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sider that, and judge of me by yourself; you And all their discourse is of marriage. were once young and inexperienced as I am.


. Mrs. D. This is mighty pretty, romantic

SCENE II.-- A Greenhouse. stuff! but you learn it out of your play-books and novels. Girls in my time bad other em

Enter Young MEADOWS. ployments, we worked at our needles, and Young M. I am glad I bad the precaution kept ourselves from idle thoughts: before I was to bring this suit of clothes in my bundle, your age, I had finished with my own fingers though I hardly know myself in them again, a complete set of chairs and a firescreen in they appear so strange, and feel so unweildy. tent-stitch; four counterpanes in Marseilles However, my gardener's jacket goes on 20 quilting; and the creed and the ten command-more. - I wonder this girl does not come; ments in the hair of our family: it was fram'd (Looking at his Watch] perhaps she won't and glaz'd, and hung over the parlour chim-come.- Why, then I'll go into the village, ney-piece, and your poor, dear grandfather take a post-chaise, and depart witbout any was prouder of it than of e'er a picture in further ceremony. bis house. I never looked into a book, but

AIR. when I said my prayers, except it was the Complete Housewife, or the great family re- How much superior beauty awes, ceipt-book: whereas you are always at your The coldest bosoms find; studies! Ah, I never knew a woman come to But with resistless force it draws, good, that was fond of reading.

To sense and sweetness join'd. Luc. Well pray, madam, let me prevail on The casket, where, to outward show, you to give me the key to let Mr. Eustace The workman's art is seen, out, and I promise I never will proceed a step Is doubly valu'd, when we know further in this business without your advice It bolds a gem withia. and approbation.

Hark! she comes. Mrs. D. Have I not told you already, my Enter Sir William Meadows and Hawresolution ?- Where are my clogs and my bonnet? I'll go out to my brother in the fields;

THORN. I'm a fool, you know, child; now let's see Young M. Confusion! my father! Whal can what the wils will think of themselves-Don't this mean? bold me


. Şir W. Tom, are not you a sad boy, Tom, Luc. I'm not going; I have thought of a to bring me a hundred and forty miles bere way to be even with you, so you may do as-May I never do an ill turn, but you deserve you please.

[Exit. to have your head broke; and I have a good Hodge. Well, I thought it would come to mind, partly-What, sirrah, don't you ibink this, l'il be shot if I didn't-So here's a fine it worth your while to speak to me? job-But what can they do to me? - They Young M. Forgive me, sir; I own I have can't send me to gaol for carrying a letter, been in a fault. seeing there was no treason in it; and how Sir W. In a fault! to run away from me was I obligated to know my master did not because I was going to do you good-May ! allow of their meetings:- The worst they can never do an ill turn, Mr. Hawthorn, if I did do is to turn me off, and I am sure the place not pick out as tine a girl for him, partly, as is no such great purchase-indeed, I should any in England! and the rascal run away be sorry to leave Mrs. Rosetla, seeing as bow from me, and came here and turn'd gardener. matters are so near being brought to an end And pray what did you propose to yourself

, betwixt us; but she and I may keep company Tom? I know you were always fond of boall as one; and I find Madge has been speaking tany, as they call it; did you intend to keep with Gaffer Broadwbeels, the waggoner, about the trade going, and advertise fruit-trees and ber carriage up to London: so that I have got flowering-shrubs, to be had at Meadows rid of she, and I am sure I have reason to be nursery? main glad of it, for she led me a wearisome Haw. No, sir William, I apprehend the life-But that's the way of them all. young gentleman designed to lay by the pro

fession; for he has quitted the habit already.

Young M. I am so astonished to see you A plague o'these wenches, they make such here, sir, that I don't know what to say: but a pother,

I assure you, if you had not come, I should When once they have let'n a man have have relurned home to you directly. Pray, his will;

sir, how did you find me out? They're always a whining for something or Sir W. No matter, Tom, no matter: it was

partly by accident, as a body may say, but And cry

he's unkind in his carriage. what does that signify? - tell me, boy, box What tho'f he speaks them ne'er so fairly, stands your stomach towards matrimony: 4 Still they keep teazing, tearing on: you think you could digest a wife now? You cannot persuade 'em

Young M. Pray, sir, don't mention it: I shall Till promise you've made 'em; always behave myself as a dutiful son ought. And after they've got it,

I will never marry without your conseal, and They tell you-add rot it,

I hope you won't force me to do it against Their character's blasted, they're ruin'd, un- my own. done :

Sir W. Is not this mighly provoking, master Then to be sure, sir,

Hawthorn? Why, sirrah, did you ever see the There is but one cure, sir, lady I designed for you?



Young M. Sir, I don't doubt the lady's me-, kind of embarrassment, and I don't wonder rit; but, at present, I am not disposed- at it; but this letter, which I received from

Haw. Nay but, young gentleman, fair and bim a few days before I left my father's house, softly; you should pay some respect to your will, I apprehend, expound ihe riddle. He father in this matter.

cannot be surprised that I ran away from a Sir W. Respect, master Hawthorn! I tell gentleman who expressed so much dislike to you he shall marry her, or I'll disinherit him! ine; and what has happened, since chance ihere's once. Look you, Tom, not to make bas brought us together in masquerade, there any more words of the matter, I have brought is no occasion for me to inform him of. the lady here with me, and I'll see you con- Young M. What is all this? Pray don't tracted before we part; or you shall delve and make a jest of me! plant cucumbers as long as you live.

Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, Tom, Young M. Have you brought the lady here, if it is not truth! this is my friend's daughter. sir? I am sorry for it.

Young M. Sir! Sir W. Why sorry? What, then, you won't Ros. Even so; 'tis very true, indeed. In marry her? We'll see that! Pray, master Haw-short, you have not been a more whimsical thorn, conduct the fair one in. Ay, sir, you gentleman, than I have a gentlewoman; but may fret and dance about, trot at the rate of you see we are designed for one another, fifteen miles an hour, if you please; but, marry 'tis plain. wbip me, I'm resolved.

Young M. I know not, madam, wbat I ei

ther hear or see; a thousand things are crowdEnter Rosetta.

ing on my imagination; while, like one just Haw. Here is the lady, sir William. awakened from a dream, I doubt wbich is

Sir W. Come in, madam; but turn your reality, which delusion. face from bim-he would not marry you be- Sir W. Well then, Tom, come into the cause he had not seen you: but I'll let him air a bit, and recover yourself. know my choice shall be his, and he shall Young M. Nay, dear sir, have a little paconsent to marry you before he sees you, or tience; do you give her to me? not an acre of estate - Pray, sir, walk this Sir W. Give her to you! ay, that I do, way.

and my blessing into the bargain. Young M. Sir, I cannot help thinking your Young M. Then, sir, I am the happiest man conduct a little extraordinary; but, since you in the world! I inquire no further; bere I fix urge me so closely, I must tell you my af- the utmost limits of my hopes and happiness. fections are engaged. Sir W. How, Tom, how?

DUETT. Young M. I was determined, sir, lo have Young M. All I wish in her oblaining, got the better of my inclination, and never

Fortune can no more impart: bave done a thing which I knew would be

Rós. Let my eyes, my thoughts explaining, disagreeable to you.

Speak the feelings of my heart. Sir W. And pray, sir, who are your affec-Young M. Joy and pleasure never ceasing, tions engaged to ? Let me know thal.

Ros. Love with length of years increasing, Young M. To a person, sir, whose rank Together. Thus my heart and hand surrender, and fortune may be no recommendation to

Here my faith and truth ! plight; her, but whose charms and accomplishments

Constant still, and kind and lender, entitle her to a monarch. I am sorry, sir,

May our flames burn ever bright! it's impossible for me to comply with your Haw. Give you joy, sir; and you, fair lady, commands, and I hope you will not be of- |-And, under favour, rll salute you too, if fended if I quit your presence.

there's no fear of jealousy. Sir W. Not 1, pot in the least: go

about Young M. And may I believe this? Prythee your business.

tell dear Roselta! Young M. Sir, I obey:

Ros. Step into the house, and I'll tell you Haw. Now, madam; is the time.

every thing; I must entreat the good offices (Rosetta advances. Young Meadows turns of sír William and Mr. Hawthorn immediaround and sees her.

tely; for I am in the utmost uneasiness about

my poor friend, Lucinda. When we see a lover languish

Haw. Why, what's the matter?
And his truth and honour prove,

Ros. I don't know; but I have reason to
Ab! bow sweet to heal bis anguish, fear I left her just now in very disagreeable
And repay him love for love.

circumstances: however I hope if there's any Sir W. Well

, Tom, will you go away from mischief fallen out between her father and me now?

her lover Haw. Perhaps, sir William, your son does Haw. The music-master! I thought so. not like the lady; and, if so, pray don't put Sir W. What, is there a lover in the case ? a force upon his inclination.

May I never do an ill turn, but I am glad, Young M. You need not have taken this so I am! for we'll make a double wedding; method, sir, to let me see you are acquainted and, by way of celebrating it, take a trip to will my folly, whatever my inclinations are. London, to show the brides some of the plea

Sir W. Well but, Tom, suppose I give my sures of the town. And, master Hawthorn, consent to your marrying this young woman? you shall be of the party-Conie, children, go Young M. Your consent, sir?

before us. Ros. Come, sir William, we have carried Haw. Thank you, sir William ; I'll go inthe jest far enough: I see your son is in alto the house with you, and to church in see




when you

the young folks married; but as to London, heartily your servant; may I never do an ill I beg to be excused.

turn, but I am glad to meet you.

Jus. IV. Pray, sir William, are you acIf ever I'm catch'd in those regions of smoke, quainted with this person? That seat of confusion and noise,

Sir W. What, with Jack Eustace? why May I ne'er know the sweets of a slumber he's my kinsman: his mother and I were couunbroke,

sin-germans once removed, and Jack's a terr Nor the pleasure the country enjoys. worthy, young fellow; may I never do an ill Nay more, let them take me, lo punish my sin, turn, if I tell a word of a lie.

Where, gaping, the cocknies they fleece ; Jus. W. Well but, sir William, let me tell Clap me up with their monsters, cry, masters you, you know nothing of the matter; this walk in,

man is a music-master; a thrummer of wire, And show me for twopence a-piece. and a scraper of catgut, and teaches my daugt

[Exeunt. ter to sing: Scene III.—Justice Woodcock's Hall.

Sir W. What, Jack Eustace a music-master!

no, no; I know him better. Enter Justice Woodcock, Mrs. DEBORAH Eust. 'Sdeath, why should I attempt to carWoodcock, LUCINDA, Eustace, and Hodge. ry on this absurd farce any longer;-What

Mrs D. Why, brother, do you think that gentleman tells you is very true, sir; can't hear, or see, or make use of my senses? am no music-master, indeed. I tell you, I left that fellow locked up in her Jus. W, You are not, you own it then? closet; and, while I have been with you, they Eust. Nay more, sir, I am, as this lady has have broke open the door, and got him out represented me, [Pointing to Mrs. Deborah] again.

your daughter's lover: whom, witb ber own Jus. W. Well, you hear what they say. consent, I did intend to have carried off tbis

Mrs. D. I care not what they say; it's you night; but now that sir William Meadows encourage them in their impudence-Harkye, is here, to tell you who and what I am, I bussy, will you face me down that I did noi throw myself upon your generosity; from lock the fellow up?

wbich I expect greater advantages than I could Luc. Really, aunt, I don't know what you reap from any imposition on your unsuspimean;

talk intelligibly, I'll answer cious nature. you.

Mrs. D. Well, brother, what bare you to Eust. Seriously, madam, this is carrying say for yourself now? You have made a prethe jest a little too far.

cious day's work of it! Had


advice been Mrs. D. What, then, I did not catch you taken! Oh, I am ashamed of you; but you together in her chamber, nor overhear your are a weak man, and it can't be help'd; howdesign of going off to-night, nor find the ever, you should let wiser beads direct yok. bundles packed up

Luc. Dear papa, pardon me. Eust. Ha, ha, ha.

Sir W. Ay, do, sir, forgive ber; my couLuc Why, aunt, you rave.

sin Jack will make her a good husband, l'il Mrs. D. Brother, as I am a Christian wo-answer for it. man, she confessed the whole affair to me Ros. Stand out of the way, and let me from first to last; and in this very place was speak two or three words to his worship.

her marrow-bones for half an Come, my dear sir, though you refuse all the hour together, to beg I would conceal it from you. world, I am sure you can deny me nothing: Hodge. Oh Lord! Oh Lord !

love is a venial fault-You know wbat I mean. Mrs. D. What, sirrah, would you brazen -Be reconciled to your daughter, 1 conjare me too! Take that.

[Boxes him. you, by the memory of our past affections Hodge. I wish you would keep your hands What, not a word? to yourself! you strike me, because


AIR, been telling his worship stories.

Go, naughly man, I can't abide you: Jus. W'Why, sister, you are tipsy! Are then our rows so soon forgat?

Mrs. D. I tipsy, brother!-!-ihat never Ahl now I see if I had tried you, touch a drop of any thing strong from year's What would have been my hopeful lot. end to year's end; but now and then a little anniseed water, when I have got the colic.

But here I charge you-Make them happ! ; Luc. Well, aunt, you have been complain

Bless tbe fond pair, and crown their bliss: ing of the stomach-ach all day; and may bave

Come, be a dear, good natur'd pappy, taken too powerful a dose of your cordial.

And I'll reward you with a kiss. Jus. W. Come, come, I see well enough Mrs. D. Come, turn out of the house, and how it is; this is a lie of her own'invention, be thankful tbat my brother does not has ty make herself appear wise: but, you simple-you, for he could do it; he's a justice at ton, did you not know I must find you out? peace;-turn out of the house, I sar:Enter Sir William Meadows, HAWTHORN, him out of the house?-be sball star wbeno

Jus. W. Who gave you authority to ton ROSETTA, and young MEADOWS.

he is. Young M. Bless

sir! look who is yonder. Mrs. D. He shan't marry my niece, Sir W. Cocksbones, Jack, honest Jack, are Jus. W. Shan't he! but ru show you the you there?

difference now; I say he shall marry ber, Eust. Plague on't, this rencounter is un- and what will you do about it? lucky-Sir William, your servant.

Mrs. D. And you will give him your estate Sir W. Your servant, again; and again, too, will you?

down upon

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Jus. W. Yes, I will.

to make up the company of your statute ball; Mrs. D. Why I'm sure he's a vagabond. yonder's music too, I see; shall we enjoy

Jus. W. I like him the belter; I would have ourselves? him a vagabond. Mrs. D. Brother, brother!

Enter Villagers, etc. Haw. Come, come, madam, all's very well; If so, give me your hand. and I see my neighbour is what I always Jus. W. Why here's my hand, and we thought him, a man of sense and prudence will enjoy ourselves. Heaven bless you both,

Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, but I children, I saysay so too.

Jus. W. Here, young fellow, take my daugh- Hence with cares, complaints, and frowning, ter, and bless you both together; but bark Welcome jollity and joy ; you, no money till I die, Sister Deborah, Ev'ry grief in pleasure drowning, you're a fool.

Mirth this bappy night employ: Mrs. D. Ah brother, brother, you're a silly Let's to friendship do our duty,

Laugh and sing some good old strain; Haw. Adds me, sir, here are some of your Drink a health to love and beautyneighbours come to visit you, and I suppose May they long in triumph reign.


old man.


Com. Opera, by lcasc Bickerstaffe. Acted at Covent Garden 1765. This is taken from Richardson's novel of Pamela, and ran thirty-five nights. In the year 1782, Mr. O'Keeffe added several airs to it, with which it was revived with applause. It has since been redaced to an afterpiece, and performed in that state at Covent Garden. It has been observed, that, "ike Pamela, this is one of those delusions which frequently destroy the proper subordination of society. The village beauty, whose simplicity and innocence are her native charms, smilten with the reveries of rank and splenduur, becomes affected and retired, disdaining her situation and every one about her."-We do not believe, however, that many instances of this could be adduced.

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says to she,


no doubt but you'll find enow for a body to do. SCENE 1. A rural Prospect, with a Mill

Fair. What dost mutter? Is't not a strange ot Work Several People employed

plague that thou canst never go about any about it; on one side a House, Patty read-ihing with a good will; murrain take it, what's ing in the Window; on the other a Barn,

come o'er the boy? So then thou wilt not where Fanny sits mending a Net; Giles set a hand to what I have desired thee? appears at a distance in the Mill; FAIR- Pat do do some thing then? 1' thought when

Ralph. Why don't you speak to suster FIELD and Ralph taking Sacks from a Cart.

she came home to us, after my old lady's death, she was to bave been of some use in

the house; but instead of that, she sits there Free from sorrow, free from strife, O how blest the miller's life!

all day, reading outlandish books, dressed like

a fine madumasel; and the never a word you Cheerful working through the day, Still he laughs and sings away.

Fair. Sirrah, don't speak so disrespectfully Nought can vex bim,

of thy sister; thou wilt never have the tithe Nought perplex bim,

of her deserts. While there's grist to make him gay.

Ralph. Why, I'll read and write with her DUETT.

for what she dares; and as for playing on Let the great enjoy the blessings

the hapsichols ?), I thinks her rich godmother By indulgent fortune sent:

might have learn'd her something more proWhat can wealth, can grandeur offer, perer, seeing she did not remember to leave More than plenty and content?

her a legacy at last. Fair. Well done, well done; 'tis a sure Fair. That's none of thy business, sirrab. sigo work goes on merrily when folks sing Ralph. A farmer's wife painting pictures, at it. Stop the mill there; and dost hear, and playing on the hapsicols; why I'll be son Ralph, hoist yon sacks of flour upon this bang'd now, for all as old as she is, if she cart, lad, and drive it up to lord Aimworth's: knows any more about milking a cow, than coming from London last night with strange I do of sewing a petticoat. company, no doubt there are calls enough for Fair. Ralph, thou hast been drinking this it by this time.

morning. Ralph. Ay, feyther, whether or not, there's 1) Harpsichord.

guve me.


Ralph. Well, if so be as I have, it's no- Fair. Well, Patty, master Goodman, my thing out of your pocket, nor mines neither. Jord's steward has been with me just now,

Fair. Who has been giving thee liquor, and I find we are like to have great doings; sirrah?

bis lordship. bas brought down sir Harry SyRalph. Why it was wind 1)—a gentleman camore and his family, and there is more

company expected in a few days. Fair. A gentleman!

Pat. I know sir Harry very well; he is by Ralph. Yes, a gentleman that's come piping marriage a distant relation of my lord's. bot from London: be is below at the Cat and Fair. Pray what sort of a young body is the Bagpipes; Icod be rides a choice bit of a nag. daughter there? I think she used to be with you I dare to say she'd fetch as good as forty at the castle, three or four summers ago, when pound at ever a fair in all England. my young lord was out upon his travels.

Fair. A fig's end for what she'd fetch; mind Pat. Oh! very often; she was a great sathy business, or by the lord Harry

vourite of my lady's: pray, father, is she Ralph. Why I won't do another hand's come down? turn to-day now, so that's flat.

Fair. Why you know the report last night, Fair. Thou wilt not

about my lord's going to be married. By Ralph. Why no I wont; so wbat argufies wbat I can learn she is; and there is likely your putting yourself in a passion, feytber? to be a nearer relationship between the fa I've promised to go back to the gentleman; milies, ere long. It seems his lordship. was and I don't know but what he's a lord too; not over willing for the match, but the friends and mayhap he may do more for me than you on both sides in London pressed it so hard: thinks of

then there's a swinging fortune: master GoodFair. Well, son Ralph, run thy gail; but man tells me, a matter of twenty or thirty remember I tell thee, ihou wilt repeat this thousand pounds. untowardness.

Pat. If it was a million, father, it would Ralph. Why, how shall I repent it? May- not be more than my lord Aimworth deserhap you'll turn me out of your service; a ves; I suppose the wedding will be celebrated match; with all hearts Icod I don't care three bere at the mansion-house. brass pins.

Fair. So it is thought, as soon as things

can be properly prepared—And now, Patty, If that's all you want, who the plague will if I could but thee a little merry-Come, be sorry?

bless thee, pluck up tby, spirits-To be sure 'Twere better by half to dig stones in a quarry;

thou hast sustained, in ibc death of thy lady, For my share, I'm weary of what is got by's: a heavy loss; she was a parent to thee; nay, S'flesh ! here's such a racket, such scolding and better, inasmuch as she took thee wben and coiling,

thou wert but a babe, and gave thee an eduYou're never content, but when folks are a toiling, cation which thy natural parents could not And drudging like borses from morning wit afford to do. night.

Pat. Ab! dear father, don't mention what

perhaps has been my greatest misfortune. You think I'm afraid, but the diff'rence to

Fair. Nay then, Pally, what's become of

all thy sense that people talk so much about? First yonder's your shovel; your sacks too 1-But I have something to say to thee which

I would have thee consider seriously-I believe Henceforward take care of your mallers who I need not tell thee, my child, that a young will:

maiden, after she is marriageable, especially of They're welcome to slave for your wages she has any thing about her lo draw people's

who need'em; Tol lol de rol lol, I have purchas'd my freedom, cross accidents; so that the sooner she's out of

notice, is liable to ill tongues, and a many And never bereafter shall work at the mill. harm's way the better. I say, tben, a young


. woman's best safeguard is a good busband. Fair. Dear beart, dear heart! I protest this Now there is our neighbour, farmer Giles; ungracious boy puts me quite beside myself. he is a sober, honest, industrious, young felPaity, my dear, come down into the yard a low, an done of the wealthiest in these parts; little, and keep me company-and you, thieves, he is greatly taken with thee; and it is not vagabonds, gipsies, out here! 'tis you de-Juhe first time I have told thee I should be bauch my son. [Drives off Gipsies. glad to bave bim for a son-in-law.

Pat. And I have told you as often, fatber, Enter PATTY from the House.

I would submit myself entirely to your direc

tion; whatever you think proper for me is se In love to pine and languish,

Fair. Why that's spoken like a dutiful, Yet know your passion vain;

sensible girl; get thee in, then, and leare pe To barbour heart-felt anguish,

to manage it-Perhaps our neighbour Giles Yet fear to tell your pain:

is not a gentleman; but what are the greatest What powers unrelenting,

part of our country gentlemen good for? Severer ills inventing,

Pat. Very true, falber. [Exit into the Cottage. Can sharpen pangs like these;

Enter GILES. Where days and nights tormenting, Giles. Well, master Fairfield, you and Yield not a moments casc?

miss Pat bave had a long discourse together: 1) The country way of prononncing wine,

did you tell her that I was come down?

sbow you,

throw you;


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