A plague on your pother about this or that, When beauty her rack of poor lovers would hamper, I've done, please your worship, 'tis rather too long! Pan. I only meant life is but an old song; 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.) AIR.-APOLLO. Ah, happy hours, how fleeting, At Daphne's feet I lay! But from her charms when sunder'd. Each hour will seem an hundred; Peasants. A Pol! a Pol!-a Pan! a Pan! Mid. Silence-this just decree, all, at your peril Obedient hear-else I shall use you very ill. THE DECREE. Chorus. 0, tremendous, &c. Mid. All bow with me to mighty Pan-enthrone him 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 dancer's leading the way to the Chorus.) Chorus. See triumphant sits the bard, Crown'd with bays, his due reward; Eril'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 muffin? Go trudge or do you wait for a good cuffing? (Throws off his disguise, and appears as Apollo.) The wrath of Jove, for rapine, Corruption, lust, pride, fraud, there's no escaping. Tremble, thou wretch; thou stretch'd thy utmost tether; Thou and thy tools shall go to pot together. Mid. Forgive us, mighty Sol-Alas! alas! FINALE-APOLLO. Thou art a Billinsgate quean; With strumpets and bailiffs shall class: Thou, driven from man, Shall wander with Pan; He a stinking o'd goat, thou an ass, an ass, &c. Be thou 'squire―his estate (To Mysic.) (To Damætas.) (To Midas.) (To Sileno.) (To Daphne and Nysa.) Chorus. Jove in his chair, &c. To thee I translate. To you his strong chests, wicked mass; Live happy, while I, Recall'd to the sky, Make all the gods laugh at Midas. A DRAMA, IN FIVE ACTS.-BY BENJAMIN THOMPSON. ACT I. Persons Represented. TOBIAS. FRANCIS. GEORGE. CHILDREN. SCENE L-The Skirts of Count Wintersen's Park. The park-gates in the centre. On one side, a low lodge among the trees; on the other, in the background, a peasant's hut. Enter PETER. Peter. Pooh, pooh! never tell me; I'm a clever lad, for all father's crying out every minute, "Peter," and "Stupid Peter!" But I say Peter is not stupid, though father will always be so wise. First, I talk too much; then I talk too little; and if I talk a bit to myself, he calls me a driveller. Now I like best to talk to myself; for I never contradict myself, and I don't laugh at myself as other folks do. That laughing is often a plaguy teasing custom. To be sure, when Mrs. Haller laughs, one can bear it well enough; there is a sweetness even in her reproof, that somehow-but, lud! I had near forgot what I was sent about. Yes, then they No. 5. THE BRITISH DRAMA. T MRS. HALLER. CHARLOTTE. ANNETTE. CLAUDINE. SUSAN. would have laughed at me, indeed. (Draws a green old Tobias; and Mrs. Haller said I must be sure purse from his pocket.) I am to carry this money to not to blab, or say that she had sent it. Well, well, she may be easy for that matter; not a word shall drop from my lips. Mrs. Haller is charming, but silly, if father is right; for father says, "He that spends his money is not wise, but he that gives it away is stark mad." Enter the STRANGER from the lodge, followed by FRANCIS. At sight of Peter the Stranger stops, and looks suspiciously at him. Peter stands opposite to him with his mouth wide open. At length, he takes off his hat, scrapes a bow, and goes into the hut. Stra. Who is that? Peter. And why not, pray? But I did go there for nothing, though. Do you think one must be paid for everything? If Mrs. Haller were to give me but a smiling look, I'd jump up to my neck in the great pond for nothing. Fra. It seems, then, Mrs. Haller sent you? Peter. How should I know? "Look you!" says Stra. (With acrimony.) Ay, ay; he knows how to Mrs. Haller, "Master Peter, be so good as not to tell his story, no doubt. Fra. He is not, Stra. In that hut? Fra. In that hut. (Stranger goes into the hut.) A good master, though one almost loses the use of speech by living with him. A man kind and clear; though I cannot understand him. He rails against the whole world, and yet no beggar leaves his door unsatisfied. I have now lived three years with him, and yet I know not who he is. A hater of society, no doubt; but not by Providence intended to be so. Misanthropy in his head, not in his heart. Enter the STRANGER and PETER from the hut. Peter. Pray, walk on. Stra. (To Francis.) Fool! mention it to anybody." (With much consequence.) "Master Peter, be so good."-Hi hi, hi! "Master Peter, be so"-Hi, hi, hi! Fra. Oh! that is quite a different thing. Of course, you must be silent then. For I Peter. I know that; and so I am, too. told old Tobias, says I, "Now, you're not to think as how Mrs. Haller sent the money; for I shall not say a word about that as long as I live," says I. Fra. There you were very right. Did you carry him much money? Peter. I don't know; I didn't count it. It was in a bit of a green purse. Mayhap, it may be some little matter that she has scraped together in the last fortnight. Fra. And why just in the last fortnight? Peter. Because, about a fortnight since, I carried him some money before. Fra. From Mrs. Haller? Peter. Ay, sure! who else, think you? Father's not such a fool. He says it is our bounden duty, as Christians, to take care of our money, and not give any thing away, especially in summer; for then, he says, there's herbs and roots enough in conscience to satisfy all the reasonable hungry poor. But I say father's wrong, and Mrs. Haller's right. But this Mrs. Haller seems a Fra. Yes, yes. strange woman, Peter. Peter. Ay, at times, she is plaguy odd. Why, she'll sit and cry you a whole day through, withent any one's knowing why. Ay, and yet, somehow cr other, whenever she cries, I always cry too, wit out knowing why. Fra. (To the Stranger.) Are you satisfied? Fra. Good day, Master Peter. Peter. You're not going yet, are you? Fra. Mrs. Haller will be waiting for an answer. Peter. So she will. And I have another place or two to call at. (Takes off his hat to the Stranger.) Servant, sir. Stra. Psha! blab. Fra. Now, sir. Stra. What do you want? Fra. Were you not wrong, sir? Stra. Hem! Wrong! Fra. Can you still doubt? [Exit. Stra. I'll hear no more! Who is this Mrs Haller? Why do I always follow her path? Go where I will, whenever I try to do good, she has always been there before me. Fra. You should rejoice at that. Fra. Surely! That there are other good and charitable people in the world beside yourself. Stra. Oh, yes! Fra. Why not seek to be acquainted with her. I saw her yesterday in the garden up at the castle. Mr. Solomon, the steward, says she has been unwell, and confined to her room almost ever since we have been here. But one would not think it to look at her; for a more beautiful creature I never saw. Stra. So much the worse. Beauty is a mask. Fra. In her it seems a mirror of the soul. Her charities Stra. Talk not to me of her charities. All women ish to be conspicuous: in town by their wit; in the country by their heart. Fra. 'Tis immaterial in what way good is done. Fra. To this poor old man, at least. Fra. His most urgent wants, indeed, Mrs. Haller has relieved; but whether she has or could have given as much as would purchase liberty for the son, the prop of his age Stra. Silence! I will not give him a doit! (In a peevish tone.) You interest yourself very warmly in his behalf. Perhaps you are to be a sharer in the gift. Fra. Sir, sir, that did not come from your heart. Stra. (Recol ecting himself.) Forgive me! Fra. Poor master! How must the world have used you before it could have instilled this hatred of mankind, this constant doubt of honesty and virtue! Stra. Leave me to myself. (Throws himself on a seat; takes a book from his pocket, and reads.) Fra. (Aside, surveying him.) Again reading! Thus it is from morn to night. To him nature has no beauty; life no charm. For three years I have never seen him smile. What will be his fate at last? Nothing diverts him. Oh! if he would but attach himself to any living thing! were it an animal-for something man must love. Enter TOBIAS from the hut. Tob. Oh! how refreshing, after seven long weeks, to feel these warm sunbeams once again! Thanks, thanks, bounteous heaven! for the joy I taste. (Presses his cap between his hands, looks up, and prays. The Stranger observes him attentively.) Fra. (To the Stranger.) This old man's share of earthly happiness can be but little; yet mark how grateful he is for his portion of it. Stra. Because, though old, he is but a child in the leading-strings of Hope. Fra. Hope is the nurse of life. Stra. And her cradle is the grave. (Tobias replaces his cap.) Fra. I wish you joy. I am glad to see you are so much recovered. Tob. Thank you! Heaven and the assistance of a kind lady have saved me for another year or two. Fra. How old are you, pray? Tob. Seventy-six. To be sure I can expect but little joy before I die. Yet, there is another and a better world. Fra. To the unfortunate, then, death is scarcely an evil? Tob. Am I so unfortunate? Do I not enjoy this glorious morning? Am I not in health again? Believe me, sir, he who, leaving the bed of sickness, for the first time breathes the fresh pure air, is, at that moment, the happiest of his Maker's ereatures. strong lad; and took an honest wife. Heaven blessed my farm with rich crops, and my marriage with five children. This lasted nine or ten years. Two of my children died. I felt it sorely. The land was afflicted with a famine. My wife assisted me in supporting our family: but four years after. she left our dwelling for a better place; and of my five children only one son remained. This was blow upon blow. It was long before i regained my fortitude. At length resignation and religion had their effect. I again attached myself to life. My son grew, and helped me in my work. Now the state bas called him away to bear a musket. This is to me a loss, indeed. I can work no more. I am old and weak; and true it is, but for Mrs. Haller, I must have perished. Fra. Still, then, life has its charms for you? Tob. Why not, while the world holds anything that's dear to me? Have not I a son? Fra. Who knows that you will ever see him more? He may be dead. Tob. Alas! he may. But as long as I am not sure of it, he lives to me: and if he falls, 'tis in hig country's cause. Nay, should I lose him, still I should not wish to die. Here is the hut in which I was born. Here is the tree that grew with me; and, I am almost ashamed to confess it-I have a dog I love. Fra. A dog! Tob. Yes! Smile if you please: but hear me. My benefactress once came to my hut herself, some time before you fixed here. The poor animal, unused to see the form of elegance and beauty enter the door of penury, growled at her. "I wonder you keep that surly, ugly animal, Mr. Tobias," said she; "you, who have hardly food enough for yourself." "Ah! madam," I replied, "if I part with him, are you sure that anything else will love me?" She was pleased with my answer. Fra. (To the Stranger.) Excuse me, sir; but I wish you had listened. Stra. I have listened. Fra. Then, sir, I wish you would follow this poor old man's example. Stra. (Pauses.) Here, take this book, and lay it on my desk. [Francis goes into the lodge with the book. How much has this Mrs. Haller given you? Tob. Oh! sir, she has given me so much that I can look towards winter without fear. Stra. No more? Tob. What could I do with more? Ah! true; I might Stra. I know it. You might buy your son's release. There! [Presses a purse into his hand and exit. Tob. What is all this? (Opens the purse, and finds it full of gold.) Merciful heaven! Enter FRANCIS. Now, look, sir; is confidence in heaven unrewarded? Fra. I wish you joy! My master gave you this? Tob. Yes, your noble master. Heaven reward him! Fra. Just like him. He sent me with his book, that no one might be witness to his bounty. Tob. He would not even take my thanks. He was gone before I could speak. Fra. Just his way. Tob. Now I'll go as quick as these old legs will bear me. What a delightful errand! I go to re Fra. Yet 'tis a happiness that fails upon enjoy-lease my Robert! How the lad will rejoice! There ment. Tob. True; but less so in old age. Some fifty years ago my father left me this cottage. I was a is a girl, too, in the village, that will rejoice with him. Oh! Providence, how good art thou! Years of distress never can efface the recollection of former happiness; but one joyful moment drives | Haller. It gives me infinite pleasure to see you from the memory an age of misery. [Exit. Fra. (Looks after him.) Why am I not wealthy? 'Sdeath! why am I not a prince? I never thought myself envious; but I feel I am. Yes, I must envy those who, with the will, have the power to do good. [Exit. SCENE II.-An Ante-chamber in Wintersen Castle. Enter SUSAN, meeting Footman with table and chairs. Susan. Why, George, Harry! where have you been loitering? Put down these things. Mrs. Haller has been calling for you this half-hour. Foot. Well, here I am, then. What does she want with me? Susan. That she will tell you herself. Here she comes. Enter MRS. HALLER with a letter, a Maid following. Mrs. H. Very well; if those things are done, let Peter. Nobody. It's only me. Mrs. H. But you have observed my directions? Peter. Oh! yes, yes. I told old Tobias as how he would never know, as long as he lived, that the morey came from you. Mrs. H. You found him quite recovered, I hope? Peter. Ay, sure, did I. He's coming out to-day for the first time. Mrs. H. I rejoice to hear it. Peter. He said that he was obliged to you for all; and, before dinner, would crawl up to thank you. Mrs. H. Good Peter, do me another service. Peter. Ay, a hundred, if you'll only let me have a good long stare at you. Mrs. H. With all my heart. Observe when old Sol. (Without.) There, there, go to the post-office. Peter. What, father? Ay, so there is. Father's a main clever man: he knows what's going on all over the world. Mrs. H. No wonder; for you know he receives as many letters as a prime minister and all his secretaries. Enter SOLOMON. look so charmingly well. You have had the goodness to send for your humble servant. Any news from the great city? There are very weighty matters in agitation. I have my letters, too. Mrs. H. (Smiling.) I think, Mr. Solomon, you must correspond with the four quarters of the globe. Sol. Beg pardon, not with the whole world, Mrs. Haller; but (consequentially) to be sure, I have correspondents, on whom I can rely, in the chief cities of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America. Mrs. H. And yet I have my doubts whether you know what is to happen this very day, at this very place. We Sol. At this very place! Nothing material. meant to have sown a little barley to-day, but the ground is too dry; and the sheep-shearing is not to be till to-morrow. Peter. No, nor the bull-baiting till Sol. Hold your tongue, blockhead! Get about your business. Peter. Blockhead! There again! I suppose I'm [Exit. Mrs. H. With his lady, and his brother-in-law, Baron Steinfort. Sol. My letters say nothing of this. You are laughing at your humble servant. Mrs. H. You know, sir, I'm not much given to jesting. Sol. Peter! Good lack-a-day! His right honourable excellency Count Wintersen, and her right honourable excellency the Countess Wintersen, and his honourable lordship Baron Steinfort-and, Lord have mercy! nothing in proper order! Here, Peter, Peter! Enter PETER. Send Peter. Well, now, what's the matter again? Sol. Call all the house together directly! to the gamekeeper, tell him to bring some venison. Tell Rebecca to uncase the furniture, and take the covering from the Venetian looking-glasses, that her right honourable ladyship the Countess may look at her gracious countenance: and tell the cook to let me see him without loss of time: and tell John to catch a brace or two of carp. And tell -and tell-and tell-tell Frederick to friz my Sunday wig. Mercy on us! Tell-there, go! [Exit Peter.] Heavens and earth! so little of the new furnishing of this old castle is completed! Where are we to put his honourable lordship the Baron? Mrs. H. Let him have the little chamber at the head of the stairs; it is a neat room, and commands a beautiful prospect. Sol. Very right, very right. But that room has always been occupied by the Count's private secretary. Suppose-hold! I have it. You know the little lodge at the end of the park: we can thrust the secretary into that. Mrs. H. You forget, Mr. Solomon; you told me that the Stranger lived there. Sol. Psha! What have we to do with the Stranger? Who told him to live there? He must turn out. Mrs. H. That would be unjust; for you said that you let the dwelling to him; and, by your own account, he pays well for it. Sol. He does, he does. But nobody knows who he is. The devil himself can't make him out. To So. Good morning, good morning, to you, Mrs. be sure, I lately received a letter from Spain, which |