Nysa. Mamma, how can you be soo ill-natur'd
To the gentle, handsome swain?
Daph. To a la so limb'd, so featur'd,

Sure 'tis cruel to give pain.
Sure 'tis cruel, &c.

Mysis. Girls for you, my fears perplex me,
I'm alarm'd on your account:

Sil.

Wife, in vain you leaze and vex me,
I will rule, depend upon't.
Nysa. Ah! Ah!
Daph. Mamma!

Nysa. Mamma, how can yon be so ill-natur'd
Daph. Ah, ah, to a lad so limb'd and featured?
Nysa. To the gentle. handsome swain,
Dapb. Sure 'tis cruel to give pain;
Nysa. Sure 'tis cruel to give pain;
Daph. To the gentle, handsome swain.
Mysis. Girls, for you my fears perplex me,
I'm alarm'd on your account:
Wife, in vain you teaze and vex me,
I will rule, depend upon't.
Mamma!

Sil.

Nysa. Mysis. Daph.

Sil.

Prha! psha! Papa

Ah! ah!

Daph. Mamma, how can you b› so i l-natur'd,
Sil. Psha! psha! you must not be so ill-natur'd;

Nysa. Ah, ah, to a lad so limb'd, so featur'd?

AIR.-DAPHNE.

He's as tight a lad to see to,

As e'er stept in leather shoe;
And what's better, he'll love me too,
And to him I'll prove true blue.
Though my sister cast a hawk's eye,
I defy what she can do;

He o'erlook'd the little doxy,

I'm the girl he means to woo.
Hither I stole out to meet him,

He'll no doubt my steps pursue;
If the youth prove true, I'll fit him;
If he's fulse I'll fit him too.
Enter APOLLO,

Aro. Think o' the devil-'tis said,
He's at your shoulder;
This wench was running in my head,
And pop-behold her.

AIR.-APOLLO.

Lovely nymph, assuage my anguish:
At your feet a tender swain,
Prays you will not let him languish,

One kind look would ease his pain.
Did you know the lad who courts you,
He not long need sue in vain;
Prince of song, of dance, of sports-you
Scarce will meet his like again.

Daph. Sir, you're such an olio
Of perfection in folio,

No damsel can resist you;
Your face so attractive,
Limbs so supple and active,
That, by this light,

At the first sight,

I could have run and kiss'd you.

AIR.-DAPHNE.

If you can caper, as well as you modulate,
With the addition of that pretty face,
Pan, who was held by our shepherds a god o' late,
Will be kick'd out, and you set in his place.
His beard so frouzy, his gestures so awkward are,
And his bagpipe has so drowsy a drone,

That if they find you, as I did, no backwarder,

You may count on all the girls as your own. Mysis. (From within.) Pol, Pol, make haste, come hither.

Apo. Death, what a time to call; Oh, rot your old lungs of leather.

254

SCENE II-A Lawn before Midas's house. · Enter NYSA.

AIR-NYSA.

In these greasy old fatters
His charms brighter shine:
Then his guitar he clatters
With tinkling divine,
But my sister.

An! he kiss'd her,
And me he pass'd by;

I'm jealous
Of the fellow's

Bad taste and blind eye. [Exit.

SCENE III.-Milas's Parlour.

MIDAS, MYSIS, and PAN, discovered in consultation over a large bowl of punch, pipes, and tabacco.

Mid. Come, Pan, your toast.

Pan. Here goes-our noble umpire.

Mysis. And Pol's defeat-I'll pledge it in a bumper.

Mid. Hang him, in every scheme that whelp has cross'd us.

Mys's. Sure he's the devil himself;

Pan. Or Doctor Faustus.

Mysis. Ah, 'squire-for Pan would you but stoutly stickle,

This Pol would soon be in a wretched pickle.
Pan. You reason right-

Mid. His toby I shall tickle.

Mysis. Look, 'squire, I've sold my butter; here the price is

At your command, do but this job for Mysis. Count 'em-six guineas and an old Jacobus; Keep Pan, and shame that scape-grace coram nobis. Mid. Goody, as 'tis your request,

I pocket this here stuff;

And as for that there peasant,
Trust me, I'll work his buff.
At the musical struggle
I'll bully and juggle;
My award's

Your sure card;

'Sblood, he shall fly his country-that's enough. Pan, Well said, my lad of wax. Mid. Let's end the tankard,

I have no head for business till I've drank hard. Pan. Nor have my guts brains in them till they're addle,

When I'm most rocky, I best sit my saddle.
Mid. Well, come, let's take one boose, and roar
Then part to our affairs

[a catch,

Pan. A match.
Mysis. A match.

TRIO.-MIDAS, PAN, and MYSIS. Mid. Master Pol

And his tol de rol lol,

I'll buffet away from the plain, sir.

Pan. And I'll assist Your worship's fist

With all my might and main, sir.

Sil.

[hag's.

Who a friend's good advice would despise?
Who, when danger is nigh,

Throws his spectacles by,

And blinks through a green girl's eyes? You're an impudent pimp and a grub. Dam. You are fool'd by a beggarly scrub; Your betters you snub.

Sil. Who will lend me a club.

This insolent puppy to drub?

You're an impud nt pimp and a grub,
Dam. Your cajol'd by a beggarly scrub,
Sil.

Who will rot in a powdering tub,

Dam. Whom the prince of imposters I dub;
Sil. A guinea for a club,

Dam. You're bald pate you'i rub,

Sil.

This muckworm to drub.

Dam. When you find that your cub,
Sil. Rub off, sirrah, rub, sirrah, rub.
Dam. Is debauch'd by a whipp'd syllabub.

Enter MYSIS, attended by DAPHNE and NYSA. Mysis. Soh! you attend the trial-we shall drive Your vagabond

Sil. I smoke your foul contrivance.

[hence

Daph. Ah, Nys, our fate depends upon this issue. Nysa. Daph-for your sake my claim I here forego, And with your Pol much joy I wish you.

Under my very nose this clapper-clawing!

AIR.-MIDAS.

What the devil's here to do,

Ye loggerheads and gipsies?

Sirrah you, and hussey you,

And each of you tipsy is;

But I'll as sure pull down your pride as A gun, or as I'm justice Midas.

A plague on your pother about this or that,
Your shrieking or squeaking, a sharp or a flat:
I'm sharp by my bumpers, you're a flat, master Pol;
So here goes a set-to at tol de rol lol.

When beauty her rack of poor lovers would hamper,
And after miss Will-o'the-Whisp the fools scamper;
Ding dong, in sing song, they the lady extol:
Pray, what's all this fuss for, but-tol de rol lol?
Mankind are a medley-a chance medley race:
All start in full cry, to give dame Fortune chase:
There's catch as catch can, hit or miss, luck is all,
And luck's the best tune of life's tol de rol lol.

I've done, please your worship, 'tis rather too long!
Mid. Not at all.

Pan. I only meant life is but an old song;.
The world's but a tragedy, comedy, droll;
Where all act the scene of tol de rol lol.

Peasants. A Pan!-a Pan!

Mid. By jingo, well perform'd for one of his age; Now, hang dog, don't you blush to shew your visage? Apo. Why, master Midas, for that matter,

'Tis enough to dash one,

To hear the arbitrator,

In such unseemly fashion,

One of the candidates bespatter,
With so much partial passion.

(Midas falls asleep.)

No pouting; and with festal chorus crown him(The Crowd form two ranks beside the chair, and join in the chorus, whilst Midas crowns him with bays. He is then carri d round the stage, the dancers leading the way to the Chorus.)

Chorus. See triumphant sits the bard,

Crown'd with bays, his due reward;
Exil'd Pol shall wander far;

Exil'd, twang his faint guitar;

While with echoing shouts of praise,

We the bagpipe's glory raise.

Mid. "Tis well. What keeps you here, you raga