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DUETT.

Young M. Sir, I don't doubt the lady's me-, kind of embarrassment, and I don't wonder it; 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, oftly; you should pay some respect to your will

, I apprehend, expound ihe riddle. He ther in this naller.

cannot be surprised that I ran away from a Sir W. Respect, master Hawthorn! I tell gentleman who expressed so much dislike to ou he shall marry ber, or I'll disinherit him! me; and what has happened, since chance ere's once. Look you, Tom, not to make bas brought us together in masquerade, there y more words of the matter, I brougbt is no occasion me to inform bim of. é lady here with me, and I'll see you con- Young M. What is all this? Pray don't acted before we part; or you shall delve and make a jest of me! ant 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 truih! this is my friend's daughter. <? 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 arry her? We'll see that! Pray, master Haw-short, you have not been a more wbimsical orn, conduct the fair one in. Ay, sir, you gentleman, than I have a gentlewoman; but ay fret and dance about, trot at the rate of you see we are designed for one another, teen miles an hour, if you please; but, marry 'tis plain. hip 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 which is Sir W. Come in, niadam; but turn your reality, which delusion. ce from bim-he would not marry you be- Sir W. Well then, Tom, come into the use he had not seen you: but I'll let him air a bit, and recover yourself.. ow my choice shall be bis, and he shall Young M. Nay, dear sir, have a little

pansent io marry you before he sees you, or tience; do you give her to me? Iar acre of estate – Pray, sir, walk this Sir W. Give ber to you! ay, that I do, ۱۲.

and my blessing into the bargain. Loung M. Sir, I cannot help thinking your Young M. Then, sir, I am the happiest man nduct a little extraordinary; but, since you in the world! I inquire no further; bere I fix ge me so closely, I must tell you my af- the utmost limits of my hopes and happiness. lions are engaged. Sir W. Ilow, Tom, how? Young M. I was determined, sir, to have Young M. All I wish in her obtaining, I the belter of my inclination, and never

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

Ros. Let my eyes, my thoughts explaining, agreeable to you.

Speak the feelings of my heart. sir W. And pray, sir, who are your affec- Young M. Joy and pleasure never ceasing,

Ros. ns engaged to ? Let me know thal.

Love with length of years increasing, Young M. To a person, sir, whose rank Together. Thus my heart and band surrender, 1 fortune may be no recommendation to

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

Constant still, and kind and iender, ile her to a monarch. I am sorry, sir,

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

there's no fear of jealousy. Sir W. Not I, not in the least: go about Young M. And may I believe this? Pr'ytbee ur business.

tell me, dear Rosella! Young M. Sir, I obey.

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

every thing; I must entreat the good offices Rosella 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 Ah! how sweet lo heal bis anguish, fear I left her just now in very disagreeable And repay bim 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

her loverHaw. Perhaps, sir William, your son does Haw. The music-master! I thought so. like the lady; and, if so, pray

Sir W. What, is there a lover in the case ? Corce upon bis inclination.

May I never do an ill turn, but I am glad, Young M. You need not bare taken this so I am! for we'll make a double wedding; thod, sir, to let me see you are acquainted and, by way of celebrating it, take a trip to b my folly, whatever my inclinations are. London, to show the brides some of the pleaSir W. Well but, Tom, suppose I give my sures of the town. And, master Hawthorn,

sent 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 in

jest far enough: I see your son is in a to the house with you, and to church io see

AIR.- ROSETTA.

now?

don't put

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

turn, but I am glad to meel you. AIR.

Jus. IV. Pray, sir William, are you aIf 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? May I ne'er know the sweets of a slumber he's my kinsman: his mother and I were cosunbroke,

sin-germans once removed, and Jack's a ve Nor the pleasure the country enjoys. worthy, young fellow; may I never do a. Nay more, let them take me, to 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 Clap me up with their monsters, cry, masters you, you know nothing of the matter; E walk in,

man is a music-master; a thrummer of 2 And show me for twopence a - piece. and a scraper of catgut, and teaches my daug

[Exeunt. ter to sing:

Sir W. What, Jack Eustace a music-maste SCENE III.—Justice Woodcock's Hall.

no, no; I know him belter. Enter Justice Woodcock, Mrs. DEBORAH

Eusto 'Sdeath, why should I attempt to 6 Woodcock, Lucinda, Eustace, and Hodge. ry on this absurd farce any longer:

Mrs D. Why, brother, do you think I 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 owe it tber closet; and, while I have been with you, they Eust. Nay more, sir, I am, as this lads

. have broke open the door, and got him out represented me, [Pointing to Mrs. Deber again.

your daughter's lover: whom, with ber 7 Jus. W. Well, you hear what they say. consent, I did intend to have carried o.

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

which I expect greater advantages than I : Luc. Really, aunt, I don't know wbat you reap from any imposition on your uasa. mean; when you talk intelligibly, I'll answer cious nature. you.

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

cious day's work of it! Hlad my advice Mrs. D. What, then, I did not catch you taken! Oh, I am ashamed of you; bat e together in her chamber, nor overhear your are a weak man, and it can't be help'd; bu design of going off to-night, nor find the ever, you should let wiser beads direct 1 bundles packed up

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

Sir W. Ay, do, sir, forgive her; ms, un Luc Why, aunt, you rave.

sin Jack will make her a good busband, 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 he from first to last; and in this very place was speak two or three words to his worsk down upon ber marrow-bones for half an Come, my dear sir, though you refuse hour logether, to beg I would conceal it from you. world, I am sure you can deny me sot. Hodge. Oh Lord! Oh Lord !

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

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

AIR, been telling his worship stories.

Go, naughly man, I can't abide you; Jus. W. Why, sister, you are tipsy!

Are then our vows so soon forgot? Mrs. D. I tipsy, brother! - |-ihat never Ah! now I see if I had tried you, touch a drop of any thing strong from year's What would have been my hopeful ! end to year's end; but now and then a little

But here I charge you- Make them her anniseed water, when I bave got the colic.

Bless the fond pair, and crown their Luc. Well

, aunt, you have been complaining of the stomach-ach all day; and may have

Come, be a dear, good valur'd pappa,

And I'll reward you with a kiss. taken too powerful a dose of your cordial.

Jus. W. Come, come, I see well enough Mrs. D. Come, turn out of the house, how it is; this is a lie of her own invention, be thankful that my brother does not ty make herself appear wise: but, you simple-you, for he could do it; he's a justic ton, did you not know I must find you out? peace;-turn out of the house, I say :

Jus. W. Who gave you authorily Enter Sir William Meadows, HAWTHORN, him out of ihe house?-be shall stay

ROSETTA, and young MEADOWS. he is. Young M. Bless me, 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

difference now; I say he shall marry 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 nim your Sir W. Your servant, again; and again, too, will you ?

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up

Jus. W. Yes, I will.

to make the company of your statute ball; Mrs. D. Why I'm sure he's a vagabond. yonder's music too, I see; sball we enjoy Jus. W. I like him the better; 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 I 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 say, say so too.

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

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

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,

FINALE.

THE MAID OF THE MILL,

Com. Opera, by Isaac Bickerstaffe. Acted at Covent Garden 1765. This is taken from Richardson's novel of Pamela, and ran thirty-five nights. In the year 1789, Mr. O'Keeffe added several airs to it, with which it was revived with applause. It has since been reduced to an asterpiece, and performed in that state at Covent Garden. It has been observed, that, “like Pumela, this is one of those delisions 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 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.

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CHORUS

says to sbe.

ACT I.

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

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

plague that thou canst never go about any aboul 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; FAIR- Pat do do some thing then? I 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,

all day, reading outlandish books, dressed like O how blest the miller's life!

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

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

of thy sister; thou wilt never have the titbe Nought perplex him,

of her deserts. While there's grist to make him gay. Ralph. Why, I'll read and write with her

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, sceing she did not remember to leave More than plenty and content?

ber a legacy at last. Fair. Well done, well done; 'tis a sure Fair. That's none of thy business, sirrah. 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 Ralph, boist yon sacks of flour upon this bang'd now,

for all as old as she is, if sbe 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. Rolph. Ay, feyther, whether or not, there's

1) Harpsichord.

DUETT.

son

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AIR.

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. lord'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 ?

his lordship has brought down sir Harry Ss. Ralph. Why it was wind 1)—a gentleman camore and his family, and ibere is more guve me.

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

Pal. Í know sir Harry very well; he is by Ralph. Yes, a gentleman that's come piping marriage a distant relation of my lord's. hot 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 fathy 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 will not

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

then there's a swinging fortune: master Goct to Fair. Well

, son Ralph, run thy gait; but man tells me, a matter of twenty or thirty remember I tell thee, ihou wilt repent this thousand pounds. unlowardness.

Pat. If it was a million, falher, it would Ralph. Why, how shall I repent it? May- not be more than my lord'Aimworth deschap 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 here at the mansion-house. brass pins,

Fair. So it is thought, as

soon as things

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

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 la'y For my sbare, I'm weary of what is got byt: a beavy loss; she was a parent to thee; par S’flesh i here's such a racket, such scolding and better, inasmuch as she took thee what and coiling,

thou wert but a babe, and gave thee an coisa You'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.

Pat. Ah! dear father, don't mention what You think I'm afraid, but the diff'rence to

perhaps has been my greatest misfortune. show

Fair. Nay then, Patly, what's become you, First yonder's your shovel; your sacks too 1-Bul I have something to say to thee whi

all thy sense that people talk so much aber! Henceforward take care of your matters who I need not tell thee, my child, that a young

I would bave thee consider seriously-I believe

maiden, after she is marriageable, especials They're welcome to slave for your wages she has any thing about ber to draw peop

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

notice, is liable to ill tongues, and a na" And never hereafter shall work at the mill. harni's way the beller. I say, then, a ne

[Exit

. woman's best safeguard is a good husha Fair. Dear beart, dear heart! I protest this Now there is our neighbour, "farmer Gile ungracious boy puts me quite beside myself. he is a sober, honest, indust: ious, young Palty, my dear, come down into the yard a low, an done of the wealthiest in these part, little, and keep me company-and you, thieves, he is greatly taken with thee; and it is vagabonds, gipsies, out here! 'tis you de- the first time I have told thee I should be baucb my son. [Drives off Gipsies. glad 10 have him for a son-in-law.

Pat. And I have told you as often, fatbo. Enter Patty from the House. I would submit myself entirely to your dire

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pat. Very true, faiher. (Exit into the Cottai Can sharpen pangs like these;

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

miss Pat have had a long discourse togeibei, 1) The country way of prononncing wine,

did

you tell her that I was come down?

throw you;

will:

AIR.

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PATTY.

Fair. No, in truth, friend Giles; but I men- Ab, you little cunning vixen ! tioned our affair at a distance; and I think I can see your roguish smiles. there is no fear.

Addslids! my mind is so possest, Giles. That's right- and when shall us- Till we're sped, I shan't have rest. You do know I have told you my mind often Only say the thing's a bargain, and often.

Here an you like it, Fair. Farmer, give us thy hand; nobody Ready to strike it, doubts thy good will to me and my girl; and There's at once an end of arguing: you may take my word, I would rather give I'm her's, she's mine; her to thee than another; for I am main cer- Thus we scal, and thus we sign. [E.cit. tain thou wilt make her a good husband. Giles. Thanks to your kind opinion, mas

Re-enter Patty from the Collage. ter Fairfield; if such be my bap, I hope there Fair. Palty, child, why wouldst not thou will be no cause of complaint.

open the door for our neighbour Giles? Fair. And I promise ihee my daughter will Pat. Really, father, I did not know what make thee a choice wife. But thouľknow'st, was the matter. riend Giles, that I, and all belongs to me, Fair. Well, our neighbour Giles will be bave great obligations to lord Airworth's fa-s here another time; he'll be here again prenily; Patty, in particular, would be one of sents: He's gone up to the castle, Pally: he most ungrateful wretches this day breath-thou know'st it would not be right for us to ng, if she was to do the smallest thing do any thing without giving his lordship in. contrary to their consent and approbation. telligence, so I have sent the farmer io let

Giles. Nay, nay, 'lis well enough known to him know that he is willing, and we are ll the country she was the old lady's darling willing, and, with his lordship's approbation-

Fair. Well, master Giles, I'll assure thee Pat. Oh, dear father-what are you going he is not one whit less obliged to my lord to say ? uimself. When his mother was taken off so Fair. Nay, child, I would not have stirr'd uddenly, and his affairs called him up. 10 a. step for fifty pounds, without advertising London, if Paily would have remained at the bis lordship beforehand. astle, she might have had the command of

Pat. But surely, surely, you have not done II; or if she would have gone any where this rash, this precipitate thing? Ise, he would have paid for her fixing, let Fair. How rash, how is it rash, Pally? I de cost be what it would.

don't understand thee. Giles. Why, for that matter, folks did not Pat, Oh, you have distress'd me beyond bare to say, that my lord bad a sort of a imagination — but why would you not give seaking kindness for her himself: and I re- me notice, speak to me first? lember, at one time, it was rise all about Fair. Why han't I spoken to thee an bune neighbourhood, that she was actually to dred times? No, Patty, 'tis thou that wouldst e our lady.

distress me, and thou'lt break my heart. Fair. Pho, pho! a pack of woman's tales. Pat. Dear father! Giles. Nay, to be sure they'll say any thing: Fair. All I desire is to see thee well selFair. My lord's a man of a better way of tled; and now that I am likely to do so, thou inking, friend Giles--but this is neither here art not contented. I am sure the farmer is or there to our business-Have you been al as sightly a clever lad as any in the country, e castle yet?

and is be not as good as we? Giles. Vho, I! bless your heart I did not Pat. 'Tis very true, father, I am to blame; ar a syllable of his lordship’s being come pray forgive nie. wn, till your lad told me.

Fair. Forgive thee! Lord help theo, my Fair. Nó! why then go up to my lord, let child, I am not angry with thee; but quiet m know you bave a mind to make a match thyself, Pally, and ihou'll see all this will th my daughter, hear what he has to say turn out for the best.

[E.cit. it, and afterwards we will try if we can't Pat. What will become of me?-My lord tle mallers.

will certainly imagine this is done with my Giles. Go up to my lord? Icod, if that be consent-Well

, is he not himself going to be I'll do it with the biggest pleasure in lisc. married to a lady, suitable to him in rank, But where's miss Pat? Might not one ax suitable to him in fortune, as this farmer is how she do?

to me; and under what pretence can I reFair. Never spare it; she's within there. fuse the husband my father has found for me? Giles. I sees her-old rabbit it, this hatch Shall I say that I have dared to raise my inlocked now-miss Pat — miss Paily.-she clinations above my condition, and presumed kes believe not to hear me.

lo love where my duty taught me only graFair. Well, well, never mind, thou'll come titude and respect? Alas! who could live in I eat a morsel of dinner with us. the house with lord Aimworth, see him, conGiles. Nay, but just to bare a bit of a joke verse with him, and not love bim! I have b her at present-miss Pat, I say-won't this consolation, however, my folly is yet unI open the door?

discover'd to any; else, how should I be riAIR.

diculed and despised! nay, would not my lark! 'tis I, your own true lover; lord himself despise me, especially if he knew After walking three long miles,

that I bave more than once consirued his na)ne kind look at least discover,

tural affability and politeness into sentiments Come and speak a word to Giles. as unworthy of him, as mine are bold and You alone my heart I fis on:

extravagant. Unexampled vanity.

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