farmer! down on your knees, and beg Miss Fairfield's pardon, for the outrage you have been guilty of.

Giles. Beg pardon, Miss, for what?-Icod, that's well enough: why, I am my own master, ben't I?— If I have no mind to marry, there's no harm in that, I hope.-'Tis only changing hands. This morning she would not have me, and now I won't have she.

Patty. Have you!-Heavens and earth! do you think, then, 'tis the missing of you that gives me concern?—No, I would prefer a state of beggary a thousand times beyond any thing I could enjoy with you: and, be assured, if ever I was seemingly consenting to such a sacrifice, nothing should have compelled me to it, but the cruelty of my situation.

Giles. Oh, as for that, I believes you; but, you see, the gudgeon will not bite, as I told you a bit agone, you know: we farmers never love to reap what we don't sow.

Patty. You brutish fellow! how dare you talk

Giles. So, now she is in her tantrums again, and all for no manner of yearthly thing.

Patty. But, be assured, my lord will punish you severely, for daring to make free with his name.

Giles. Who made free with it? did I ever mention my lord? 'Tis a cursed lie!

Theod. Bless me, Farmer!

Giles. Why, it is miss, and I'll make her prove her words-Then what does she mean by being punished? I am not afraid of nobody, nor beholden to nobody, that I know of; while I pays my rent, my money, I believe, is as good as another's: egad, if it goes there, I think there be those deserve to be punished more than I.

Patty. Was ever unfortunate creature pursued as I am, by distresses and vexations! [Exit.