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my niece ?

Nurse. What is your worship’s pleasure ?

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

will; and thou shalt lead up a dance a Enter Mrs. FORESIGHT and SCANDAL.

For. I'm thunderstruck! You ar Mrs. For. What's the matter, husband ?

'Sir S. Not absolutely married, cue For. 'Tis not convenient to tell you now. Mr. Scandal, heaven keep us all in our senses! I fear Dear it; within a kiss of the matter, a there is a contagious frenzy abroad. How does

Ang. 'Tis very true, indeed, ancie, is Valentine ?

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

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

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

Mrs. For. This is so surprising-
Enter Ben.

Sir S. How! What does my ans

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

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

Mrs For. I'm glad to hear you bare Mrs. For. Why, what's the matter ?

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

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

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

But I shall be even with yos: 1 For. Oh! my poor niece, my poor niece! is she groat. Mr. Buckram, is the cogone, too? Well, I shall run mad dext.

that nothing can possibly descend : Mrs. For. Well, but how mad? How d’ye mean? I would not so much as have biz bure et

Ben. Nay, I'll give you leave to guess; I'll un- of an estate, though there sere > *a? 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 drawn according to horn, and back again, before you shall guess at the tions; there is not the least crasas 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 Besa

Mrs. For. Your experiment will take up a little and leak unstopped is par chose!! too much time.

that one had a pump to 1*: buscan I be some Ben. Why, then, I'll tell you: there's a new wed should discover a foul bold. They are ding upon the stocks, and they two are a-going to sail in a sieve; but I believe the best be married to-night.

venture aboard your conscience. And os Scand. Who?

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

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

Enter Mrs. Prail and TATT-3 Mrs. For. Sir Sampson and Angelica ? Impos- Mrs. P. Oh! sister, the most unlucky sible.

Mrs. For. What's the matter? Ben. That may be ; but I'm sure it is as I tell Tat. Oh! the two most uniortunaz

tures in the world we are. Seand. '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. poa 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- Tal. Nor I. But poor Mrs. Fraladi ried, I know not which.

Mrs. F. Married. For. Well, but they are not mad; that is, not

For. Married ! how ? lunatic ?

Tat. Suddenly; before we kaew Ben. I don't know what you may call madness, that villain Jeremy, by the help of dugar 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 Por. Why, you told me just now, you they come.

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

Ang. But I believe Mr. Tatile mezat

for me, I thank him. BOCKRAM.

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



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

lately, counterfeited madness; I don't know but the 5. Lit. The least in the world; that is, for my part, frolic may go round. Irak 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.

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;

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

( To Mrs. F. you must paruon me, if I think my own inclinaF. [10 Mrs. For.] Ay, ay; it's well it's no tions have a better right to dispose of my person

Nay, for iny 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.
it. Look you there, I thought as much! Plague Sir S. Where's your plot, sir î and your contriv-
! I wish we could keep it secret; why, I don't ance now, sir ? Will you sigo, sir? Come, will you
've any of this company would speak of it. sign and seal, sir?
con. If you suspect me, friend, I'll go out of the Fal. 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? H and that rogue Jeremy will publish it.

Val. I have been disappointed of my only hope ; s'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 mom will make it easy for you.

my pleasure, and my only pleasure was to please al. Easy! Plague on't! I don't believe I shall tbis lady: I have made many vain attempts, and

find, at last, that nothing but my ruin can effect it; Bir S. Sleep, quotha! No; why, you would not which, for that reason, I will sign to. Give me the 42 Ep on your wedding-night? I'm an older fellow paper. you, and don't mean to sleep.

Ang. Generous Valentine !

Beń. Why, there's another inaica 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
uld fall foul of one another. I'm sorry for the to sign this ?
ing 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
st expect; I have experience of ber—when she's everything that is an enemy to Valentiue.
ng, let her go; for no matrimony is tough enough

( Tears the paper. +2?10 hold her; and if she can't drag her anchor along Sir S. How now ? 6tu5 th her, she'll break her cable, I can tell you that. Val Ah! li 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 band; my heart was always your's, Val. No; here's the fool; and if occasion be, I'll and struggled very hard to make this utmost trial of ve it under my hand.

(TO VALENTINE. Sir S. How now?

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

Sir S. Oons! what is the meaning of this ? 119 Sir S. What, have you found your senses at last, Ben. Mess! here's the wind changed again. restare nen? In good time, sir.

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

you a trick, I'll advise you how you may avoid such For, 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 all 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 my. Na ir is contrivance; the effect has shewn it such TZ, Sir S. Contrivance! what, to cheat me ? to cheat

self happy, than that I can punish you.

Sir Š Oons! you're a crocodile! your father? Sirrah, could you hope 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 LEE deavoured to undo the son, it was a reasonable re-other. The stars are liars; and if I had breath, I'd an** turn 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 ready? 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! lady 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 lady! no, sir; you shall ask that lady no questions you for my happiness.


you have asked her blessing, sir; that lady is Jer. Sir, I ask you ten thousand pardons: it was to be my wife.

an arrant mistake. You see, sir, my master was Val. Í have heard as much, sir; but I would never mad, nor anything like it. Then how can it bave 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_bave you don't believe what I say.

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| 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 ? Dur. Would I could! Would I could! I ba'

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

came three miles this morning; therefore I made 1 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 illage.

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 ner, 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 collage. honour's good. ( The Reapers cut the corn, and make

Præ. What makes you so melancholy, Rosina? | it into sheaves. Rosina follows and gleans.) What Jayhap 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.-PHEBR.

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 is lovely, virtuous, and in want.

Let fall some ears, How sweet is the nightingale's song!

that she may glean the more. f the day I forget all the labour and toil, Whilst the moon plays yon branches among.

Kust. Your honour is too good by half.

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

Rust. There; take the wbole field since his ho'ou know not how sweet 'tis 10 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; who 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. nd 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, tenance, which it is impossible to behold without

an almost infantine innocence in that lovely counOst Rosina ! AIR.-Rosina.

emotion. She turns this way: what bloom on that

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

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

Than the flow'r-scented heath,
Enter Rustic, singing, followed by Reapers.

At the dawning of day;

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

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

Or the blussoms of May.
Late you tilld the fruitful soil;
See ! where harrest crouns your toil !

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

Capt. B. Good morrow, brother; you are early See ! where harresi crowns your toil!

abroad. Rust. As we reap the golden corn,

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

True, I find, to the first of September.
What would gilded pump 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 arail

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

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

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 waring 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, sep the waring grain

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

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

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

The maid of the will fee them round. I am fired at the sight. But where Pbe. There's fifty young zen, is my little rustic charmer? O! there she is : I am

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

And calld me she feiret dhe little girl, whose dawning beauty we admired so

Bui af all the gay presents much last year?

yteen, Bel. It is, and more lovely than ever. I shall

Young Harry's the lad for dine in the field with my reapers to-day, brother: Will. Her eyes are as black as e este will you share our rural repast, or bave a dinner

Her face like the blues in Man prepared at the manor house

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

Her breath like the nee-sete te 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 srazyè a

His cheeks are as frest as I = and meet you at dinner-time. (Exit Belvil.L.E.

He looks like a squire of high

When drest in his Suiry
By the daun to the dorens we repair,

Will. I've kisi'd and I've pradle, $
With bosoms right jocund and gay,

Phæ. There's fifty young an, de
And gain more than pheasant or hare;

(Ezzuni Pagina Gain health by the sports of the day.

Rosina runs across the stage, Caprus Mark! mark! to the right hand, prepare!

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

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

you fatigue yourself thus ? Oahy bes: Fire away!

born to work. Your obstinacy i

hear me
Hark! the rolley resounds to the skies ;
Whilst echo in ihunder replies :

Ros. Why do you stop me, sir? V.
In thunder replies,

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

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

Capt. B. Yes.

Ros. Will it be any advantage to a su (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 pleasure to
follows her.

all my days in idleness?

Capt. B. Yes,
Enter WILLIAM, speaking as he enters.

Ros. We differ greatly thes, s. * Will. Lead the dogs back, James; the Captain so much leisure as makes me retne won't shoot to-lay. (Seeing Rustic and PheBE be with fresh spirit. We hbner

er hind.] Indeed, so close! I don't half like it. true; but then how sseet is our

me Enter Rustic and PHEBR.

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

Whilst with tillage side I try you sha'n't want encouragement.

Sweetly wears the jour des; (He goes up to the Reapers, and William comes

Cheerful gloss ny arties ,

Mild content the constant geen
I dare say she won't. So, Mrs.

Capt. B. Mere prejudice, dil!;
Phæbe !

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

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

stowed. Please to transfer to ber the be 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 COPE

not extend to old women. you may find yourself mistaken. Will.' You do right to cry out first; you think,

Capt. B. Really—I believe not belike, that I did not see you take that posey from Enter DORCAS, froe the Cam Harry.

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

Ros. He'll tell you that bimself. Will. I sha'n't break my heart, Mrs. Phæbe. The Dor. I thought so. Sure, sure, "ts a miller's maid loves the ground I walk on. DUET.-William and PĦOBE.

Capt. B. You must not judge of me

honest Dorcas. I am sorry for your 2 Will. I've kiss'd and I've prattled with fifty fair and wish to serve you. maids,

Dor. And to what, your bonour, suar!" And chang'd them as afi d'ye see

kindness ?

Will. O no,


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