SCENE I. A View of a strong Castle, situated in a wild mountainous Country; on one Side a rustic Mansion-house; on the other a stone Seat.

During the Overture, old MATTHEW, DORCAS, and several Peasants, pass over the Stage with their working Tools, as returning from their labour.

Chorus of Peasants*

COME sing, come dance,

For to-morrow is the day;
Come sing, come dance,

'Tis old Matthew's wedding-day.

Yes, to-morrow, you know,
To his house we shall go,
To drink and be gay,
To dance, sing, and play;
Away with all sorrow,
For joy comes to-morrow.
Old M. I am happy, I swear,
My Dorcas, my dear,

To think that to-morrow is our wedding-day.

The irregularity of the measure in all the poetry of this opera, proceeds from its having been adapted to the French music.

DUETT. DORCAS and old MATTHEW.

Though we're sixty years old,
Let the young ones behold,

Our age, like our youth, is contented and gay.
Chorus. Come sing, come dance,
To-morrow's the day;

Come sing, come dance,

"Tis old Matthew's wedding-day.
Yes, to-morrow, you know,
To his house we shall go,
To drink and be gay,

To dance, sing, and play;
Away with all sorrow,

For joy comes to-morrow.

[Exeunt.

Enter MATILDA, after the last Chorus, led in by

ANTONIO.

Mat. Antonio, what sounds were those? Surely they were singing.

Ant. It is only the villagers who are returning from the fields; the sun is setting, and they have done their work.

Mat. Where are we now, my gentle guide?

Ant. You are not far from a great old castle, with towers and battlements. And there now, if you had your sight, you might see two soldiers on the walls with their cross-bows.

Mat. I am sadly tir'd.

Ant. Stay this way-here is a stone-it is made into a seat [Matilda sits]-what a pity you cannot see the prospect; though so wild, it is said to be as fine as any in all Germany. Now just opposite to us is a very well looking house, 'tis a farm, but as good as any gentleman's.

Mat. Then go, my little friend, and find out whether we can lodge there to-night.

Ant. I will, and no doubt you may. The owner is a foreiguer, from England, as they say; and though he is very passionate, all the village say he is very good natured. [Going, returns] But shall I find you here when I come back?

Mat. Yes, truly, you may be pretty sure of that; those that can't see are not over fond of wandering. But you will not fail to return.

Ant. No, that I won't. [Going, stops] But, sir, there is something I have been wanting all day to tell you. Mat. Well, Antonio-what is it?

Ant. Why it is-it is-oh! I am so sorry—
Mat. Speak, child!-tell me what is it?—

Ant. Why it is-and it vexes me sadly-that it will not be in my power to be your guide to-morrow. Mat. How so, my little friend?

Ant. I must go to a wedding. My grandfather and grandmother keep their wedding-day to-morrow, and my grandson, who is their brother

Mat. Your grandson-have you a grandson, Antonio? Ant. No-their grandson, who is my brother, that's it-is to be married at the same time to a sweet, pretty, little girl of the village.

Mat. But what will become of me without a guide? Ant. Oh, I'll engage some one for you, I'll warrant! and you may contrive to come to the wedding, and join in the music, while we dance. We'll manage, never fear. Mat. You love dancing, Antonio!

SONG. ANTONIO.

The merry dance I dearly love,

For then, Collette, thy hand I seize, And press it too whene'er I please, And none can see, and none reprove: Then on thy cheek quick blushes glow, And then we whisper soft and low; Oh! how I grieve! you ne'er her charms can know. She's sweet fifteen, I'm one year more, Yet still we are too young, they say; But we know better sure than they, Youth should not listen to threescore; And I'm resolv'd I'll tell her so, When next we whisper soft and low; Oh! how I grieve! you ne'er her charms can know.

Mat. Antonio!

[Exit.

he is gone-now then I may safely

use my sight. [Takes the Bandage from her Eyes] A fortress, indeed-there are towers, and moats, and battlements. They say it is strongly guarded, and almost inaccessible. Its appearance at least justifies the report that was made to me; for in this wild and sequester'd spot, such a pile could only be employed to hide some mighty captive. -Oh, Richard! my hero! my beloved! what hardships may you not be enduring! nor have you even the sad consolation to know that your faithful Matilda, exil'd for her love to you, has abandoned every hope and duty, and in this poor and base disguise, pursues your name, and wanders through the world! But here my cares and search shall end. If my foreboding soul misleads me, and this spot affords no tidings of its lord, then, if my heart breaks not, in the near convent's cell I'll hide my woes and shame for ever.

SONG. MATILDA.

Oh, Richard! oh, my love!

By the faithless world forgot,
I alone in exile rove,

To lament thy hapless lot.
I alone of all remain

To unbind thy cruel chain,

By the faithless world forgot;
I, whose bosom sunk in grief,
Least have strength to yield relief.
Delusive glory! faithless pow'r!
Thus the valiant you repay,
In disaster's heavy hour,

Faithless friendship's far away.
Yet, royal youth,

One faithful heart,

From tenderest truth,

Though hopeless, never shall depart.

Oh, Richard! oh, my love!

By the faithless world forgot;

I alone in exile rove,

To lament thy hapless lot.

But I hear a noise; I must resume my disguise.

Enter SIR OWEN and GUILLOT.

Sir O. I'll teach you to bring letters to my daughter. Guil. Sir, 'twas the governor sent me.

Sir O. The governor! what's the governor to me? QUARTETTO. MATILDA, GUILLOT, SIR OWEN, and

LAURETTE.

Sir O. What care I for the governor!
Mat. O! should it be, this governor.
Guil. He sent me, I knew no better,
-with the letter.

Sir O. My daughter listen to his art!
What, my Laurette,
So far forget,

Guil.

The modest virgin's duteous part!

And thou-I pray,

[Aside.

[To Guillot.

Good knave, shall I the postage pay?

No, sir, indeed,

There is no need,

I'm gone with speed.

Enter LAURETTE.

Sir O. Pray tell your governor,
His hopes are vain
Laurette to gain.

His lordship is by far too good,
And I would thank him if I could.
Mat. If of this castle he should be

The governor-what joy for me. Guil. Yet he's my lord the governor. Sir O. What's he to me, your governor; Be gone, I say,

You'd best not stay;

And you, if ever I discover

You lend an ear

To this designing lover,

[Aside.

[To Lau.

[Aside.

[To them.

Then, then you shall have cause to fear.

Mat. Ah! should it be, what joy for me.

Come, come, my friends, no quarrel, pray;