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Zuc . You won't be so cruel, I'm sure yon won't: T thought I had made you my friend by telling you the truth.

Mrs. D. Telling me the truth, quotha! did I not overhear your scheme of running away to-night through the partition? did I not find the very bundles pack'd up in the room with you, ready for going off? No, brazen-face, I found out the truth by my own sagacity, though your father says I am a fool, but now we'll be judged who is the greatest; and yon, Mr. Rascal; my brother shall know what an honest servant he has got

Hodge. Madam!

Mrs. D. You were to have been aiding and assisting them in their escape, and have been the gobetween, it seems; the letter-carrier!

Hodge. Who? me, madam?

Mrs. D. Yes, you, sirrah.

Hodge. Miss Lucinda, did I ever carry a letter for you? 111 make my affidavy before his worship—

Mrs. D. Go, go, you are a villain; hold your tongue.

Luc . I own, aunt, I have been very faulty in this affair; I don't pretend to excuse myself; but we are all subject to frailties; consider that, and judge of me by yourself; you were once young and inexperienced as I am.

Mrs. D. This is mighty pretty, romantic stuff! but you learn It out of your play books and novels. Girls in my time had other employments, we worked at our needles, and kept ourselves from idle thoughts; before I was your age, I had finished, with my own fingers, a complete set of chairs and a fire-screen in tent-stitch, four counterpanes in Marseilles quilting, and the Creed and the Ten Commandments in the hair of our family; it was framed and glaz'd, and hung over the parlour chimney-piece, and your poor, dear grandfather was prouder of it than e'er a picture in his house. I never looked into a book, but when 1 sald my prayers, except it was the Complete Housewife, or the great Family Receipt Book: whereas, yon are always at your studies! Ah! I never knew a woman come to good, that was fond of reading.

Luc. Well pray, madam, let me prevail on you to give me the key to jet Mr. Eustace out, and I promise I never will proceed a step further in this business without your advice and approbation.

Mrt. D. Have not I told you already, my resolution? Where are my clogs and my bonnet? I'll go out to my brother in the fields; I'm a fooL yon know, child; now let's see what the wits will think of themselves. Don't hold me.


Luc. I'm not going; I have thought of a way to be even with you, so you may do as you please.


Hodge. Well, I thought, it would come to this, I'll bo shot if I didn't; so, bore's a fine job: but what can they do to me? They can't send me to gaol for carrying a letter, seeing there was no treason in it: and how was I obliged to know my master did not allow of their meetings? The worst they can do, is to turn me off, and I am sure the place is no snch great purchase; indeed, I should be sorry to leave Mrs. Rosetta, seeing as how matters are so near being brought to an end betwixt ns; but she and I may keep company all as one: and I find Madge has been speaking with Gaffer Broadwheels, the wagftoner, about her carriage np to London; so that I have got rid of she, and I am sure I have reason to be main glad of it,

for sho led me a wearisome life; but that's the way with them all


A plague o these wenches, they make such a pother.

When onve they heme let'n a man have his will;
They're aheays a whining for something or other,

Ana cry he's unkind in his carriage.
What tho'f he speaks them ne'er so /airly,
Still they keep teazing, tearing on:
You cannot persuade 'em,
3 ill promise you've made 'em;
And after they've got it.
They tell you, od rot it!
Their character's blasted, they're ruinil, undone,
Then to be sure, sir,
There is but one cure, sir,
Ana ail their discourse is of marriage.


SCENE II.—1 Grtenhouse.


Young M. I am glad I had the precaution to bring this suit of clothes in my bundle, though I hardly know myself in them again. However, my gardener's jacket goes on no more. I wonder this girl does not come. (Looking at his watch.) Perhaps she won't come. Why, then I'il go into the village, take a post-chaise, and depart without any further ceremony.


How much superior beauty awes,

The coldest bosoms find;
But with resistless forve it draws.

To sense and siveetness join'd.
The casket, where, to outward show,

The workman's art is seen,
ii, doubly valu'd when ive know

It holds a gem within. Hark! sho comes.


Young M. Confusion! my father! What can this mean?

Sir W. Tom, are not yon a sad boy, Tom, to bring mo a hundred and forty miles hore? May I never do an ill turn, but you deserve to have your head broke; and I have a good mind, partly. What, sirrah, don't you think it worth your while to speak to me?

Young M. Forgive me, sir; I own I have been in fault.

Sir W. In fault! to run away from mo because I was going to do you good May I never do an ill turn, Mr. Hawthorn, if I did notpick out as fine a girl from him, partly, as any in England! and the rascal ran away from me, and came here and turn'd gardener. And pray what did you propose to yourself, Tom? I know you were always fond of botany, as thoy call it: did you intend to keep the trade going, and advertise fruit-trees and fiowering-shrubs, to be had at Meadows' nuraery?

Haw. No, sir William, I apprehend the young gentleman designed to lay by the profession; for ho has quitted the hahit a!ready.

Young M. I am so astonished to see you here, sir, that I don't know what to say: but I assure you, if you had not come, I should have returned home directly. Pray, sir, how did you find me out?

Sir W. No matter, Tom, no matter: it was partly by accident as a body may say; bnt what does that signify? Tell me, boy, how stands your stomach towards matrimony: do yon think you could digest a wife now?

Young M. Piay, air, don't mention it: I shall always behave myself es a dutiful son ought: I will never marry without your consent, and I fcQPe you won't force me to do it against my own.

Sir W. Is not this mighty provoking, master Hawthorn? Why, sirrah, did you ever Bee the lady I designed for yon?

Young M. Sir, I don't doubt the lady's merit; but, at present I am not disposed—

Haw. Nay but, young gentleman, fair and softly; you should pay some respect to your father in this matter.

Sir W. Respect, master Hawthorn I I tell you he shall marry her, or 111 disinherit him! there's once. Look you, Tom, not to make any more words of the matter, I have brought the lady here with me, and I'll pee you contracted before we part; or you shall delve and plant cucumbers as long as you live.

Young M. Have yon brought the lady here, sir? I am sorry for it

Sir W. Why sorry? What, then, you won't marry her? We'll see that! Pray, master Hawthorn, conduct the fair one in, [Exit Hawthorn.] Ay, sir, you may fret and dance about, trot at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, if you please; but, marry whip me, I'm resolved.


J law. Here is the lady, sir William.

Sir IV.' Come in. madam; but turn your face from him; he would not marry you because ho had not seen you: but I'll let him know my choice shall be his, and he shall consent to marry you before he Bees you, or not an acre of estate. Fray, sir, walk this way.

Young M. Sir, I cannot help thinking your conduct a little extraordinary; but since you urge me so closely, I must tell yoa my affections are engaged.

Sir W. How, Tom, how? And pray, sir, who are your affections engaged to? Let me know that

Young M. To a person, sir, whose rank and fortune may be no recommendation to her, but whose charms and accomplishments entitle her to a monarch. I am sorry, sir, it's impossible for me to comply with your commands, and I hope you will not be offended if I quit your presence.

Sir W. Not I, not in the least: go about your business.

Young M. Sir, I obey.

Haw. Now, madam, is the time.

(Rosetta advances. Young Meadows turns round and sees her.)


When we see a lover languish,
And his truth and honour prove,

Ah t how sweet to heal his anguish,
And repay him love for love.

Sir W. Well, Tom, will yon go away from me now?

Hate. Perhaps, sir William, your son does not like the lady; and, if so, pray don't put a force upon his inclination.

Young M. You need not to have taken this i

thod, sir, to let me see you are acquainted with my folly, whatever my inclinations are.

Sir W. Well but, Tom, suppose I giye X sent to your marrying this young won

Young M. Your consent, sir?

Sir. IV. May I never do an ill turn, Tom, ff it is not truth! this is my frjendIs daughter.

Young M. Sir I

Ros. Even so; 'tis very trne, indeed. In short, you have not been a more whimsical gentleman, than I have a gentlewoman; but you see we are designed for one another, 'tis plain.

Young M. I know not, madam, what I either hear or see; a thousand things are crowding on nq y imagination, while, like one lust awakened from a dream, I doubt which is reality, which delusion.

Sir W. Well then. Tom, come into the air a blt, and recover yourself.

Young M. Nay, dear sir, have a little patience; do you give her to me?

Sir W. Give her to you I ay, that I do, and my blessing into the bargain.

Young M. Then, sir, 1 am the happiest man in the world! I inquire no further; here I fiat the utmost limits of my hopes and happiness,


Young M. All I wish, in her obtaining,

Fortune can no more impart;

Bos. Let my eyes, my thoughts explaining.
Speak the feelings of my heart.

Young M. Joy and pleasure neeer veasing,

Bos. Lovewith length of years increasing.

Together. Thus my heart and hand surrender,
Here my faith and truth I plight;
Constant still, and Hnd: and tender.
May our-fames burn eeer bright f

Haw. Give you joy, sir; and you, fair lady. And under favour, I'll salute you too, if there's no fear of jealousy.

Young M. And may I believe this? Pr'ythee teh me, dear Bosetta!

Ros. Step into the house, and I'll tell you everything; I must entreat the good offices of sir William and Mr. Hawthorn immediately: for I am in the utmost uneasiness about my poor friend Lucinda.

Haw. Why, what's the matter?

Ros. I don't know; but I have reason to fear I left her just now in very disagreeable circumstances; however, I hope if there's any mischief fallen out between her father and her lover-—

Haw. The music-master! I thought So.

Sir W. What, is there a lover in the case? May I never do an ill turn, but I am glad, so I am! for we'll make a double wedding; and, by way of celebrating it, take a trip to London, to show the brides some of the pleasures of the town. Come, children, go before us, (Exeunt Yfttng M. and Rom.) And, master Hawthorn, you shall be of the party.

Haw. Thank you, sir William; I'll go into the house with you, and to church, to see the young folks married, but as to London, I beg to be ei


If eeer I'm catch- d in those regions of smoke,

Tltat seat of confusion and noise, May I ne'er know the sweets of a slumber unbroke,

Nor the pleasures the country enjoys.

Ifay more, let them take me, to punish my sin,
Where, gaping, the cockneys they fieeve;

Clap me up with their monsters, cry, matters walk in.
And shew me for two-fenve a-pieve.


SCENE 11L—Justiee Woodcock's Ball.


Mrs. D. Why, brother, do you think I can't hear, or see, or make use of my senses? I tell you, I left that fellow locked up in her closet; and, while I have been with you, they have broke open the door, and got him out again.

Jus. W. Well, you hear what they say.

Mrs. I care not what they say; it's you encourage them in their impudence. Hark ye, hussy, will you face mo down that I did not lock the fellow up?

Luc. Really, aunt, I don't know what you mean; when you talk intelligibly, I'll answer you.

Eust. Seriously, madam, this is carrying the jest a little too far.

Mrs. D. What, then, I did not catch you together in the chamber, nor overhear your design of going off to-night, nor find the bundles packed up—

Eust. Ha, ha, ha!

Luc . Why, mint, you rave. M rs. D. Brother, as I am a Christian woman, she confessed the whole affair to me from first to last; and in this very place was down upon her marrow-bones for half an hour together, to beg I would conceal it from you.

Hodge. Oh Lord! Oh Lord!

Mrs. D. What, sirrah, would you brazen me too I Take that (Boxes his ears.)

Bodge. I wish you would keep your hands to yourself! You strike me, because you have been telling his worship stories.

Jus W. Why, sister, you are tipsy.

Mrs. D. I tipsy, brother! I—that never touch a drop of anything strong from year's end to year's end; but now and then a little aniseed water, when I have got the cholic.

Luc. Well, aunt, you have been complaining of the stomach-ache all day; and may have taken too powerful a dose of your cordial.

Jus. W. Come, Come, I see well enough how it is: this is a lie of her own invention, to make herself appear wise: but, you simpleton, did you not know I must find you out?


Young M. Bless me, air! look who is yonder. Sir W. Cockshones! Jack, honest Jack, are you there?

Eust. Plagne on't, this rencounter is unlucky; Sit William, you servant

Sir W. Your servant, again and again, heartily your servant; may I never do an ill turn, but I am glad to meet you.

Jus. W. Pray, sir William, are you acquainted with this person?

Sir W. what, with Jack Eustace? why he's my kinsman : his mother and I were cousin-germans once removed, and Jack's a very worthy young fellow: may I never do an ill turn, if I toll a word of a lie.

Jus. W. Well but, sir William, let me tell you, you know nothing of the matter; this man is a

music-master; athrummer of wire, and a scrape of catgut, and teaches my daughter to sing.

Sir W. What, Jack Eustace a music-master! no, no; I know him better.

Eust. 'Sdeath, why should I attempt to carry on this absurd farce any longer: what that gentleman tells you is very trne, sir; I am no musicmaster, indeed.

Jus. W. You are not? you own it, then?

Eust. Nay more, sir, I am, as this lady has represented me, (pointing to Mrs. Deborah,)—your daughter's lover: whom, with her own consent, I did intend to have carried off this night; but now that sir William Meadows is here, to tell you who and what I am, I throw myself upon your generosity; from which I expect greater advantages than I could reap from any imposition upon your unsuspicious nature.

Mrs. D. Well, brother, what have you to say for yourself now? You have made a precious day's work of it! Had my advice been taken—Ob, I am ashamed of you ; but you are a weak man, and it can't be helped; however, you should let wiser heads direct you.

Luc. Dear papa, pardon me.

Sir W. Ay, do, sir, forgive her; my cousin Jack will make her a good hushand, I'll answer for it.

Ros. Stand out of the way, and let me speak two or three words to his worship. Come, my dear sir, though you refuse all the world. I am sure you can deny me nothing: love is a vdu'al fault You know what I mean. Be reconciled to your daughter, I conjure you, by the memory of our past affections. What, not a word?


do, naughty man, Ican't abide you;

Are then your vows so soon foryot t
Ah! now I see if I had trifd you,

What would have been my hopeful lot.

But here I charge you,make them happy;

Bless the fond pair, and crown their bliss;
Come, be a dear, good-natur'd pappy,

And nt reward you with a kiss.

Mrs. D. Come, tarn out of the house, and be thankful that my brother does not hang you, for he could do it; he's a justice of peace; turn out of the house, I say:—

Jus. W. Who gave you authority to turn him out of the house? he shall stay where he is.

Mrs. D. He shan't marry my niece.

Jus. W. Shan't he; but I'll show you the difference now; I say he shall marry her, and what will you do about it?

Mrs. D. And you will give him your estate too, will you?

Jus. W. Yes, I will.

Mrs. D. Why, I'm sure he's a vagabond.

Jus. W. I like him the better; I would have him a vagabond.

Mrs. D. Brother, brother I

Haw. Come, come, madam, all's very well; and I see my neighbour is what I always thought him, a man of sense and prudence.

Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, but I say so too.

Jus. W. Here, young fellow, take my daughter, and bless you both together; but hark you, no money till I die. Sister Deborah, you're a foot

Mrs. D. Ah, brother, brother, you're a silly old man. [Exit

Haw. Adds me, sir, here are some of your neighbours come to visit you, and I suppose to make up the company of your statute ball; yonder's music too, I see; shall we enjoy ourselves?

Enter Villagers, lftc . If so, give me your hand.

Jus. W. Why, here's my hand, and we will enjoy ourselves. Heaven bless you both, children. I say—


Henee with cares, complaints, and frowning,

Welcome, jollity, and joy;
Every grvf in pleasure drowning,
Mirth this happy night employ;

Let's to friendship do our duty,

Laugh and sing some good old strain 4 Drink a health to love and beauty— May they long in trinmph reign.




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SCENE L—A magnifivent Pavilion near Pizarro's tent.

ELVIRA discovered sleeping under a canopy. VALVERDE enters, gazes on Elvira, and attempts to kiss her hand; Elvira awakened, rises, and looks a him with indignation.

Etc. Audacious, whence 1s thy privilege to interrupt the few moments of repose my harassed mind can snatch, amid the tumults of this noisy enmp? Shall I inform your master of this proiumptttoas treachery?

No. 2.—The Buitisu Liuma.

An Oln Blinn Man.

A Bot.
Solniess, &c

Val. I am his servant, it is trne-trusted by him —and 1 know him well; and, therefore, 'tis I ask by what magic could Pizarro gain your heart, by what fatality still holds he your affections?

Elc. Hold! thou trusty secretary!

Val. Ignobly born, in mind and manners rude, ferocious, and uupolished, though cool and crafty if occasion need; in yoath, audacious; in his first manhood, a licensed pirate, treating men as brutes, the world as booty; yet now the Spanish hero is he styled—the first of Spanish conquerorsl and for a warrior so accomplished, 'tis fit Elvira should leave hor noble family, her fame, her home, to share the dangers, humours, and the crimes of such a lover as I'izarro!


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