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Nurse. What is your worship's pleasure ?

not foretold in your Ephemeris. The lapa Por. Here, take your young mistress, and lock in the blue firmament is shot fra her up presently, till farther orders from me. Not lord of the ascendant. Od! You're a word, hussy; do what I bid you. No reply: away! Foresight, uncle I mean ; a very old and bid Robin make ready to give an account of his Foresight; and yet you shall live na tu plate and linen, d’ye hear? Begone, when I bid wedding; faith and troth, you shal or you. [Ereunt Nurse and Miss P. the music of the spheres for thee, skL

will; and thou shalt lead up a dance 3 Enter Mrs. FORESIGHT and SCANDAL. For. I'm thunderstruck! Ya xD

my niece? Mrs. For. What's the matter, husband ?

Sir S. Not absolutely married, mate. For. 'Tis not convenient to tell you now.

Mr. Scandal , heaven keep us all in our senses! I fear near it; within a kiss of the matter, =

Kusse there is a contagious frenzy abroad. How does

Ang. 'Tis very true, indeed, unde; It Valentine ?

be my father, and give me. Scand. Oh! I hope he will do well again. I have

Sir S. That he shall, or I'll ban bag a message from him to your niece Angelica.

Scand. Death and bell! Where's Ta For. I think she has not returned since she went abroad with Sir Sampson.

Mrs. Por. This is so surprising
Enter Ben.

Sir S. How! What does my ans

ing, aunt? pot at all, for a young en Here's Mr. Benjamin ; he can tell us, if his father match in winter. Not at all; itsa be come home.

mine cold weather, and destroy that we Ben. Who? Father? Ay, he's come home with called a warming-pan. a vengeance !

Mrs Por. P'm glad to hear yoe kan es: Mrs. For. Why, what's the matter ?

in you, Sir Sampson. Ben. Matter ! why, he's mad.

Ben. Mess! I fear his fire's stie des For. Mercy on us! I was afraid of this.

tinder. Ben. And there's a handsome young woman, she, Sir S. Why, you impudent tarpe as they say, brother Val went mad for ; she's mad, you bring your forecastle jessa too, I think.

But I shall be even with you;let For. Oh! my poor niece, my poor niece! is she groat. Mr. Buckram, is the center gone, too? Well, I shall run mad next.

that nothing can possibly descendies Mrs. For. Well, but how mad? How d’ye mean? I would not so much as have his bar te

Ben. Nay, I'll give you leave to guess'; I'll un- of an estate, though there were su dertake to make a voyage to Antigua. No; I it but by the north-east passage. mayn't say so, neither; but I'll sail as far as Leg- Buck. Sir, it is drawe according horn, and back again, before you shall guess at the tions; there Dot the least crasso matter, and do nothing else. Mess! you may take stopped. in all the points of the compass, and not hit the right. Ben. Lawyer, I believe there's saya

Mrs. Por. Your experiment will take up a little and leak unstopped is your causes too much time.

that one had a pump to yor busa I beboer Ben. Why, then, I'll tell you: there's a new wed should discover a foul bold. They was ding upon the stocks, and they two are a-going to sail in a sieve ; but I believe the serie be married to-night.

venture aboard your conscience. And Scand. Who?

you. Ben. Why, father, and--the young woman-I Sir S. Hold your tongue, sitrat i can't hit her name.

who's bere? Scand. Angelica ? Ben. Ay, the same.

Enter Mrs. FRAIL ed Tartu Mrs. For. Sir Sampson and Angelica ? Impos- Mrs. P. Oh! sister, the sost unluckyba sible.

Mrs. For. What's the matter? Ben. That may be ; but I'm sure it is as I tell

Tal. Oh! the two most unfortunate per you.

tures in the world we are. Scand. 'Sdeath! it is a jest. I can't believe it. For. Bless us ! how so?

Ben. Lookye, friend; it is nothing to me, whe- Mrs. F. Ab! Mr. Tattle and I, por 1 ther you believe it or no. What I say is true, d'ye and I are I can't speak it out. see; they are married, or just going to be mar- Tat. Nor I. But poor Mrs. Frald ried, I know not which.

Mrs. 8. Married. For. Well, but they are not mad; that is, not Por. Married ! how ? lunatic? Ben. I don't know what you may call madness, that villain Jeremy, by the help of tiger

Tat. Suddenly; before we knew shes but she's mad for a husband, and he's horn-mad, I us into one another. think, or they'd never make a match together. Here For. Why, you told me just now, y they come.

in haste, to be married. Enter Sir SAMPSON LEGEND, ANGELICA, and

Ang. But I believe Mr. Tatile meant

for me, I thank him. BOCKRAM.

Tal. I did, as I hope to be saved. Sir $. Where's this old soothsayer ? this uncle of intentions were good." But this is the mine elect.-Aha! old Foresight! uncle Foresight! thing, to marry, one does not know be, wish me joy, uncle Foresight, double joy, both as nor wherefore. The devil take me, it evet anele and astrologer: here's a conjunction that was much concerned at anything in my life!

ng. 'Tis very unhappy, if you don't care for one Val. Pardon me, sir. But I reflect that I, very her.

lately, counterfeited madness; I don't know but the at. The least in the world; that is, for my part, frolic may go round. eak for myself. 'Gad! I never had the least Sir S. Come, chuck! satisfy him, answer him. ght of serious kindness; I never liked anybody Come, Mr. Buckram, the pen and ink. in my life. Poor woman ! 'Gad! I'm sorry for Buck. Here it is, sir, with the deed; all is ready. too ; for I have no reason to hate her, neither;

(VALENTINE goes to ANGELICA, I believe I sball lead her a dud sort of a life. Ang. 'Tis true, you have a great while pretended [rs. For. He's better than no husband at all love to me; nay, what if you were sincere ? Still gh he's a coxcomb.

[To Mrs. F. you must pardon me, if I think my own inclina1rs. F. [10 Mrs. For.] Ay, ay; it's well it's notions have a better right to dispose of my person le. Nay, for my part, I always despised Mr. than your's. le of all things; nothing but his being my hus- Sir S. Are you answered now, sir ? I could have made me like him less.

Val. Yes, sir. at. Look you there, I thought as much! Plague Sir S. Where's your plot, sir i and your contriv! I wish we could keep it secret; why, I don't ance now, sir? Will you sign, sir? Come, will you ?ve any of this company would speak of it. sign and seal, sir ? en. If you suspect me, friend, I'll go out of the Val. With all my heart, sir.

Scand. 'Sdeath! you are not mad, indeed ? to ruin [rs. F. But, my dear, that's impossible; the par- yourself? and that rogue Jeremy will publish it.

Val. I have been disappointed of my only hope ; 'at. Ay, my dear, so they will, as you say. and he that loses hope, may part with anything. i Ing. Oh! you'll agree very well in a little time; never valued fortune but as it was subservient to om will make it easy for you.

my pleasure; and my only pleasure was to please ‘at. Easy! Plague on't! I don't believe I shall this lady: I have made many vain attempts, and p to-night.

find, at last, that nothing but my ruin can effect it; ir S. Sleep, quotha! No; why, you would not which, for that reason, I will sign to. Give me the p on your wedding-night? I'm an older fellow paper. a you, and don't mean to sleep.

Ang. Generous Valentine !

Aside. len. Why, there's another matco now, as thof a Buck. Here is the deed, sir. ple of privateers were looking for a prize, and Val. But where is the bond by which I am obliged ald fall foul of one another. I'm sorry for the to sign this ? ng man with all my heart. Look you, friend! Buck. Sir Sainpson, you have it. may advise you, when she's going for that you Any. No, I have it; and I'll use it as I would It expect; I have experience of ber-when she's everything that is an enemy to Valentiue. ag, let her go; for no matrimony is tough enough

(Tears the paper. old her; and if she can't drag her anchor along Sir S. How now ? h her, she'll break her cable, I can tell you that. Va Ah! ho's here, the madman ?

Ang. Had I the world to give you, it couid not Enter VALENTINE, Scandal, and JEREMY.

make me worthy of so generous and faithful a pas

sion. Here's my hand; my heart was always your's, 'al. No; here's the fool; and if occasion be, l'11 and struggled very hard to make this utmost trial of e it under my hand.

your virtue.

[To VALENTINE. fir S. How now ?

Val. Between pleasure and amazement, I am lost: al. Sir, I am come to acknowledge my errors, but on my knees I take the blessing. | ask your pardon

Sir S. Oons! what is the meaning of this ? Sir S. What, have you found your senses at last, Ben. Mess! here's the wind changed again. n? In good time, sir.

Father, you and I may make a voyage together now. Tal. You were abused, sir; I never was dis- Ang. Well, Sir Sampson, since I have played cted.

you a trick, I'll advise you how you may avoid such Por. How? not mad, Mr. Scandal?

apother. Learn to be a good father, or you'll never Scand. No, really, sir; I am his witness, it was get a second wife. I always loved your son, and counterfeit.

hated your unforgiving nature ; and it is hardly Val. I thought I had reasons but it was a poor more pleasure to me, that I can make him and myatrivance; the effect has shewn it such

self happy, than that I can punish you. Sir S. Contrivance! what, to cheat me ? to cheat Sir $ Oons ! you're a crocodile ! ir father? Sirrah, could you bope to prosper ? For. Really, Sir Sampson, this is a sudden eclipse. Val. Indeed, I thought, sir, when the father en- Sir S. You're an illiterate old fool; and I'm an avoured to undo the son, it was a reasonable re-other. The stars are liars ; and if I had breath, I'd in of nature.

curse them and you, myself, and all the world. Sir S. Very good, sir. Mr. Buckram, are you Tat. Sir, sir, if you are in all this disorder for udy ? Come, sir, will you sign and seal ? want of a wife, I can spare you mine. Val. If you please, sir; but first, I would ask this Sir S. Confound you and your wife together! ly one question.

(Erit Sir S. and For. Sir S. Sir, you must ask me leave first. That Tat. Oh! are you there, sir ? I am indebted to ly! no, sir; you shall ask that lady no questions you for my happiness.

(TO JEREMY | you have asked her blessing, sir; thai lady is Jer. Sir, I ask you ten thousand pardons: it was be my wife.

an arrant mistake. You see, sir, my master was Val. I have beard as much, sír; but I would never mad, nor anything like it. Then how can it ve it from her own mouth.

be otherwise ? Sir S. That is as much as to say, I lie, sir; and Val. Tattle, I thank you : you would have u don't believe what I say.

interposed between me and heaven, but Provi. dence laid purgatory in your way. You have but | Ang. It is an unreasonable accasation the justice.

lay upon our sex. You tax us with injustin Scand. (To Ang.) Well, madam, you have done to cover your own want of merit You exemplary justice, in punishing an inhuman father, have the reward of love; but few bave the cits and rewarding a faithful lover: but there is a third to stay till it becomes your due. Hot fra good work, which I, in particular, must thank you Valentine, would persevere even to partner for: I was an infidel to your sex, and you have sacrifice their interest to their constancij! converted me; for now I am convinced that all miring me, you misplace the novelty. women are not, like fortune, blind in bestowing The miracle to-day is, that se find favours, either on those who do not merit, or wbo A lover true ; not that a woman's kind Lora do not want them.

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DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

They forsake their leafy dwelling,

To secure the golden grain.
CAPTAIN BELVILLE

See, content, the humble gleaner
MR. BELVILLE

Takes the scatter'd ears that fall;
WILLIAM

Nature, all her children siening
RUSTIC

Kindly bountour, cares for all
Irishmen

(WILLIAM retirar with Pus Villagers.

Ros. See, my dear Dorcas, what we glisans DORCAS

terday in Mr. Belville's field. PHEBE

Dor. Lord love thee! but take care of ROSINA.

thou art but tender.

Ros. Indeed, it does not hurt me. Siku out the lamp? Dor. Do, dear; the poor must be sparing

[Rosina going to put out the lasy, Dorcas a ACT I.

after her and sighs;

she returns het

Ros. Why do you sigh, Dorcas?
SCENE I.-A cottage.

Dor. I canno' bear it: it's nothing to Pa

and me, but thou wast not born to labour. Dorcas, seated on a bench, is spinning ; Rosina Ros. Why should I repine? Heaven,

and PHEBE are measuring corn; William enters, prived me of my parents, and my fortune and they sing the following

health, content and innocence. Noris TRIO.

that riches lead to happiness. Do you to

nightingale sings the sweeter for being is When the rosy morn appearing,

cage ? Paints with gold the verdant lawn,

Dor. Sweeter, I'll maintain it, than the pos Bees, on banks of thyme disporting,

linnet that thou piek'dst up half starred Sip the sweets, and hail the dawn.

hedge yesterday, after its mother bad Warbling birds, the day proclaiming, and brought'st to life in thy bosom. Let Carol sweet the lively strain;

to his honour; he's main kind to the poor

[graphic]

Ros. Not for the world, Dorcas; I want nothing; Rush. Hist! there's his honour. Where are all u have been a mother to me.

the lazy Irishmen, hired yesterday at market ? Dor. Would I could! Would I could! I ba'

Enter Belville, followed by two Irishmen. >rked hard and 'arn'd money in my time ; but now am old and feeble, and am pushed about by every 1 Irish. Is it us he's talking of, Paddy? Then the dy. More's the pity, I say; it was not so in my devil may thank him for his good commendations. rung time; but the world grows wickeder every Bel. You are too severe, Rustic; the poor fellows ny.

came three miles this morning; therefore I made Ros. Your age, my good Dorcas, requires rest; them stop at the manor-house to take a little refresh

into the cottage, whilst Phæbe and I join the ment. eaners, who are assembling from every part of the I Irish. Bless your sweet face, my jewel, and all llage.

those who take your part. Bad luck to myself, if Dur. Many a time have I carried thy dear mo- I would not, with all the veins of my heart, split the er, an infant, in these arms; little did I think a dew before your feet in a morning. wild of her's would live to share my poor pittance. Rust. If I do speak a little cross, it's for your ut I won't grieve thee. (Dorcas enters the cottage. honour's good. [The Reapers cut the corn, and make

Phæ. What makes you so melancholy, Rosina ? it into sheaves. Rosina follows and gleans.] What (ayhap it's because you have not a sweetheart? a dickens does this girl do here? Keep back; wait ut you are so proud, you won't let our young men till the reapers are off the field; do like the other me a-near you. You may live to repent being so gleaners. ornful.

(Rosina retires. Ros. If I have done wrong, sir, I will put what I AIR.-PHEBE.

have gleaned down again. (She lets fall the ears. hen William at eve meets me down at the stile,

Bel. How can you be so unfeeling, Rustic? She How sweet is the nightingale's song!

is lovely, virtuous, and in want. Let fall some ears,

that she may glean the more. f the day I forget all the labour and toil,

Rust. Your honour is too good by half. Whilst the moon plays yon branches among.

Bel. No more: gather up the corn she has let yler beams, without blushing, 1 hear him complain, fall. Do as I command you. And believe every word of her song :

Rust. There ; take the whole field since his hoou know not how sweet 'tis to love the dear swain, nour chooses it. (Putting the corn into her apron. Whilst the moon plays yon branches among.

(Erit. (During the last stanza, WILLIAM appears, and Ros. I will not abuse his goodness. makes signs to PHEBE; wcho steals sofily to

(Retires gleaning. him, and they disappear.

2 Irish. Upon my soul, now, his honour's no Ros. How small a part of my evils is poverty! churl of the wheat, whatever he may be of the barley. ad how little does Phæbe know the heart she

(Ereunt. sinks insensible ! the heart which nourishes a hope

Bel. (Looking after Rosina.). What bewitching ss passion. I blest, like others, Belville's gentle softness! There is a blushing, bashful gentleness, irtues, and knew not that 'twas love. Unhappy, an almost infantine innocence in that lovely counost Rosina !

tenance, which it is impossible to behold without AIR.-Rosina.

emotion. She turns this way: what bloom on that

cheek! 'Tis the blushing down of the peach.
The morn returns, in saffron dresi,
But not to sad Rosina rest.

AIR.-BELVILLE.
The blushing morn awakes the strain,

Her mouth, which a smile
Awakes the tuneful choir;

Devoid of all guile,
But sad Rosina ne'er again

Half opens to view,
Shall strike the sprightly lyre.

Is the bud of the rose,
Rust. (Without.) To work, my hearts of oak, to

In the morning that blows, work; here the sun is half an hour high, and not a

Impearld with the dew. stroke struck yet.

More fragrant her breath Enter Rustic, singing, followed by Reapers.

Than the flow'r-scented heath,

At the dawning of day;
AIR.

The hawthorn in bloom,
Rust. See, ye swains, yon streaks of red

The lily's perfume,
Cull you from your slothful bed :

Or the blussomus of May.
Late you tilld the fruitfil soil;
See ! where harvest crowns your toil !

Enter Captain Belville, in a riding-dress. Cho. Late you tilld the fruitful soil ;

Capt. B. Good morrow, brother; you are early See ! where harvesi crowns your toil ! abroad. Rust. As we reap the golden corn,

Bel. My dear Charles, I am happy to see you.
Laughing plenty fills her horn :

True, I find, to the first of September.
What would gilded pomp avail,

Capt. B. I meant to have been here last night,
Should the peasant's labour fail !

but one of my wheels broke, and I was obliged to Cho. What would gilded pomp avail

sleep at a village six miles distant, where I left my Should the peasani's labour fail !

chaise, and took a boat down the river at day-break. Rust. Ripen'd fields your cares repay ;

But your corn is not off the ground.
Sons of labour, haste away;

Bel. You know our harvest is late in the north ;
Bending, see the waving grain

but you will find all the lands cleared on the other Crown the year, and cheer the swain. side of the mountain. Cho. Bending, see the waring grain

Capt. B. And pray, brother, how are the par. Croun the year, and cheer the swain. tridges this season ?

Bel. There are twenty coveys within sight of my But of all the fair maidou si bouse, and the dogs are in fine order.

green, Capt. B. The gamekeeper is this moment leading

The maid of the vill fa them round. I am fired at the sight. But where Phæ. There's fifty young men, saks is my little rustic charmer? O! there she is : I am

fine tales, transported. (Aside.) Pray, brother, is not that the

And calld me the feiret site: little girl, whose dawning beauty we admired so

But of all the gay students much last year?

yTeen, Bel. It is, and more lovely than ever. I shall Young Barry's the lad for dine in the field with my reapers to-day, brother :

Win. Her eyes are as black as e se a will you share our rural repast, or bave a dinner

Her face like the bloom in Win prepared at the manor house?

Her teeth are as white as the de Capt. B. By no means : pray let me be of your

Her breath like the ser-nede hue party: your plan is an admirable one, especially if your girls are handsome. I'll walk round the field, Phæ. He's tall and he's straiykt step and meet you at dinner-time. (Exit Belville.

His cheeks are as freak a them

He looks like a squire of high degree AIR.

When drest in his Sunday ebben By the dawn to the durons we repair,

Will. I've kisi'd and Pre pratiled, & With bosoms right jocund and gay,

Phæ. There's fifty young men. 8. And gain more than pheasant or hare ;

(Ezzunt Paars at. Gain health by the sports of the day.

Rosina runs acron the stage, CAFTA. Mark! mark! to the right hand, prepare!

following her. See Diana! she points : see, they rise : See, they float on the bosom of air!

Capt. B. Stay and hear me, Rose Fire away! whilst loud echo replies,

you fatigue yourself thas ? Oaly bazép Fire away!

born to work. Your obstinacy i za;

hear me. Hark! the volley resounds to the skies ; Whilst echo in thunder replies :

Ros. Why do you stop me, sir! My In thunder replies,

cious. When the gleaning seasca i And resounds to the skies,

make up my loss ? Fire away! Fire away! Fire away!

Capt. B. Yes.

Ros. Will it be any advantage to a (Rosina re-appears, Captain BELVILLE goes me lose my day's work?

up to her, gleans a few ears, and presents them Capt. B. Yes.
to her; she refuses them, and runs out; he Ros. Would it give you pleasere
follows her,

all my days in idleness;
Enter WILLIAM, speaking as he enters.

Capt. B. Yes,

Ros. We differ greatly ther, sì. la Will. Lead the dogs back, James; the Captain so much leisure as makes me reten won't shoot to-day. [Seeing Rustic and PAGBE be with fresh spirit. We hboer 22 h kind.] Indeed, so close ! I don't half like it. true; but then how sweet in our mes Enter Rustic and PAGBR.

AIR Rust. That's a good girl ! do as I bid you, and

Whilst with village maids I trg you sha'n't want encouragement.

Sweetly wears the joyous day; (He goes up to the Reapers, and WILLIAM comes

Cheerfisl glows my arties broek,

Mild content the constant quext. forward. Will. O no, I dare say she won't. So, Mrs.

Capt. B. Mere prejudice, child; you Phæbe !

better. I pity you, and will make your Phe. And so, Mr. William, if you go to that!

Ros. Let me call my mother, ur; 1 Will. A new sweetheart, I'll be sworn; and a and can support myself by my laboer; pretty comely lad he is: but he's rich, and that's old and helpless, and your charity will be enough to win a woman.

stowed. Please to transfer to her the ben Phæ. I don't desarve this of you, William ; but intended for me. I'm rightly sarved, for being such an easy fool.

Capt. B. Why—as to tbatYou think, mayhap, I'm at my last prayers; but

Ros. I understand you, sir; your compas you may find yourself mistaken.'

not extend to old women. Will. You do right to cry out first; you think,

Capt. B. Really-1 heliere not belike, that I did not see you take that posey from

Enter Dorcas, from the Coway. Harry.

Ros. You are just come in time, mother Phæ. And you, belike, that I did not catch you met with a generous gentleman, whore dhe tying up one, of cornflowers and wild roses, for clines him to succour youth. the miller's maid ; but I'll be foold no longer; I Dor. 'Tis very kind. And old age have done with you, Mr. William.

Ros. He'll tell you that himself. Will. I sha'n't break my heart, Mrs. Phæbe. The Dor. I thought so. Sure, sure, 'ta miller's maid loves the ground I walk on.

old. DUET.-WILLIAM and PĦOBE.

Capt. B. You must not judge of met

honest Dorcas. I am sorry for your Will, I've kiss'd and I've pratiled with fifty fair and wish to serve you. maids,

Dor. And to what, your honour, way! And chang'd them as afi d'ye ses

kindness ?

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