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Coun. Undone !
Ven. I don't believe a word of your story!
I'll not part with a sequin I'll go to law
firt,-I'll go to ruin first!

Col. You the heir!

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Cor. Muffs and meerschaums!

Maj. Law-ruin-aye, they generally go together, my old friend.

Cor. An alliance perfectly matrimonial, Count. [Voices within] "Room for his Highness the Prince!-room

Enter ATTENDANTS, announcing the VICEROY. Flourish of Music. Enter STEFANO, splendidly dressed, and attended by the Hus


Coun. [Advances] Your most gracious Highness. [She recognises him] Stefano the Viceroy! what have I said to him-I could bite off my tongue! [Aside to Ventoso. Ven. Well resolved, Countess; do so, and we shall both be quiet for life. Stefano the [Laughter. viceroy!-We shall both be sent to the galleys.) Tor. [Within] Asses and idiots! out of my [Aside. way, you pampered buffoons! Must I never Ste. Count, I have heard something about a stir without a rabble of you grinning at my love affair in your family. I have certainly heels? [He enters] The Count and Count- no right to insist upon the Captain's being ess! Confusion! what brought them here? your son-in-law-Lorenzo, what have you to say for yourself?

[They kneel,

[The Hussars stand aside, laughing. Coun. Your Highness's commandsLor. Nothing, my Lord, [Leading Victoria] Ven. Your Highness's orders-your- but to express my delight, my happiness, at Tor. I am overwhelmed! I can submit to this day's discovery; my reverence, my love. the indignity of disguise no longer.-[Aside]| Count and Countess-I am no prince-noTORRENTO and LEONORA return. body-nothing-but one of the thousand luckless children of chance, who fight their ob- Ven. Aye, flattery does every thing here. scure way through the world.-[Victoria and Ste. Well, Madam, as he cannot have the Leonora enter. He approaches Leonora]-honour of being your son-in-law, I am afraid We must part, my love. I am unworthy of he must be content with-Rise, Sir! stand you; and from this hour I care not on what forth the son of the Viceroy of Sicily, of sea or shore fortune may fling me! Stefano, Prince de Pindemonté. Come to your Leon. No, Torrento! we part no more. I father's arms, my long-lost, late-found son, my have been unwise, and you unfortunate. But gallant son! here I swear to follow you with constancy as strong as life or death. We are one.

[They go up the Stage. Coun. Impudence unparalleled! No Prince! Ven. I appeal to the Viceroy. Impostor! Col. The business is tolerably complete, Major. Their pride's down upon the knees 1), like a cast charger- it will carry the mark beyond all cure.

Maj. Aye, like a scar on a fine woman's reputation-it will go on widening for lifeCor. They will be in no want of our trumpeters now they will be blown every step they go.

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Enter LORENZO, unperceived but by


Lor. My father! my generous, noble father!
All. His son!-Viva! viva!
Vic. My lord and love!
Leon. Happy Victoria!

Ste. There, Sir, go mollify the Countess.
But, if you find her as tough a subject—as I
did)-[Aside] Now, take your bride, and be
[To Lorenzo.

The HUSSARS approach.

Officers. We congratulate you, Prince. Lady, we wish you all happiness. [To Victoria.

Ste. How I obtained the knowledge of my son, how I preserved my incognito as Viceroy till the search was complete-you shall hear at the banquet,—to which I now invite you all. LORENZO, and all, advance. Lor. My love, all must be forgiven and for Lor. Fair ladies, nobles, gallant cavaliers! gotten. I have the most delightful intelligence-This day shall be a bright one in the web the happiest discovery. I have just been with the-

[The Countess sees him.]

Wherein our lives are pictur'd-Thro' all years This shall be holiday-The prison gates Shall know no envious bars; rich pageantries Coun. The Captain! another impostor-Shall paint our love-tale; children's merry another stolen match — He a man of family? the Hussar?

tongues Shall lisp our names; and old men, o'er their fires,

[To Victoria.

Lor. Countess, if honour and attachment, long tried, can entitle me to this lady's hand-Flourish their cups above their hoary heads, Vic. My father! if duty, if love, if feelings And drink our memory! Come in, sweet love! pained to agony can move you— [Kneeling. Ven. Another daughter gone! By all means, Col. There's a fine girl on her own hands, Madam. What next? Is there any thing else Cornet;-[Pointing to Leonora] - No husyou would have, Captain? We're in the jail band for the lady. again! Gang of thieves-[To Countess]- Cor. Excuse me, Colonel, we, the TwenSir, is there any thing about me that strikes tieth, are not connubial. But if the girl want your taste?[Going up to the Hussars]-a husband, I'll state the circumstance on paOr your's, Sir? - My watch and scals - my rade.-Muffs and meerschaums! purse. Does any gentleman take a fancy to the Countess? No! that stock lies on hand. 1) A horse which has fallen has generally a mark on its

knee, thus losing two-thirds of its value.

Tor. Your Highness! since you have the art of finding out sons, perhaps you can find out fathers too. Pray, whose son am I? somebody's, I suppose?

Ste. In tracing the Captain, I accidentally before them! What army shall I raise? What fell in with your career. I mistook you for cabinet shall I pension? What kingdom shall each other. I found your errors more of the I purchase? What emperor shall I annihilate? head than the heart. You have your liberty. I'll have Mexico for a plate-chest, and the Count, you must resign your title.

Ven. With all my heart.

Ste. And, with them, Anselmo's estate. Ven. Not the money-not the money-I have an old prejudice in favour of the money. Coun. I'm thunderstruck.

Ste. Torrento, stand forth; you are Anselmo's heir! you are the banker's son!

Mediterranean for a fish-pond. I'll have a loan as long as from China to Chili. I'll have a mortgage on the moon! Give me the purse, let who will carry the sceptre.

Count and Countess, you shall keep your titles, and be as happy as mirth, money, and macaroni can make you.

[To Leonora and the rest.]

Maj. Then, upon my conscience, there'll be Now! to the banquet. Having fix'd our fates a mighty great run on the bank. With freedom, title, fortune, loving mates!

Tor. [In Exultation] - A banker's son, If I have erred, 'twas youth, love, folly ;-here, magnificent! a golden shower!-Leonora, my With generous hearts around, I scorn to fearlove, we'll have a wedding worthy of bankers. Where heroes judge, and beauty pleads the What trinkets will you have? the Pitt dia


mond, or the Great Mogul? A banker, my Who talks of censure? Give me your applause. angel! 'Tis your bankers that sweep the world






THIS lady, whose maiden name was Moore, was the daughter of a clergyman, and the wife of the Rev. John Brooke, rector of Colney, in Norfolk, of St. Augustine, in the city of Norwich, and chaplain to the garrison of Quebec. Her husband died Jan. 21, 1789; and she herself on the 26th of the same month, at Sleaford, at the house of her son, who had a preferment in that part of the country. Mrs. Brooke was a lady of first-rate abilities, and as remarkable for gentleness and suavity of manners, as for her literary talents. She wrote and published some admirable novels (among which were, Lady Julia Mandeville, Emily Montague, Marquis of St. Forlaix, and The Excursion); a periodical paper, called The Old Maid, and a translation of Millot's Elements of the History of England.


Comic Opera, by Mrs. Brooke. Acted at Covent Garden 1783. The story of this piece is founded on that of Palemon and Lavinia (in Thomson's Seasons), or Boaz and Ruth, in the Scripture, and was performed with great applause. It has, however, the disadvantage of wanting the grace of novelty, and the pleasure of surprise; as must always be the case with scriptural stories, or others of notoriety. The music, by Shield, is charming, and can never fail of attracting attention. Of all the petite pieces that are exhibited on the British stage, Rosina is perhaps the least offensive to the severe moralist; as it corrects the mind, while it pleases the senses.

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SCENE opens and discovers a rural prospect: on the left side a little hill with trees at the top; a spring of water rushes from the side, and falls into a natural bason below: on the right side a cottage, at the door of which is a bench of stone. At a distance a chain of mountains. The manor-house in view. A field of corn fills up the scene.

In the first act the sky clears by degrees, the morning vapour disperses, the sun rises, and at the end of the act is above the horizon: at the beginning of the second he is past the height, and declines till the end of the day. This progressive motion should be made imperceptibly, but its effect should be visible through the two acts.



sweetheart? But you are so proud you won't let our young men come a near you. You SCENE I. After the Trio, the Sun is seen may live to repent being so scornful. to rise: the Door of the Cottage is open, a Lamp burning just within; DORCAS, seated on a Bench, is spinning; ROSINA When William at eve meets me down at and PHOEBE, just within the Door, are measuring Corn; WILLIAM comes from the top of the Stage; they sing the following Trio.

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When the rosy morn appearing
Paints with gold the verdant lawn,
Bees on banks of thime disporting,
Sip the sweets, and hail the dawn.
Warbling birds, the day proclaiming,
Carol sweet the lively strain;
They forsake their leafy dwelling,
To secure the golden grain.
See, content, the humble gleaner,
Take the scatter'd ears that fall!
Nature, all her children viewing,
Kindly bounteous, cares for all.

[William retires.
Ros. See! my dear Dorcas, what we glean'd
yesterday in Mr. Belville's field!
[Coming forward, and showing the Corn
at the Door.

Dor. Lord love thee! but take care of thyself: thou art but tender

Ros. Indeed it does not hurt me. put out the lamp?

Shall I

Dor. Do, dear; the poor must be sparing. [Rosina going to put out the Lamp, Dorcas looks after her and sighs; she returns hastily.

Ros. Why do you sigh, Dorcas? Dor. I canno' bear it: it's nothing to Phoebe and me, but thou wast not born to labour.

[Rising and pushing away the Wheel. Ros. Why should I repine? heaven, which deprived me of my parents, and my fortune, left me health, content, and innocence. Nor is it certain that riches lead to happiness. Do you think the nightingale sings the sweeter for being in a gilded cage?

Dor. Sweeter, I'll maintain it, than the poor little linnet that thou pick'dst up half starved under the hedge yesterday, after its mother had been shot, and brought'st to life in thy bosom. Let me speak to his honour, he's main kind to the poor.

Ros. Not for the world, Dorcas, I want nothing; you have been a mother to me.

Dor. Would I could! Would I could! I ha' worked hard and 'arn'd money in my time; but now I am old and feeble, and am push'd about by every body. More's the pity, I say; it was not so in my young time; but the world grows wickeder every day.

the stile,

How sweet is the nightingale's song!
Of the day I forget the labour and toil,
Whilst the moon plays yon branches among.
By her beams, without blushing, I hear him

And believe every word of his song:
You know not how sweet 'tis to love the
dear swain,

Whilst the moon plays yon branches among. [During the last Stanza William appears at the end of the Scene, and makes Signs to Phabe; who, when it is finished, steals softly to him, and they dis

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Laughing Plenty fills her horn:
What would gilded pomp avail
Should the peasant's labour fail?
What would gilded pomp avail
Should the peasant's labour fail?
Rust. Ripen'd fields your cares repay,
Sons of labour baste away;
Bending, see the waving grain,
Crown the year, and cheer the swain.
Cho. Bending, see the waving grain,

Grown the year, and cheer the swain. Rust. Hist! there's his honour. Where are Ros. Your age, my good Dorcas, requires all the lazy Irishmen I hir'd yesterday at rest; go into the cottage, whilst Phoebe and market? I join the gleaners, who are assembling from every part of the village.

Dor. Many a time have I carried thy dear mother, an infant, in these arms; little did I think a child of hers would live to share my poor pittance. But I wo'not grieve thee. [Dorcas enters the Cottage, looking back affectionately at Rosina.

Enter BELVILLE, followed by two Irishmen and Servants.

1 Irish. Is it us he's talking of, Paddy? Then the devil may thank him for his good commendations.

Bel. You are too severe, Rustic; the poor fellows came three miles this morning; therePho. What makes you so melancholy, Ro- fore I made them stop at the manor-house to sina? Mayhap it's because you have not a take a little refreshment.

1 Irish. Bless your sweet face, my jewel, Bel. There are twenty coveys within sight and all those who take your part. Bad luck of my house, and the dogs are in fine order. to myself, if I would not, with all the veins Capt. B. The gamekeeper is this moment

of my heart, split the dew before your feet leading them round. I am fir'd at the sight. in a morning. [To Belville.

Rust. If I do speak a little cross, it's for your honour's good.

[The Reapers cut the Corn, and make it into Sheaves. Rosina follows, and gleans. Rust. [Seeing Rosina] What a dickens does this girl do here? Keep back; wait till the reapers are off the field; do like the other gleaners.

Ros. [Timidly] If I have done wrong, sir, I will put what I have glean'd down again.

[She lets falls the Ears she had gleaned. Bel. How can you be so unfeeling, Rustic? She is lovely, virtuous, and in want. Let fall some ears, that she may glean the more.

Rust. Your honour is too good by half. Bel. No more gather up the corn she has let fall. Do as I command you. Rust. There, take the whole field, since his honour chooses it.

[Putting the Corn into her Apron. Ros. I will not abuse his goodness. [Retires, gleaning. 2 Irish. Upon my soul now, his honour's no churl of the wheat, whate'er he may be of the barley 1).


By dawn to the downs we repair,
With bosoms right jocund and gay,
And gain more than pheasant or hare-
Gain health by the sports of the day.
Mark! mark! to the right hand, prepare-
See Diana!-she points!-see, they rise-
See, they float on the bosom of air!
Fire away! whilst loud echo replies

Fire away!

Hark! the volley resounds to the skies!
Whilst echo in thunder replies!
In thunder replies,

And resounds to the skies,

Fire away! Fire away! Fire away! But where is my little rustic charmer? O! there she is: I am transported. [Aside] Pray, brother, is not that the little girl whose dawning beauty we admired so much last year?


Bel. It is, and more lovely than ever. shall dine in the field with my reapers to-day, brother: will you share our rural repast, or have a dinner prepar'd at the manor-house? Capt. B., By no means: pray let me be of


Bel. [Looking after Rosina] What be- your party: your plan is an admirable one, witching softness! There is a blushing, bash- especially if your girls are handsome. ful gentleness, an almost infantine innocence walk round the field, and meet you at dinner in that lovely countenance, which it is im-time. possible to behold without emotion! She turns this way: What bloom on that cheek! 'Tis the blushing down of the peach.


Her mouth, which a smile,
Devoid of all guile,

Half opens to view,
Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,
Impearl'd with the dew.

More fragrant her breath
Than the flow'r-scented heath

At the dawning of day;

The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,

Or the blossoms of May.

Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE, in a Riding-dress. Capt. B. Good morrow, brother; you are early abroad.

[Exeunt Belville and Rustic. Captain Belville goes up to Rosina, gleans a few Ears, and presents them to her; she refuses them, and runs out; he follows


Enter WILLIAM, speaking at the side Scene. Will. Lead the dogs back, James; the captain won't shoot to day. [Seeing Rustic and Phoebe behind] Indeed, so close! I don't half like it.

Enter RUSTIC and PHOebe. Rust. That's a good girl! Do as I bid you, and you shan't want encouragement. [He goes up to the Reapers, and William comes forward.

Will. O no, I dare say she won't. So, Mrs. Phobe!

Pho. And so, Mr. William, if you go to that!

Will. A new sweetheart, I'll be sworn; and a pretty comely lad he is: but he's rich, and that's enough to win a woman.

Bel. My dear Charles, I am happy to see you. True, I find, to the first of September 2). Capt. B. I meant to have been here last night, but one of my wheels broke, and I was Pho. I don't desarve this of you, William: obliged to sleep at a village six miles distant, but I'm rightly sarved, for being such an easy where I left my chaise, and took a boat down fool. You think, mayhap, I'm at my last the river at day-break. But your corn is not prayers; but you may find yourself mistaken. off the ground. Will. You do right to cry out first; you Bel. You know our harvest is late in the think_belike_that I did not see you take that north; but you will find all the lands clear'd posy from Harry. on the other side the mountain. Capt. B. And pray, brother, how are the partridges this season?

1) He gives his bread away willingly enough; but he

seems to keep his drink all to himself-Beer being made from malt and hops.

2) The captain is a sportsman, and does not forget the 1st of September, the beginning of the shooting-season

Pho. And you, belike, that I did not catch you tying up one, of cornflowers and wild roses, for the miller's maid; but I'll be fool'd no longer; I have done with you, Mr. Wil


Will. I shan't break my heart, Mrs. Phœbe. The miller's maid loves the ground I walk on.


Will. I've kiss'd and I've prattled to fifty fair


And chang'd them as oft, d'ye see!
But of all the fair maidens that dance on

the green,

The maid of the mill for me.

Pho. There's fifty young men have told me

fine tales,

And call'd me the fairest she:

But of all the gay wrestlers that sport
on the green,

Young Harry's the lad for me.

Will. Her eyes are

as black as the sloe in the hedge,

Dor. 'Tis very kind.-And old age-
Ros. He'll tell you that himself.

[Goes into the Cottage. Dor. I thought so.-Sure, sure, 'tis no sin to be old.

Capt. B. You must not judge of me by others, honest Dorcas. I am sorry for your misfortunes, and wish to serve you.

Dor. And to what, your honour, may I owe this kindness?

Capt. B. You have a charming daughterDor. I thought as much. A vile, wicked man ! [Aside.

Capt. B. Beauty like hers might find a thousand resources in London; the moment she appears there, she will turn every head.

new-won't turn at the same time?
Dor. And is your honour sure her own

Her face like the blossoms in May, Her teeth are as white as the shorn flock,

Her breath like the new-made hay. Pho. He's tall and he's straight as the

poplar tree,

His cheeks are as fresh as the rose;
He looks like a squire of high degree
When drest in his Sunday clothes.
Will. I've kiss'd and I've prattled, etc.
Pho. There's fifty young men, etc.
[Exeunt on different Sides of the Stage.

Capt. B. She shall live in affluence, and take care of you too, Dorcas.

Dor. I guess your honour's meaning; but you are mistaken, sir. If I must be a trouble to the dear child, I had rather owe my bread to her labour than her shame.

[Goes into the Cottage, and shuts the Door. Capt. B. These women astonish me; but I won't give it up so.

Enter RUSTIC, crossing the Stage.

ROSINA runs across the Stage; CAPTAIN A word with you, Rustic.

BELVILLE following her.

Capt. B. Stay and hear me, Rosina. Why I will you fatigue yourself thus? Only homely girls are born to work. Your obstinacy is vain; you shall bear me.

Ros. Why do you stop me, sir? My time is precious. When the gleaning season is over, will you make up my loss?

Capt. B. Yes.

Ros. Will it be any advantage to you to make me lose my day's work? Capt. B. Yes.

Ros. Would it give you pleasure to see me pass all my days in idleness? Capt. B. Yes.

Ros. We differ greatly then, sir. I only wish for so much leisure as makes me return to my work with fresh spirit. We labour all the week, 'tis true; but then how sweet is our rest on Sunday!

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Rust. I am in a great hurry, your honour; am going to hasten dinner.

Capt. B. I shan't keep you a minute. Take these five guineas.

Rust. For whom, sir?

Capt. B. For yourself. And this purse.
Rust. For whom, sir?

Capt. B. For Rosina; they say she is in distress, and wants assistance.

Rust. What pleasure it gives me to see you so charitable! You are just like your


Capt. B. Prodigiously.

Rust. But why give me money, sir?

Capt. B. Only to-tell Rosina there is a person who is very much interested in her happiness.

Rust. How much you will please his honour by this! He takes mightily to Rosina, and prefers her to all the young women in the parish.

Capt. B. Prefers her! Ah! you sly rogue! [Laying his Hand on Rustic's Shoulder. Rust. Your honour's a wag; but I'm sure I meant no harm.

Capt. B. Give her the money, and tell her she shall never want a friend; but not a word to my brother.

Rust. All's safe, your honour. [Exit Capt. Belville] I don't vastly like this business. At the captain's age, this violent charity is a little duberous 1). I am his honour's servant, and it's my duty to hide nothing from him. I'll go seek his honour; O, here he comes. Enter BELVILLE.

Bel. Well, Rustic, have you any intelligence to communicate?

Rust. A vast deal, sir. Your brother begins to make good use of his money; he has given me these five guineas for myself, and this purse for Rosina.

1) Dubious

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