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Mrs. For. Why, what's the matter?
Ben. Matter! why, he's mad.

For. Mercy on us! I was afraid of this.
Ben. And there's a handsome young woman, she,
as they say, brother Val went mad for; she's mad,
too, I think.

For. Oh! my poor niece, my poor niece! is she gone, too? Well, I shall run mad next.

No; I

not foretold in your Ephemeris. The leg
in the blue firmament is shot from abr
lord of the ascendant. Od! you're u
Foresight, uncle I mean; a very old
Foresight; and yet you shall live to a
wedding; faith and troth, you shall (K Pa
the music of the spheres for thee, and Le
will; and thou shalt lead up a dance a wa
For. I'm thunderstruck! You are DIE BOSTON
my niece?

Sir S. Not absolutely married,
near it; within a kiss of the matter, as

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Sir S. Why, you impudent tarpasim' you bring your forecastle jessa m But I shall be even with you: i wante groat. Mr. Buckram, is the cat si that nothing can possibly descend

Mrs. For. Well, but how mad? How d'ye mean? I would not so much as have him have t Ben. Nay, I'll give you leave to guess; I'll un-of an estate, though there were no way a it but by the north-east passage. dertake to make a voyage to Antigua. mayn't say so, neither; but I'll sail as far as Leghorn, and back again, before you shall guess at the matter, and do nothing else. Mess! you may take in all the points of the compass, and not hit the right. Mrs. For. Your experiment will take up a little too much time.

Ben. Why, then, I'll tell you: there's a new wedding upon the stocks, and they two are a-going to be married to-night.

Scand. Who?

Ben. Why, father, and--the young woman-I can't hit her name.

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you.

Scand. 'Sdeath! it is a jest. I can't believe it. Ben. Lookye, friend; it is nothing to me, whether you believe it or no. What I say is true, d'ye see; they are married, or just going to be married, I know not which.

For. Well, but they are not mad; that is, not lunatic?

Ben. I don't know what you may call madness, but she's mad for a husband, and he's horn-mad, I think, or they'd never make a match together. Here they come.

Enter Sir SAMPSON LEGEND, ANGELICA, and
BOCKRAM.

Sir S. Where's this old soothsayer? this uncle of mine elect.-Aha! old Foresight! uncle Foresight! wish me joy, uncle Foresight, double joy, both as uncle and astrologer: here's a conjunction that was

Buck. Sir, it is drawn according to tions; there is not the least cranay stopped.

Ben. Lawyer, I believe there's many and leak unstopped in your conscience. !! that one had a pump to your boso I believe should discover a foul hold. They say a w sail in a sieve; but I believe the dev venture aboard your conscience. And th you.

Sir S. Hold your tongue, sirrah Has who's here?

Enter Mrs. FRAIL and Tattli
Mrs. F. Oh! sister, the most unlucky mar
Mrs. For. What's the matter?
Tat. Oh! the two most unfortunate par
tures in the world we are.

For. Bless us! how so?
Mrs. F. Ah! Mr. Tattle and I, pour
and I are--I can't speak it out.

Tat. Nor I. But poor Mrs. Frail and a
Mrs. F. Married.

For. Married! how?

Tat. Suddenly; before we knew when that villain Jeremy, by the help of disgrase, us into one another.

For. Why, you told me just now, you in haste, to be married.

Ang. But I believe Mr. Tattle meant the for me, I thank him.

Tat. I did, as I hope to be saved, madm intentions were good. But this is the ma thing, to marry, one does not know b nor wherefore. The devil take me, if ever much concerned at anything in my life!

y. 'Tis very unhappy, if you don't care for one

er.

Val. Pardon me, sir. But I reflect that I, very lately, counterfeited madness; I don't know but the frolic may go round.

1. The least in the world; that is, for my part, ak for myself. 'Gad! I never had the least Sir S. Come, chuck! satisfy him, answer him. ;ht of serious kindness; I never liked anybody Come, Mr. Buckram, the pen and ink. n 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. believe I shall lead her a d-d 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. you must pardon me, if I think my own inclinations have a better right to dispose of my person than your's.

[To Mrs. F. rs. F. [To Mrs. FOR.] Ay, ay; it's well it's no e. Nay, for my part, I always despised Mr. le of all things; nothing but his being my hus1 could have made me like him less.

it. Look you there, I thought as much! Plague
! I wish we could keep it secret; why, I don't
ve any of this company would speak of it.
en. If you suspect me, friend, I'll go out of the

1.

Sir S. Are you answered now, sir?

Val. Yes, sir.

Sir S. Where's your plot, sir? and your contrivance now, sir? Will you sign, sir? Come, will you sign and seal, sir?

Val. With all my heart, sir.

Scand. 'Sdeath! you are not mad, indeed? to ruin

frs. F. But, my dear, that's impossible; the par-yourself?
and that rogue Jeremy will publish it.
at. Ay, my dear, so they will, as you say.
ng. Oh! you'll agree very well in a little time;
om will make it easy for you.

at. Easy! Plague on't! I don't believe I shall
p to-night.

ir S. Sleep, quotha! No; why, you would not p on your wedding-night? I'm an older fellow n you, and don't mean to sleep.

Ben. Why, there's another matca now, as thof a ple of privateers were looking for a prize, and uld fall foul of one another. I'm sorry for the ing man with all my heart. Look you, friend! may advise you, when she's going-for that you st expect; I have experience of her when she's ng, let her go; for no matrimony is tough enough hold her; and if she can't drag her anchor along th her, she'll break her cable, I can tell you that. ho's here, the madman?

Enter VALENTINE, SCANDAL, and JEREMY. Val. No; here's the fool; and if occasion be, I'll 've it under my hand.

Sir S. How now?

› Val. Sir, I am come to acknowledge my errors, fad ask your pardon.

Sir S. What, have you found your senses at last, then? In good time, sir.

Val. You were abused, sir; I never was disracted.

For. How? not mad, Mr. Scandal?

Scand. No, really, sir; I am his witness, was all counterfeit.

Val. I thought I had reasons-but it was a poor contrivance; the effect has shewn it such

Sir S. Contrivance! what, to cheat me ? to cheat your father? Sirrah, could you hope to prosper?

Val. Indeed, I thought, sir, when the father endeavoured to undo the son, it was a reasonable return of nature.

Sir S. Very good, sir. Mr. Buckram, are you ready? Come, sir, will you sign and seal?

Val. If you please, sir; but first, I would ask this lady one question.

Sir S. Sir, you must ask me leave first. That lady! no, sir; you shall ask that lady no questions till you have asked her blessing, sir; that lady is to be my wife.

Val. I have heard as much, sir; but I would bave it from her own mouth.

Sir S. That is as much as to say, I lie, sir; and you don't believe what I say.

Val. I have been disappointed of my only hope; and he that loses hope, may part with anything. I never valued fortune but as it was subservient to my pleasure; and my only pleasure was to please this lady: I have made many vain attempts, and find, at last, that nothing but my ruin can effect it; which, for that reason, I will sign to. Give me the paper.

[Aside.

Ang. Generous Valentine!
Buck. Here is the deed, sir.
Val. But where is the bond by which I am obliged
to sign this?

Buck. Sir Sampson, you have it.
Any. No, I have it; and I'll use it as I would
everything that is an enemy to Valentiue.

Sir S. How now?
Vat Ah!

[Tears the paper.

Ang. Had I the world to give you, it could not
make me worthy of so generous and faithful a pas-
sion. Here's my hand; my heart was always your's,
and struggled very hard to make this utmost trial of
your virtue.
[To VALENTINE.
Val. Between pleasure and amazement, I am lost:
but on my knees I take the blessing.

Sir S. Oons! what is the meaning of this?
Ben. Mess! here's the wind changed again.
Father, you and I may make a voyage together now.

Ang. Well, Sir Sampson, since I have played you a trick, I'll advise you how you may avoid such another. Learn to be a good father, or you'll never get a second wife. I always loved your son, and hated your unforgiving nature; and it is hardly more pleasure to me, that I can make him and myself happy, than that I can punish you.

Sir S Oons! you're a crocodile!

For. Really, Sir Sampson, this is a sudden eclipse. Sir S. You're an illiterate old fool; and I'm an other. The stars are liars; and if I had breath, I'd curse them and you, myself, and all the world.

Tat. Sir, sir, if you are in all this disorder for want of a wife, I can spare you mine. Sir S. Confound you and your wife together! [Exit Sir S. and FOR. Tat. Oh! are you there, sir? I am indebted to you for my happiness. [TO JEREMY

Jer. Sir, I ask you ten thousand pardons: it was an arrant mistake. You see, sir, my master was never mad, nor anything like it. Then how can it be otherwise?

Val. Tattle, I thank you: you would have interposed between me and heaven, but Provi

dence laid purgatory in your way. ~ You have but justice.

Scand. [To ANG.] Well, madam, you have done exemplary justice, in punishing an inhuman father, and rewarding a faithful lover: but there is a third good work, which I, in particular, must thank you for: I was an infidel to your sex, and you have converted me; for now I am convinced that all women are not, like fortune, blind in bestowing favours, either on those who do not merit, or who do not want them.

Ang. It is an u lay upon our sex. to cover your own have the reward of to stay till it bea Valentine, would sacrifice their int miring me, you mi The miracle A lover true

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Ros. Not for the world, Dorcas; I want nothing; ou have been a mother to me.

Dor. Would I could! Would I could! I ba' orked hard and 'arn'd money in my time; but now ..am old and feeble, and am pushed about by every Cody. More's the pity, I say; it was not so in my zung time; but the world grows wickeder every 12 ay.

Ros. Your age, my good Dorcas, requires rest; > into the cottage, whilst Phobe and I join the eaners, who are assembling from every part of the illage.

Dor. Many a time have I carried thy dear mo er, an infant, in these arms; little did I think a hild of her's would live to share my poor pittance. ut I won't grieve thee. [DORCAS enters the cottage. Pho. What makes you so melancholy, Rosina? Hayhap it's because you have not a sweetheart? ut you are so proud, you won't let our young men >me a-near you. You may live to repent being so ornful. [ROSINA retires.

AIR.-PHOBE.

hen William at eve meets me down at the stile,
How sweet is the nightingale's song!

If the day I forget all the labour and toil,

Whilst the moon plays yon branches among.

yer beams, without blushing, I hear him complain, And believe every word of her song:

ou know not how sweet 'tis to love the dear swain, Whilst the moon plays yon branches among. [During the last stanza, WILLIAM appears, and makes signs to PHOEBE; who steals sofily to him, and they disappear.

Ros. How small a part of my evils is poverty!

nd how little does Phoebe know the heart she inks insensible! the heart which nourishes a hopess passion. I blest, like others, Belville's gentle irtues, and knew not that 'twas love. Unhappy,

>st Rosina!

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Rush, Hist! there's his honour. Where are all the lazy Irishmen, hired yesterday at market?

Enter BELVILLE, followed by two Irishmen. 1 Irish. Is it us he's talking of, Paddy? Then the devil may thank him for his good commendations. Bel. You are too severe, Rustic; the poor fellows came three miles this morning; therefore I made them stop at the manor-house to take a little refreshment.

1 Irish. Bless your sweet face, my jewel, and all those who take your part. Bad luck to myself, if I would not, with all the veins of my heart, split the dew before your feet in a morning.

Rust. If I do speak a little cross, it's for your honour's good. [The Reapers cut the corn, and make it into sheaves. ROSINA follows and gleans.] What a dickens does this girl do here? Keep back; wait till the reapers are off the field; do like the other gleaners.

Ros. If I have done wrong, sir, I will put what I have gleaned down again. [She lets fall the ears.

Bel. How can you be so unfeeling, Rustic? She is lovely, virtuous, and in want. Let fall some ears,

that she may glean the more.

Rust. Your honour is too good by half.

Bel. No more gather up the corn she has let fall. Do as I command you.

Rust. There; take the whole field since his honour chooses it. [Putting the corn into her apron.

Ros. I will not abuse his goodness.

[Erit. [Retires gleaning.

2 Irish. Upon my soul, now, his honour's no churl of the wheat, whatever he may be of the barley. [Exeunt.

Bel. [Looking after ROSINA.] What bewitching softness! There is a blushing, bashful gentleness, tenance, which it is impossible to behold without an almost infantine innocence in that lovely counemotion. She turns this way: what bloom on that cheek! 'Tis the blushing down of the peach.

AIR.-BELVILLE.

Her mouth, which a smile
Devoid of all guile,
Half opens to view,
Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,
Impearl'd with the dew.
More fragrant her breath
Than the flow'r-scented heath,
At the dawning of day;
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,

Or the blossoms of May.

Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE, in a riding-dress. Capt. B. Good morrow, brother; you are early abroad.

Bel. My dear Charles, I am happy to see you. True, I find, to the first of September.

Capt. B. I meant to have been here last night, but one of my wheels broke, and I was obliged to sleep at a village six miles distant, where I left my chaise, and took a boat down the river at day-break. But your corn is not off the ground.

Bel. You know our harvest is late in the north; but you will find all the lands cleared on the other side of the mountain.

Capt. B. And pray, brother, how are the partridges this season?

884

Bel. There are twenty coveys within sight of my house, and the dogs are in fine order.

Capt. B. The gamekeeper is this moment leading them round. I am fired at the sight. But where is my little rustic charmer? O! there she is: I am transported. [Aside.] Pray, brother, is not that the little girl, whose dawning beauty we admired so much last year?

But of all the fair maidens that

green,

The maid of the mill for me. Phoe. There's fifty young men, who fine tales,

Bel. It is, and more lovely than ever. I shall dine in the field with my reapers to-day, brother: Will. will you share our rural repast, or have a dinner prepared at the manor-house?

Capt. B. By no means: pray let me be of your

And call'd me the fairest the
But of all the gay wrestlers that i
green,

Young Harry's the lad for en.
Her eyes are as black as a sise a

Her face like the blossoms in Ma.
Her teeth are as white as the wee
Her breath like the new-mate hay

party: your plan is an admirable one, especially if Phoe. He's tall and he's straight as the pine your girls are handsome. I'll walk round the field, and meet you at dinner-time. [Exit BELVILLE.

AIR.

By the dawn to the downs we repair,
With bosoms right jocund and gay,
And gain more than pheasant or hare;
Gain health by the sports of the day.
Mark! mark! to the right hand, prepare!
See Diana! she points: see, they rise:
See, they float on the bosom of air!

Fire away! whilst loud echo replies,
Fire away!
Hark! the volley resounds to the skies ;
Whilst echo in thunder replies:
In thunder replies,

And resounds to the skies,

Fire away! Fire away! Fire away!

[ROSINA re-appears, CAPTAIN BELVILLE goes
up to her, gleans a few ears, and presents them
to her; she refuses them, and runs out; he
follows her.

Enter WILLIAM, speaking as he enters.
Will. Lead the dogs back, James; the Captain
won't shoot to-day. [Seeing RUSTIC and PHEBE be-
hind.] Indeed, so close! I don't half like it.

Enter RUSTIC and PHOEBE.

Rust. That's a good girl! do as I bid you, and you sha'n't want encouragement.

[He goes up to the Reapers, and WILLIAM comes
forward.

Will. O no, I dare say she won't. So, Mrs.
Phabe!

Pho. And so, Mr. William, if you go to that! Will. A new sweetheart, I'll be sworn; and a pretty comely lad he is: but he's rich, and that's enough to win a woman.

Pho. I don't desarve this of you, William; but I'm rightly sarved, for being such an easy fool. You think, mayhap, I'm at my last prayers; but you may find yourself mistaken.

Will. You do right to cry out first; you think, belike, that I did not see you take that posey from Harry.

Pha. And you, belike, that I did not catch you tying up one, of cornflowers and wild roses, for the miller's maid; but I'll be fool'd no longer; I have done with you, Mr. William.

Will. I sha'n't break my heart, Mrs. Phœbe. The miller's maid loves the ground I walk on.

DUET.-WILLIAM and PHOBE.

His cheeks are as fresh as me "w He looks like a squire of high wome When drest in his Sunday clutt Will. I've kiss'd and I've prattled, §Pho. There's fifty young men. &c.

[Exeunt PHas ad

ROSINA runs across the stage, CAPTAIN B following her.

Capt. B. Stay and hear me, Ros you fatigue yourself thus? Only bone born to work. Your obstinacy is was hear me.

Ros. Why do you stop me, sir? Ver cious. When the gleaning season a 3re, så l make up my loss?

Capt. B. Yes.

Ros. Will it be any advantage to yun to me lose my day's work?

Capt. B. Yes.

Ros. Would it give you pleasure to
all my days in idleness?
Capt. B. Yes,

Ros. We differ greatly then, sir. I
so much leisure as makes me retuara t
We labour all the
with fresh spirit.
true; but then how sweet is our rest on S

AIR.

Whilst with village maids ! tray, Sweetly wears the joyous day; Cheerful glows my artless breast, Mild content the constant guest. Capt. B. Mere prejudice, child; yo better. I pity you, and will make your fr

Ros. Let me call my mother, sir; I am and can support myself by my labour; old and helpless, and your charity will be an stowed. Please to transfer to her the be intended for me.

Capt. B. Why-as to that—

Ros. I understand you, sir; your compass = not extend to old women.

Capt. B. Really—I believe not

Enter DORCAS, from the Catage Ros. You are just come in time, mothet met with a generous gentleman, whose cha clines him to succour youth.

Dor. 'Tis very kind. And old age-
Ros. He'll tell you that himself.
Dor. I thought so. Sure, sure, 'tis ma
old.

Capt. B. You must not judge of me b honest Dorcas. I am sorry for your ma

Will, I've kiss'd and I've prattled with fifty fair and wish to serve you.

maids,

And chang'd them as oft d'ye sea

Dor. And to what, your honour, may I

kindness ?

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