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Young M. Sir, I don't doubt the lady's me- kind of embarrassment, and I don't wonder rit; but, at present, I am not disposed- at it; but this letter, which I received from

Haw. Nay but, young gentleman, fair and him a few days before I left my father's house, softly; you sbould pay some respect to your will, I apprehend, expound the riddle. He father jn this matter.

cannot be surprised that I ran away from a Sir W. Respect, master Hawthorn! I tell gentleman who expressed so much dislike to you he shall marry her, or I'll disinherit him! me; and what has happened, since chance ihere's once. Look you, Tom, not to make bas brought us together in masquerade, there any more words of the matter, I have brought is no occasion for me to inform him of. the lady here with me, and I'll see you con- Young M. What is all this? Pray don't Iracted before we part; or you shall.delve and make a jest of me! plant cucumbers as long as you live.

Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, Tom, Young M. Have you brought the lady here, if it is not truth! this is my friend's daughter. sir? I am sorry for it.

Young M. Sir! Sir W. Why sorry? What, then, you won't Ros. Even so; 'tis very true, indeed. In marry her? We'll see that! Pray, master Haw- short, you have not been a more whimsical thorn, conduct the fair one in. Ay, sir, you gentleman, than I have a gentlewoman; but may fret and dance about, trot at the rate of you see we are designed for one another, fifteen miles an hour, if you please; but, marry 'tis plain. whip me, I'm resolved.

Young M. I know not, madam, what I ei

ther hear or see; a thousand things are crowdEnter RoșETTA.

ing on my imagination; while, like one just Haw. Here is the lady, sir William. awakened from a dream, I doubt which is

Sir W. Come in, madam; but turn your reality, which delusion. face from bim-he would not marry you be- Sir W. Well then, Tom, come into the cause. he had not seen you: but I'll let him air a bit, and recover yourself. know my choice shall he his, and he shall Young M. Nay, dear sir, have a little paconsent io marry you before he sees you, or tience; do you give her to me? not an acre of estate — Pray, sir, walk this Sir W. Give her to you! ay, that I do, way.

and my blessing inlo the bargain. Young M. Sir, I cannot help thinking your Young M. Then, sir, I am ibe happiest man conduct a little extraordinary; but, since you in the world! I inquire no further; here I fix urge me so closely, I must tell you my af- the utmost limits of my hopes and happiness. fections are engaged.

Sir W. How, Tom, how?

Young M. I was determined, sir, to have Young M. All I wish in her oblaining, got tbe beiter of my inclination, and never

Fortune can no more impart:

Ros. have done a thing which I knew would be

Let my eyes, my thoughts explaining, Hisagreeable to you.

Speak the feelings of my heart. Sir W. And pray, sir, who are your affec- Young M. Joy and pleasure never ceasing, Lions engaged to ? Let me know thal.

Ros. Love with length of years increasing, Young M. To a person, sir, whose rank Together. Thus my heart and hand surrender, and fortune may be no recommendation to

Here my faith and truth I plight; ner, but whose charms and accomplishments

Constant still, and kind and tender, ntitle her to a monarch. I am sorry, sir,

May our flames bưrn ever bright! t's impossible for me to comply with your Haw. Give you joy, sir; and you, fair lady ommands, and I hope you will not be of- -And, under favour, I'll salute you too, if ended if I quit your presence.

there's no fear of jealousy. Sir W. Not I, not in the least: go about Young M. And may I believe this? Pr’ythee our business.

tell me, dear Rosella! Young M. Sir, I obey.

Ros. Step into the house, and I'll tell you Haw. Now, madam; is the time.

every thing; I must entreat the good offices [Roselta advances. Young Meadows turns of sir William and Mr. Hawthorn immediaround and sees her.

tely; for I am in the utmost uneasiness about

my "poor friend, Lucinda. When we see a lover languish

Haw. Why, what's the matter?
And his truth and honour prove,

Ros. I don't know; but I have reason to Ab! how sweet to heal his anguish, fear I left her just now in very disagreeable And repay him love for love.

circumstances: however I hope if there's any Sir W. Well, Tom, will you go away from mischief fallen out between her father and

her loverHaw. Perhaps, sir William, your son does Haw. The music-master! I thought so. ot like the lady; and, if so, pray don't put Sir W. What, is there a lover in the case? force upon his inclination.

May I never do an ill turn, but I am glad, Young M. You need not have taken this so I am! for we'll make a double wedding; etbod, sir, to let me see you are acquainted and, by way of celebrating it, take a trip to ib my folly, whatever my inclinations are. London, to show the brides some of the pleaSir W. Well but, Tom, suppose I give my sures of the town. And, master Hawthorn, osent to your marrying this young woman? you shall be of the party-Conie, children, go Young M. Your consent, sir?

before us. Ros. Come, sir William, we have carried Haw. Thank you, sir William; I'll go

injest far enough: I see your son is in a to the house with you, and to church to see


e now?


the young

folks married; but as to London, heartily your servant; may I never do an il I beg to be excused.

turn, but I am glad to meet you.

Jus. IV. Pray, sir William, are you aIf ever I'm' catch'd in those regions of smoke, quainted with this person? That seat of confusion and noise,

Sir W. What, with Jack Eustace? why May I ne'er know the sweets of a slumber be's my kinsman: bis mother and I were cauunbroke,

sin-germans once removed, and Jack's a very Nor the pleasure the country enjoys. worthy, young fellow; may I never do an ill Nay more, let them take me, to punish my sin, turn, if I tell a word of a lie.

Where, gaping, the cocknies they fleece ; Jus. W. Well bul, sir William, let me tell Clap me up with their monsters, cry, masters you, you know nothing of the matler; tbis walk in, man is a music-master; a thrummer of wire

, And show me for twopence a - piece. and a scraper of catgut, and teaches my daugh

[Exeunt. ter to sing: SCENE III.-JUSTICE Woodcock's Hall.

Sir W. What, Jack Eustace a music-master!

no, no; I know him belter. Enter Justice Woodcock, MRS. DEBORAH

Eust. 'Sdeath, why should I attempt to carWoodcock, LUCINDA, Eustace, and Hodge. ry on this absurd farce any longer;-What

Mrs D. Why, brother, do you think that gentleman tells you is very true, sir; I can't hear, or see, or make use of my senses? am no music-master, indeed. I tell you, I left that fellow locked up in her Jus. W. You are not, you own it then? closet; and, while I have been with you, they Eust. Nay more, sir, I am, as this lady ha bave broke open the door, and got him out represented me, [Pointing to Mrs. Deborah again.

your daughter's lover: whom, with her ow1 Jus. W. Well, you hear what they say. consent, I did intend to have carried off this

Mrs. D. I care not what they say; it's you night; but now that sir William Meadow encourage them in their impudence-Harkye, is here, to tell you who and what I am, I bussy, will you face me down that I did not throw myself upon your generosity; from lock the fellow up ?

which I expect greater advantages than 10084 Luc. Really, aunt, I don't know what you reap from any imposition on your unsuspimean; when you talk intelligibly, I'll answer cious nature. you.

Mrs. D. Well, brother, what have you Eust. Seriously, madam, this is carrying say for yourself now? You have made a prethe jest a little too far.

cious day's work of it! flad my advice been Mrs. D. What, then, I did not catch you taken! Oh, I am ashamed of you; but you together in her chamber, nor overhear your are a weak man, and it can't be helpd; boxdesign of going off to-night, nor find the ever, you should let wiser beads direct you bundles packed up

Luc. Dear papa, pardon me. Eust. Ha, ha, ha.

Sir W. Ay, do, sir, forgive ber; my.com Luc Why, aunt, you rave.

sin Jack will make her a good busband, Mrs. D. Brother, as I am a Christian wo-answer for it. man, she confessed the whole affair to me Ros. Stand out of the way, and let from first to last; and in this very place was speak two or three words to his worship down upon her marrow-bones for half an Come, my dear sir, though you refuse all hour together, to beg I would conceal it from you. world, I am sure you can deny me notti Hodge. Oh Lord! Oh Lord !

love is a venial fault-You know what I me Mrs. D. What,'sirrah, would you brazen -Be reconciled to your daughter, I con me too! Take that.

[Boxes him. you, by the memory of our past affectior Hodge. I wish you would keep your hands What, not a word? to yourself! you strike me, because you have been telling his worship stories.

Go, naughty man, I can't abide you; Jus. W.'Why, sister, you are tipsy!

Are then our vows so soon forgot? Mrs. D. I tipsy, brother! – 1-ihát never Ab! now I see if I had tried you, touch a drop of any thing strong from year's What would have been my hopeful lol end to year's end; but now and then a little

But here I charge you—Make them bapps: anniseed water, when I have got the colic. Luc. Well, aunt, you have been complain- Come, be a dear, good natur'd pappy,

Bless the fond pair, and crown their beliss: ing of the stomach-ach all day; and may have taken too powerful a dose of

And I'll reward you with a kiss. cordial.

your Jus. W. Come, come, I see well enough Mrs. D. Come, turn out of the house, and how it is; this is a lie of her own invention, be thankful that my brother does not hang ty make herself appear wise: but, you simple-you, for he could do it; he's a justice et ton, did you not know I must find you out? peace;-turn out of the bouse, I say:Enter Sir William Meadows, HAWTHORN, him out of the bouse?-be sball stay where

Jus. W. Who gave you authority to turn Rosetta, and young MEADOWS.

he is. Young M. Bless me, sir! look who is yonder. Mrs. D. He shan't marry my niece. Sir W. Cocksbones, Jack, honest Jack, are Jus. W. Shan't he! but ru' show you the

difference now; I say he shall marry Eust. Plague on't, this rencounter is un- and what will you do about it? lucky-Sir William, your servant.

Mrs. D. And you will give him your estate, Sir W. Your servant, again; and again, too, will you?


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you there?

Jus. W. Yes, I will.

to make



your statute ball; Mrs. D. Wby. I'm sure be's a vagabond. yonder's music too, I see; sball we enjoy

Jus. W. I like him the better; I would have ourselves? him a vagabond. Mrs. D. Brother, brother!

Enter Villagers, etc. Haw. Come, come, madam, all's very well; If so, give me your hand. and I see my neighbour is what I always Jus. W. Why here's my hand, and we thought him, a man of sense and prudence. will enjoy ourselves. Heaven bless you both,

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

Jus. W. Here, young fellow, take my daugh- Hence with cares, complaints, and frowning, ter, and bless you both together; but bark Welcome jollity and joy ; you, no money till I die, Sister Deborah, Ev'ry grief in pleasure drowning, you're a fool.

Mirth this bappy night employ: Mrs. D. Ab brother, brother, you're a silly Let's to friendship do our duty,

Laugh and sing some good old strain; Haw. Adds me, sir, here are some of your Drink a health to love and beautyneighbours come to visit you, and I suppose May they long in triumph reign.


old man.

THE MAID OF THE MILL, Com. Opera, by leaac Bickerstaffe. Acted at Covent Garden 1765. This is taken from Richardson's novel of Pamela, and ran thirty-five nights. In the year 1782, Mr. O'Keeffe added several airs to it, with which it was revived with applause. It has since been reduced to an afterpiece, and performed in that slate at Covent Garden. It has been observed, that, "like Pamelu, this is one of those delusions which frequently destroy the proper subordination of society. The village beauly, whose simplicity and innocence are her native charms, smilten with the reveries of rank and splendour, becomes affected and retired, disdaining her situation and every one about her."-We do nol believe, however, that many instances of this could be addnced.

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says to she.

« ACT I.

no doubt but you'll find enow for a body to do. SCENE I. - A rural Prospect, with a Mill

Fair. What dost mutter? Is't not a strange Work. Several People employed

plague that thou canst never go about any about it; on one Side a House, Patty

read- thing with a good will; murrain take it, what's ing in the Window; on the other a Barn, come o'er the boy? So then thou wilt not

set a band to what I have desired thee? where Fanny sits mending a Net; Giles appcurs at a distance in the Mill; FAIR

Ralph. Why don't you speak to suster FIEL) and Ralph taking Sacks from a

Pat do do some thing then? I thought when

she came home to after Cart.

old lady's death, she was to bave been of some use in

the house; but instead of that, she sits there Free from sorrow, free from strife, O how blest the miller's life!

all day, reading outlandish books, dressed like

a fine madumasel; and the never a word you Cheerful working through the day, Still be laughs and sings away.

Fair. Sirrah, don't speak so disrespectfully Nought can vex him,

of thy sister; thou wilt never have the tithe Nought perplex him,

of her deserts. While there's grist to make him gay.

Ralph. Why, I'll read and write with her

for what she dares; and as for playing on Let the great enjoy the blessings

the hapsichols ?), I thinks her rich godmother Ry indulgent fortune sent:

might have learn'd her something more proWhat can wealth, can grandeur offer, perer, seeing she did not remember to leave

More than plepty and content? her a legacy at last. Fair. Well done, well done; 'lis a sure Fair. That's none of thy business, sirrah. sign work goes on merrily when folks sing Ralph. A farmer's wife painting pictures, at it. Stop the mill there; and dost hear, and playing on the hapsicols; why I'll be son Ralph, hoist yon sacks of flour upon this bang'd now, for all as old, as she is, if she cart, lad, and drive it up to lord Aimworth's: knows any more about milking a cow, than coming from London last night with strange I do of sewing a pellicoat. company, no doubt there are calls enough for Fair. Ralph, thou hast been drinking this it by this time.

morning. Ralph. Ay, feyther, wbether or not, there's

1) Harpsichord.


guve me.


Ralph. Well, if so be as I have, it's no-. Fair. Well, Paily, master Goodman, my thing out of your pocket, nor mines neither. lord's steward' has been with me just now,

Fair. Who has been giving thee liquor, and I find we are like to have great doings; sirrah ?

his lordship has brought down sir Harry SyRalph. Why it was wind ?)—a gentleman camore and bis family, and there is more

company expected in a few days. Fair. A gentleman!

Pat. I know sir Harry very well; he is by Ralph. Yes, a gentleman that's come piping marriage a distant relation of my lord's. hot from London: he is below at the Cat and Fair. Pray what sort of a young body is the Bagpipes; Icod be rides a choice bit of a nag. daughter there? I think she used to be with you I dare to say she'd fetch as good as forly at the castle, three or four summers ago, when pound at ever a fair in all England.

my young lord was out upon his travels. Fair. A fig's end for wbat she'd fetch; mind Pat. Oh! very often; she was a great fathy business, or by the lord Harry

vourite of my lady's: pray, Cather, is sbe Ralph. Why I won't do another hand's come down? turn to-day now, so that's flat.

Fair. Why you know the report last night, Fuir. Thou wilt not

about my lord's going to be married. By Ralph. Why no I wont; so what argufies what I can learn she is; and there is likely your putting yourself in a passion, feyther? to be a nearer relationship between the faI've promised to go back to the gentleman; milies, ere long. It seems his lordship. was and I don't know but what he's a lord too; nol over willing for the match, but the friends and may hap he may do more for me than you on both sides in London pressed it so hard thinks of.

then there's a swinging fortune: master GoodFair. Well, son Ralph, run thy gait; but man tells me, a matter of twenty or thirty remember I tell thee, ibou wilt repent this thousand pounds. untowardness.

Pat. If it was a million, father, it would Ralph. Why, how shall I repent it? May- not be more than my lord Aimworih deserhap you'll turn me out of your service; a ves; I suppose the wedding will be celebrated match; with all hearts– Icod I don't care three here at the mansion-house. brass pins.

Fair. So it is thought, as soon as things

can be properly prepared-And now, Patty, If that's all you want, who the plague will if I could but see thee a little merry--Come, be sorry?

bless thee, pluck up thy, spirits-To be sure 'Twere better by half to dig stones in a quarry; thou hast sustained in the death of thy lady, For my share, I'm weary of what is got by't: a heavy loss; she was a parent to thee; paj, S’flesh! here's such a racket, such scolding and better, inasmuch as she took thee when and coiling,

thou wert but a babe, and gave thee an eduYou're never content, but when folks are a toiling, cation which thy natural parents could not And drudging like horses from morning till afford to do. night.

Pat. Ah! dear father, don't mention what

perhaps has been my greatest misfortune. You think I'm afraid, but the diff'rence to

Fair. Nay then, Patly, what's become of

all thy sense that people talk so much about? First yonder's your shovel; your sacks too 1-But I have something to say to thee which Henceforward take care of your malters who I need not tell thee, my child, that a young,

I would have thee consider seriously-I believe

maiden, after she is marriageable, especially They're welcome to slave for your wages she has any thing about her lo draw people's

who need'em; Tol lol de rol lol, I have purchas'd my freedom, cross accidents; so that the sooner she's out of

notice, is liable to ill tongues, and à many And never hereafter shall work at the mill. harm's way the better. I say, then a young


. woman's best safeguard is a good husband. Fair. Dear beart, dear heart! I protest this Now there is our neighbour, farmer Giles; ungracious boy puts me quite beside myself. he is a sober, honest, industrious, young felPalty, my dear, come down into the yard a low, an done of the wealthiest in these parts; little, and keep me company--and you, thieves, he is greatly taken with thee; and it is not vagabonds, gipsies, out here! 'tis you de- the first time I have told thee I should be bauch my son. [Drives off Gipsies. glad to bave him for a son-in-law.

Pat. And I have told you as often, father, Enter Patty from the House. I would submit myself entirely to your direc

tion; whatever you think proper for me is so. In love to pine and languish,

Fair. Why that's spoken like a dutiful, Yet know your passion vain;

sensible girl; get thee in, then, and leare me To harbour heart-felt anguish,

to manage it-Perhaps our neigbbour Gilo Yet fear to tell your pain:

is not a gentleman; but what are the greatest What powers unrelenting,

part of our country gentlemen good for? Severer ills inventing,

Pat. Very true, father. (Exit into the Cottage. Can sharpen pangs like these;

Enter Giles. Where days and nights tormenting, Giles. Well, master Fairfield, you and Yield not a moments casc ?

miss Pat bave had a long discourse together ) The country way of prononncing wine.


tell her that I was come down?

show you,

throw you;



Fair. No, in truth, friend Giles; but I men- Ab,

', you little cunning vixen ! tioned our affair at a distance; and I think I can see your roguish smiles. There is no fear.

Addslids! my mind is so possest, Giles. That's right and when shall us- Till we're sped, I shan't have rest. You do know I have told you my mind often Only say the thing's a bargain, and often.

Here an you like it, Fair. Farmer, give us thy hand; nobody Ready to strike it, doubts thy good will to me and my girl; and There's at once an end of arguing : you may take my word, I would rather give I'm her's, she's mine ; her to thee than another; for I am main cer- Thus we scal, and thus we sign. [E.eit. lain thou wilt make her a good husband. Giles. Thanks to your kind opinion, mas

Re-enter Party from the Cottage. ter Fairfield; if such' be my hap, I hope there Fair. Patty, child, why wouldst not thou will be no cause of complaint.

open the door for our neighbour Giles? Fair. And I promise thee my daughter will Pat. Really, father, I did not know what make thee a choice wife. But thou know'st, was the matter. friend Giles, that I, and all belongs to me, Fair. Well, our neighbour Giles will be bave great obligations to lord Aimworth's fa-)here another time; he'll be here again premily; Patty, in particular, would be one of sently: He's gone up to the castle, Palty: the most ungrateful wretches this day breath-thou know'st it would not be right for us to ing, if she was to do the smallest thing do any thing without giving his lordship in contrary to their consent and approbation. telligence, so I have sent the farmer to let

Giles. Nay, nay, 'tis well enough known to him know that he is willing, and we are all the country she was the old lady's darling. willing, and, with his lordship's approbation

Fair. Well, master Giles, I'll assure thee Pat. Ob, dear father-what are you going she is not one whit less obliged to my lord to say? himself. When his mother was taken off so Fair. Nay, child, I would not bave stirr'd suddenly, and his affairs called him up to a step for fifty pounds, without advertising London, if Pally would have remained at the his lordship beforehand. castle, slic might bave had the command of Pat. But surely, surely, you have not done all; or if she would have gone any, where this rash, this precipitate thing? else, he would have paid for her fixing, let Fair. How rash, how is it rash, Patty! I the cost be what it would.

don't understand thee. Giles. Why, for that matter, folks did not Pat. Oh, you have distress'd me beyond spare to say, that my, lord had a sort of a imagination—but why would you not give sneaking kindness for her himself: and I re-me.notice, speak to me first? member, at one time, it was rife all about Fair. Why ban't I spoken to thee an bunthe neighbourhood, that she was actually to dred times? No, Patly, 'tis thou that wouldst be our lady.

distress me, and thou'st break


heart. Fair. Pho, pbo! a pack of woman's tales. Pat. Dear father! Giles. Nay, to be sure they'll say any thing: Fair. All I desire is to see thee well setFair. My lord's a man of a better way oftled; and now that I am likely to do so, thou thinking, friend Giles-but this is neither here art not contented. I am sure the farmer is nor there to our business-Have you been at as sightly a clever lad as any in the country; the castle yet?

and is be not as good as we? Giles. Who, I! bless your heart I did not Pat. 'Tis very true, father, I am to blame; hear a syllable of his lordship’s being come pray forgive me.

lad told me.

Fair. Forgive thee! Lord help thee, my Fair. No! why then go up to my lord, let child, I am not angry, with thee; but quiet him know you have a mind to make a match thyself, Patty, and ihou'lt see all this will with my daughter, bear what he has to say turn out for the best.

[E.cit. to it, and afterwards we will try if we can't Pat. What will become of me?-My lord settle matters.

will certainly imagine this is done with my Giles. Go up to my lord? Icod, if that be consent-Well, is he not himself going to be all, I'll do it with the biggest pleasure in life. married to a lady, suitable to him in rank,

But where's miss Pat? Might not one ax suitable to bim in fortune, as this farmer is her how she do?

to me; and under. wbat pretence can I reFair. Never spare it; she's within there. fuse the husband my father has found for me?

Giles. I sees her-old rabbit it, this batch Shall I say that I have dared to raise my inis locked now-miss Pat - miss Patty--sheclinations above my condition, and presumed makes believe not to bear me.

to love where my duty taught me only, graFair. Well, well, never mind, thou'lt come titude and respect? Alas! who could live in and eat a morsel of dinner with us.

the house with lord Aimworth, see him, conGiles. Nay, but just to bare a bit of a joke verse with him, and not love him! I have with her at present-miss Pat, I say-won't this consolation, however, my folly is yet unyou open the door?

discover'd to any; else, how should I be riA I R.

diculed and despised! nay, would not my Hark! 'tis I, your own true lover; lord himself despise me, especially if he knew After walking three long miles,

that I have more than once construed his naOne kind look at least discover,

tural affability and politeness into sentiments Come and speak a word to Giles, as unworthy of him, as mine are bold and You alone my heart I fix on:

extravagant. Unexampled vanity.

down, till

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