father in this matter.

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 him a few days before I left my father's house, softly; you should pay some respect to your will, I apprehend, expound the riddle. He 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! me; and what has happened, since chance there's once. Look you, Tom, not to make has 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.

Young M. Have you brought the lady here, sir? I am sorry for it.

Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, Tom, if it is not truth! this is my friend's daughter. 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. whip me, I'm resolved.

Enter ROSETTA.

Haw. Here is the lady, sir William.

Sir W. Come in, madam; but turn your face from him-he would not marry you because he had not seen you: but I'll let him know my choice shall he his, and he shall consent to marry you before he sees you, or not an acre of estate Pray, sir, walk this way.

Young M. I know not, madam, what I either hear or see; a thousand things are crowding on my imagination; while, like one just awakened from a dream, I doubt which is reality, which delusion.

Sir W. Well then, Tom, come into the air a bit, and recover yourself.

Young M. Nay, dear sir, have a little patience; do you give her to me?

Sir W. Give her to you! ay, that I do,` 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; here 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, to have Young M. All I wish in her obtaining,

got the better of my inclination, and never have done a thing which I knew would be disagreeable to you.

Ros.

Young M.

Ros.

Sir W. And pray, sir, who are your affections engaged to? Let me know that. Young M. To a person, sir, whose rank Together. and fortune may be no recommendation to her, but whose charms and accomplishments entitle her to a monarch. I am sorry, sir,

Fortune can no more impart:
Let my eyes, my thoughts explaining,
Speak the feelings of my heart.
Joy and pleasure never ceasing,
Love with length of years increasing,
Thus my heart and hand surrender,
Here my faith and truth I plight;
Constant still, and kind and tender,
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, I'll salute you too, if fended if I quit your presence.

Sir W. Not I, not in the least: go about

your business.

Young M. Sir, I obey.

Haw. Now, madam; is the time.

there's no fear of jealousy.

Young M. And may I believe this? Pr'ythee tell me, dear Rosetta!

Ros. Step into the house, and I'll tell you every thing; I must entreat the good offices

[Rosetta advances. Young Meadows turns of sir William and Mr. Hawthorn immedia

round and sees her.

AIR. ROSETTA.

When we see a lover languish
And his truth and honour prove,
Ah! how sweet to heal his anguish,
And repay him love for love.
Sir W. Well, Tom, will you go away from
me now?

Haw. Perhaps, sir William, your son does not like the lady; and, if so, pray don't put a force upon his inclination.

Young M. You need not have taken this method, sir, to let me see you are acquainted with my folly, whatever my inclinations are. Sir W. Well but, Tom, suppose I give my consent to your marrying this young woman? Young M. Your consent, sir?

tely; for I am in the utmost uneasiness about my poor friend, Lucinda.

Haw. Why, what's the matter?

Ros. I don't know; but I have reason to fear I left her just now in very disagreeable circumstances: however I hope if there's any mischief fallen out between her father and her lover

Haw. The music-master! I thought so.

Sir W. What, is there a lover in the case? May I never do an ill turn, but I am glad, so I am! for we'll make a double wedding; and, by way of celebrating it, take a trip to London, to show the brides some of the pleasures of the town. And, master Hawthorn, you shall be of the party-Come, children, go 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 a to the house with you, and to church to see

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.

AIR.

If ever I'm catch'd in those regions of smoke,
That seat of confusion and noise,
May I ne'er know the sweets of a slumber
unbroke,

Nor the pleasure the country enjoys.
Nay more, let them take me, to punish my sin,
Where, gaping, the cocknies they fleece;
Clap me up with their monsters, cry, masters
walk in,

Jus. V. Pray, sir William, are you acquainted with this person?

Sir W. What, with Jack Eustace? why he's my kinsman: his mother and I were cousin-germans once removed, and Jack's a very worthy young fellow; may I never do an ill turn, if I tell a word of a lie.

Jus. W. Well but, sir William, let me tell you, you know nothing of the matter; this man is a music-master; a thrummer of wire, and a scraper of catgut, and teaches my daugh[Exeunt. ter to sing.

And show me for twopence a- - piece.

SCENE III.-JUSTICE WOODCOCK'S Hall. Enter JUSTICE WOODCOCK, MRS. DEBORAH WOODCOCK, LUCINDA, EUSTACE, and HODGE. Mrs D. Why, brother, do you think can't hear, or see, or make use of my senses? I tell you, I left that fellow locked up in her closet; and, while I have been with you, they have broke open the door, and got him out again.

Sir W. What, Jack Eustace a music-master! no, no; I know him better.

Eust. 'Sdeath, why should I attempt to carry on this absurd farce any longer;-What that gentleman tells you is very true, sir; Į am no music-master, indeed.

Jus. W. You are not, you own it then? Eust. Nay more, sir, I am, as this lady has represented me, [Pointing to Mrs. Deborah] your daughter's lover: whom, with her own Jus. W. Well, you hear what they say. consent, I did intend to have carried off this 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 not throw myself upon your generosity; from lock the fellow up? which I expect greater advantages than I could Luc. Really, aunt, I don't know what you reap from any imposition on your unsuspimean; when you talk intelligibly, I'll answer cious nature.

you.

Mrs. D. Well, brother, what have 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 my 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 heads direct you. bundles packed up

Eust. Ha, ha, ha.

Luc Why, aunt, you rave.

Luc. Dear papa, pardon me.

Sir W. Ay, do, sir, forgive her; my cousin Jack will make her a good husband, I'll

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.— down upon 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 what I mean. Mrs. D. What, sirrah, would you brazen -Be reconciled to your daughter, I conjure me too! Take that. [Boxes him you, by the memory of our past affectionsHodge. I wish you would keep your hands What, not a word? to yourself! strike you because you me, been telling his worship stories.

have

Jus. W. Why, sister, you are tipsy! Mrs. D. I tipsy, brother!-I-that never touch a drop of any thing strong from year's end to year's end; but now and then a little anniseed water, when I have got the colic.

Luc. Well, aunt, you have been complaining of the stomach-ach all day; and may have taken too powerful a dose of your cordial.

AIR.

Go, naughty man, I can't abide you;
Are then our vows so soon forgot?
Ah! now I see if I had tried you,
What would have been my hopeful lot.
But here I charge you-Make them happy;
Bless the fond pair, and crown their bliss:
Come, be a dear, good natur'd pappy,,
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 that my brother does not hang ty make herself appear wise: but, you simple- you, for he could do it; he's a justice of ton, did you not know I must find you out? peace;-turn out of the house, I say:

Enter SIR WILLIAM MEADOWS, HAWTHORN,
ROSETTA, and young MEADOWS.
Young M. Bless me, sir! look who is yonder.
Sir VV. Cocksbones, Jack, honest Jack, are
you there?

Eust. Plague on't, this rencounter is unlucky-Sir William, your servant.

Sir W. Your servant, again; and again,

Jus. W. Who gave you authority to turn him out of the house?-be shall stay where he is.

Mrs. D. He shan't marry my niece.

Jus. W. Shan't he! but I'll show you the difference now; I say he shall marry her, and what will you do about it?

Mrs. D. And you will give him your estate too, will you?

Jus. W. Yes, I will.

to make up the company of your statute ball; yonder's music too, I see; shall we enjoy

Mrs. D. Why I'm sure he's a vagabond. Jus. V. I like him the better; I would have ourselves? him a vagabond.

Mrs. D. Brother, brother!

Haw. Come, come, madam, all's very well; and I see my neighbour is what I always thought him, a man of sense and prudence. Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, but I say so too.

Jus. W. Here, young fellow, take my daughter, and bless you both together; but hark you, no money till I die, Sister Deborah, you're a fool.

Mrs. D. Ah brother, brother, you're a silly old man.

Haw. Adds me, sir, here are some of your neighbours come to visit you, and I suppose

Enter Villagers, etc.

If so, give me your hand.

Jus. W. Why here's my hand, and we will enjoy ourselves. Heaven bless you both, children, I say—

FINALE.

Hence with cares, complaints, and frowning,
Welcome jollity and joy;

Ev'ry grief in pleasure drowning,
Mirth this happy night employ:
Let's to friendship do our duty,
Laugh and sing some good old strain;
Drink a health to love and beauty-
May they long in triumph reign.

THE MAID OF THE MILL,

Com. Opera, by Iraac 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 reduced to an afterpiece, and performed in that state at Covent Garden. It has been observed, that, "like 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, smitten with the reveries of rank and splendour, 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.

ACT I.

no doubt but you'll find enow for a body to do. Fair. What dost mutter? Is't not a strange SCENE I. A rural Prospect, with a Mill at Work. Several People employed plague that thou canst never go about any about it; on one Side a House, PATTY read thing 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; FAIRFIELD and RALPH taking Sacks from a Cart.

CHORUS.

Free from sorrow, free from strife,
O how blest the miller's life!
Cheerful working through the day,
Still he laughs and sings away.
Nought can vex him,
Nought perplex him,
While there's grist to make him gay.

DUETT.

Let the great enjoy the blessings

By indulgent fortune sent:
What can wealth, can grandeur offer,

More than plenty and content?
Fair. Well done, well done; 'tis a sure
sign work goes on merrily when folks sing

Ralph. Why don't you speak to suster Pat do do some thing then? I thought when she came home to us, after my old lady's death, she was to have been of some use in the house; but instead of that, she sits there all day, reading outlandish books, dressed like a fine madumasel; and the never a word you says to she.

Fair. Sirrah, don't speak so disrespectfully of thy sister; thou wilt never have the tithe of her deserts.

Ralph. Why, I'll read and write with her for what she dares; and as for playing on the hapsichols 1), I thinks her rich godmother might have learn'd her something more properer, seeing she did not remember to leave her a legacy at last.

Fair. That's none of thy business, sirrah. 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 hang'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 it by this time.

Ralph. Ay, feyther, whether or not, there's

Fair. Ralph, thou hast been drinking this morning.

1) Harpsichord.

Ralph. Yes, a gentleman that's come piping hot from London: he is below at the Cat and Bagpipes; Icod he rides a choice bit of a nag. I dare to say she'd fetch as good as forty pound at ever a fair in all England.

Fair. A fig's end for what she'd fetch; mind thy business, or by the lord Harry

Ralph. Why I won't do another hand's turn to-day now, so that's flat.

Fair. Thou wilt not

Fair. Pray what sort of a young body is the daughter there? I think she used to be with you at the castle, three or four summers ago, when my young lord was out upon his travels.

Pat. Oh! very often; she was a great favourite of my lady's: pray, father, is she come down?

Fair. Why you know the report last night, about my lord's going to be married. By Ralph. Why no I wont; so what argufies what I can learn she is; and there is likely your putting yourself in a passion, feyther? to be a nearer relationship between the faI'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 may hap he may do more for me than you on both sides in London pressed it so hard: then there's a swinging fortune: master GoodFair. Well, son Ralph, run thy gait; but man tells me, a matter of twenty or thirty remember I tell thee, thou wilt repent this thousand pounds.

thinks of.

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; aves; I suppose the wedding will be celebrated match; with all hearts-Icod I don't care three here at the mansion-house. brass pins.

AIR.

If that's all you want, who the plague will be sorry?

Fair. So it is thought, as soon as things can be properly prepared-And now, Patty, if I could but see thee a little merry-Come, bless thee, pluck up thy spirits-To be sure 'Twere better by half to dig stones in a quarry; thou hast sustained, in the death of thy lady, For my share, I'm weary of what is got by't: 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 when 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 horses from morning til afford to do. night.

will:

Pat. Ah! dear father, don't mention what perhaps has been my greatest misfortune.

Fair. Nay then, Pally, what's become of all thy sense that people talk so much about? -But I have something to say to thee which I need not tell thee, my child, that a young would have thee consider seriously-I believe maiden, after she is marriageable, especially if

They're welcome to slave for your wages she has any thing about her to draw people's

who need'em;

Tol lol de rol lol, I have purchas'd my freedom,
And never hereafter shall work at the mill.

cross accidents; so that the sooner she's out of notice, is liable to ill tongues, and a many harm's way the better. I say, then, a young [Exit. woman's best safeguard is a good husband. Fair. Dear heart, 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 felPatty, 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! is you de- the first time I have told thee I should be bauch my son. [Drives off Gipsies. glad to have him for a son-in-law. Enter PATTY from the House.

Pat. And I have told you as often, father, I would submit myself entirely to your direction; whatever you think proper for me is sc. Fair. Why that's spoken like a dutiful, sensible girl; get thee in, then, and leave me to manage it-Perhaps our neighbour Giles is not a gentleman; but what are the greatest part of our country gentlemen good for?

Pat. Very true, father. [Exit into the Cottage.

Enter GILES.

Giles. Well, master Fairfield, you and miss Pat have had a long discourse together; did you tell her that I was come down?

Fair. No, in truth, friend Giles; but I mentioned our affair at a distance; and I think there is no fear.

Giles. That's right-and when shall usYou do know I have told you my mind often and often.

Fair. Farmer, give us thy hand; nobody doubts thy good will to me and my girl; and you may take my word, I would rather give her to thee than another; for I am main certain thou wilt make her a good husband.

Giles. Thanks to your kind opinion, master Fairfield; if such be my hap, I hope there will be no cause of complaint.

Re-enter PATTY from the Cottage. Fair. Patty, child, why wouldst not thou open the door for our neighbour Giles? Pat. Really, father, I did not know what was the matter.

Fair. And I promise thee my daughter will make thee a choice wife. But thou know'st, friend Giles, that I, and all belongs to me, Fair. Well, our neighbour Giles will be have great obligations to lord Aimworth's fa-here another time; he'll be here again premily; Patty, in particular, would be one of sently. He's gone up to the castle, Patty: the most ungrateful wretches this day breath-thou know'st it would not be right for us to ing, if she was to do the smallest thing do any thing without giving his lordship incontrary to their consent and approbation. telligence, so I have sent the farmer to let Giles. Nay, nay, 'tis well enough known to him know that he is willing, and we are all the country she was the old lady's darling. willing, and, with his lordship's approbationFair. Well, master Giles, I'll assure thee Pat. Oh, dear father-what are you going she is not one whit less obliged to my lord to himself. When his mother was taken off so Fair. Nay, child, I would not have stirr'd suddenly, and his affairs called him up to a step for fifty pounds, without advertising London, if Patty would have remained at the his lordship beforehand. castle, she might have had the command of all; or if she would have gone any where else, he would have paid for her fixing, let the cost be what it would.

say?

Pat. But surely, surely, you have not done this rash, this precipitate thing?

Fair. How rash, how is it rash, Patty? I don't understand thee.

Giles. Why, for that matter, folks did not Pat. Oh, you have distress'd me beyond spare to say, that my lord had a sort of a imagination-but why would you not give sneaking kindness for her himself: and I re- me notice, speak to me first? member, at one time, it was rife all about the neighbourhood, that she was actually to be our lady.

Fair. Pho, pho! a pack of woman's tales. Giles. Nay, to be sure they'll say any thing. Fair. My lord's a man of a better way of thinking, friend Giles-but this is neither here nor there to our business-Have you been at the castle yet?

Giles. Who, I bless your heart I did not hear a syllable of his lordship's being come down, till your lad told me.

Fair. No! why then go up to my lord, let him know you have a mind to make a match with my daughter, hear what he has to say to it, and afterwards we will try if we can't settle matters.

Giles. Go up to my lord? Icod, if that be all, I'll do it with the biggest pleasure in life. -But where's miss Pat? Might not one ax her how she do?

Fair. Never spare it; she's within there. Giles. I sees her-old rabbit it, this hatch is locked now-miss Pat-miss Patty--she makes believe not to hear me.

Fair. Well, well, never mind, thou'lt come and eat a morsel of dinner with us.

Giles. Nay, but just to have a bit of a joke with her at present-miss Pat, I say-won't you open the door?

AIR.

Hark! 'tis I, your own true lover;
After walking three long miles,
One kind look at least discover,
Come and speak a word to Giles.
You alone my heart I fix on:

Fair. Why han't I spoken to thee an hundred times? No, Patty, 'tis thou that wouldst distress me, and thou'lt break my heart. Pat. Dear father!

Fair. All I desire is to see thee well settled; and now that I am likely to do so, thou art not contented. I am sure the farmer is as sightly a clever lad as any in the country; and is le not as good as we?

Pat. 'Tis very true, father, I am to blame; pray forgive me.

Fair. Forgive thee! Lord help thee, my child, I am not angry with thee; but quiet thyself, Patty, and thou'lt see all this will turn out for the best. [Exit.

Pat. What will become of me?-My lord will certainly imagine this is done with my consent-Well, is he not himself going to be married to a lady, suitable to him in rank, suitable to him in fortune, as this farmer is to me; and under what pretence can I refuse the husband my father has found for me? Shall I say that I have dared to raise my inclinations above my condition, and presumed to love where my duty taught me only gratitude and respect? Alas! who could live in the house with lord Aimworth, see him, converse with him, and not love him! I have this consolation, however, my folly is yet undiscover'd to any; else, how should I be ridiculed and despised! nay, would not my lord himself despise me, especially if he knew that I have more than once construed his natural affability and politeness into sentiments as unworthy of him, as mine are bold and extravagant. Unexampled vanity.