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And all their discourse is of marriage.


SCENE II-A Greenhouse.
Enter Young MEADOWS.

sider 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 Young M. I am glad I had the precaution kept ourselves from idle thoughts: before I was to bring this suit of clothes in my bundle, your age, I had finished with my own fingers though I hardly know myself in them again, a complete set of chairs and a firescreen in they appear so strange, and feel so unweildy. tent-stitch; four counterpanes in Marseilles However, my gardener's jacket goes on no quilting; and the creed and the ten command-more. I wonder this girl does not come; ments in the hair of our family: it was fram'd [Looking at his Watch] perhaps she won't and glaz'd, and hung over the parlour chim- come.- -Why, then I'll go into the village, ney-piece, and your poor, dear grandfather take a post-chaise, and depart without any was prouder of it than of e'er a picture in further ceremony. his house. I never looked into a book, but when I said my prayers, except it was the Complete Housewife, or the great family receipt-book: whereas you 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 let Mr. Eustace out, and I promise I never will proceed a step further in this business without your advice and approbation.


How much superior beauty awes,
The coldest bosoms find;
But with resistless force it draws,

To sense and sweetness join'd.
The casket, where, to outward show,
The workman's art is seen,
Is doubly valu'd, when we know
It holds a gem within.

Hark! she comes.


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


Young M. Confusion! my father! What can

[Exit. Sir W. Tom, are not you a sad boy, Tom, Luc. I'm not going; I have thought of a to bring me a hundred and forty miles here way to be even with you, so you may do as -May I never do an ill turn, but you deserve you please. [Exit. to have your head broke; and I have a good Hodge. Well, I thought it would come to mind, partly-What, sirrah, don't you think this, I'll be shot if I didn't-So here's a fine it worth your while to speak to me? job But what can they do to me? They Young M. Forgive me, sir; I own I have can't send me to gaol for carrying a letter, been in a fault.

seeing there was no treason in it; and how Sir W. In a fault! to run away from me was I obligated to know my master did not because I was going to do you good-May I allow of their meetings:-The worst they can never do an ill turn, Mr. Hawthorn, if I did do is to turn me off, and I am sure the place not pick out as fine a girl for him, partly, as is no such great purchase-indeed, I should any in England! and the rascal run away be sorry to leave Mrs. Rosetta, seeing as how from me, and came here and turn'd gardener. matters are so near being brought to an end And pray what did you propose to yourself, betwixt us; but she and I may keep company Tom? I know you were always fond of boall as one; and I find Madge has been speaking tany, as they call it; did you intend to keep with Gaffer Broadwheels, the waggoner, about the trade going, and advertise fruit-trees and her carriage up to London: so that I have got flowering-shrubs, to be had rid of she, and I am sure I have reason to be nursery? main glad of it, for she led me a wearisome life-But that's the way of them all.


A plague o'these wenches, they make such
a pother,
When once they have let'n a man have
his will;
They're always a whining for something or

And cry he's unkind in his carriage.
What tho'f he speaks them ne'er so fairly,
Still they keep teazing, teazing on:

You cannot persuade 'em

Till promise you've made 'em;
And after they've got it,
They tell you-add rot it,

Their character's blasted, they're ruin'd,


Then to be sure, sir,

There is but one cure, sir,

at Meadows' Haw. No, sir William, I apprehend the young gentleman designed to lay by the profession; for he has quitted the habit already.

I should

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, have returned home to you 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; but what does that signify?-tell me, boy, how stands your stomach towards matrimony: do you think you could digest a wife now?

Young M. Pray, sir, don't mention it: I shall always behave myself as a dutiful son ought: I will never marry without your consent, and I hope you won't force me to do it against un- my own.

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

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 should pay some respect to your will, I apprehend, expound the riddle. He father in 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 there's once. Look you, Tom, not to make has 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 tracted 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.


Haw. Here is the lady, sir William.

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


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

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

Young M. Nay, dear sir, have a little patience; do you give her to me? Sir W. Give her to you! ay, that I do, and my blessing into the bargain. Young M. Then, sir, I am the happiest man

Young M. Sir, I cannot help thinking your 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 obtaining,

got the better of my inclination, and never have done a thing which I knew would be disagreeable to you.


Young M.


Sir W. And pray, sir, who are your affections engaged to? Let me know that. Young M. To a person, sir, whose rank Together. 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

Fortune can no more impart:
Let my eyes, my thoughts explaining,
Speak the feelings of my heart.
Joy and pleasure never ceasing,
Love with length of years increasing,
Thus my heart and hand surrender,

Here my faith and truth I plight; Constant still, and kind and tender, May our flames burn ever bright! Haw. Give you joy, sir; and you, fair lady commands, and I hope you will not be of--And, under favour, I'll salute you too, if

fended 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.

there's no fear of jealousy.

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

los. Step into the house, and I'll tell you every thing; I must entreat the good offices

[Rosetta advances. Young Meadows turns of sir William and Mr. Hawthorn immedia

round and sees her.


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

tely; 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. And, master Hawthorn, you shall be of the party-Come, children, go before us.

Young M. You need not have taken this method, sir, to let me see you are acquainted with my folly, whatever my inclinations are. Sir W. Well but, Tom, suppose I give my consent to your marrying this young woman? Young M. Your consent, sir? Ros. Come, sir William, we have carried Haw. Thank you, sir William; I'll go inthe jest far enough: I see your son is in a to the house with you, and to church to see

the young folks married; but as to London, heartily your servant; may I never do an ill I beg to be excused. turn, but I am glad to meet you.


If ever I'm catch'd in those regions of smoke,
That seat of confusion and noise,
May I ne'er know the sweets of a slumber

Nor the pleasure the country enjoys.
Nay more, let them take me, to punish my sin,
Where, gaping, the cocknies they fleece;
Clap me up with their monsters, cry, masters
walk in,

And show me for twopence a - piece.

[Exeunt. SCENE III.-JUSTICE WOODCOCK'S Hall. Enter JUSTICE WOODCOCK, MRS. DEBORAH WOODCOCK, LUCINDA, EUSTACE, and HODGE. Mrs D. Why, brother, do you think 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. 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 tell 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; a thrummer of wire, and a scraper 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 true, sir; I am no music-master, 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 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 Meadows 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 I could 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. Eust. Seriously, madam, this is carrying say for yourself now? You have made a prethe jest a little too far.

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

Eust. Ha, ha, ha.

Luc Why, aunt, you rave.

Mrs. D. Well, brother, what have you to

cious day's work of it! Had my advice been taken! Oh, I am ashamed of you; but you are a weak man, and it can't be help'd; 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 husband, I'll answer for it.

Mrs. D. Brother, as I am a Christian woman, she confessed the whole affair to me Ros. Stand out of the way, and let me 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 the hour together, to beg I would conceal it from you. world, I am sure you can deny me nothing: Hodge. Oh Lord! Oh Lord! love is a venial fault-You know what I mean. Mrs. D. What, sirrah, would you brazen -Be reconciled to your daughter, I conjure me too! Take that. [Boxes him. you, by the memory of our past affectionsHodge. I wish you would keep your hands What, not a word? 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!--that never touch a drop of any thing strong from year's end to year's end; but now and then a little anniseed water, when I have got the colic..


Go, naughty man, I can't abide you; Are then our vows so soon forgot? Ah! now I see if I had tried you, What would have been my hopeful lot. But here I charge you-Make them happy; Bless the fond pair, and crown their bliss: Luc. Well, aunt, you have been complainCome, be a dear, good natur'd pappy, 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. 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 of ton, did you not know I must find you out? peace;-turn out of the house, I say:


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

Eust. Plague on't, this rencounter is unlucky-Sir William, your servant.

Sir W. Your servant, again; and again,

Jus. W. Who gave you authority to turn him out of the house?-be 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 her, and what will you do about it? Mrs. D. And you will give him your estate too, will you?

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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 saysay 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 fool.

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

Haw. Adds me, sir, here are some of your neighbours come to visit you, and I suppose


Hence with cares, complaints, and frowning,
Welcome jollity and joy;

Ev'ry grief in pleasure drowning,
Mirth this happy night employ:
Let's to friendship do our duty,
Laugh and sing some good old strain;
Drink a health to love and beauty-
May they long in triumph reign.


Com. Opera, by Isaac 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 state at Covent Garden. It has been observed, that, "like Pamela, this is one of those delusions which frequently destroy the proper subordination of society. The village beauty, whose simplicity and innocence are her native charms, smitten with the reveries of rank and splendour, becomes affected and retired, disdaining her situation and every one about her."-We do not believe, however, that many instances of this could be adduced.

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SCENE I. - A rural Prospect, with a Mill

| no doubt but you'll find enow for a body to do. Fair. What dost mutter? Is't not a strange

at VPork. 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 where FANNY sits mending a Net; GILES set a hand to what I have desired thee? appears at a distance in the Mill; FAIR- Pat do do some thing then? I thought when Ralph. Why don't you speak to suster FIELD and RALPH taking Sacks from a



Free from sorrow, free from strife,
O how blest the miller's life!
Cheerful working through the day,
Still he laughs and sings away.
Nought can vex him,
Nought perplex him,
While there's grist to make him gay.


Let the great enjoy the blessings

By indulgent fortune sent:
What can wealth, can grandeur offer,
More than plenty and content?
Fair. Well done, well done; 'tis a sure
sign work goes on merrily when folks sing

she came home to us, after my old lady's death, she was to have been of some use in the house; but instead of that, she sits there all day, reading outlandish books, dressed like a fine madumasel; and the never a word you says to she.

Fair. Sirrah, don't speak so disrespectfully of thy sister; thou wilt never have the tithe of her deserts.

Ralph. Why, I'll read and write with her for what she dares; and as for playing on the hapsichols 1), I thinks her rich godmother might have learn'd her something more properer, seeing she did not remember to leave her a legacy at last.

Fair. That's none of thy business, sirrah. 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 hang'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 petticoat. company, no doubt there are calls enough for it by this time.

Ralph. Ay, feyther, whether or not, there's

Fair. Ralph, thou hast been drinking this | morning.

1) Harpsichord.

Ralph. Well, if so be as I have, it's no- Fair. Well, Patty, 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 Sycamore and his family, and there is more company expected in a few days.

Ralph. Why it was wind1)-a gentleman

guve me.

Fair. A gentleman!

Ralph. Yes, a gentleman that's come piping hot from London: he is below at the Cat and Bagpipes; Icod he rides a choice bit of a nag. I dare to say she'd fetch as good as forty pound at ever a fair in all England.

Fair. A fig's end for what she'd fetch; mind thy business, or by the lord Harry—

Ralph. Why I won't do another hand's turn to-day now, so that's flat.

Fair. Thou wilt not

Pat. I know sir Harry very well; he is by marriage a distant relation of my lord's. Fair. Pray what sort of a young body is the daughter there? I think she used to be with you at the castle, three or four summers ago, when my young lord was out upon his travels.

Pat. Oh! very often; she was a great favourite of my lady's: pray, father, is she come down?

Fair. Why you know the report last night, 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; not over willing for the match, but the friends and mayhap he may do more for me than you on both sides in London pressed it so hard: 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, thou wilt repent this thousand pounds.

thinks of.

untowardness. Pat. If it was a million, father, it would Ralph. Why, how shall I repent it? May-not be more than my lord Aimworth 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.

A 1 R.

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; nay, 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.

You think I'm afraid, but the diffrence to show you,

shovel; your sacks too

First yonder's your
throw you;
Henceforward take care of your matters who

They're welcome to slave for your wages

who need'em;

Tol lol de rol lol, I have purchas'd my freedom,
And never hereafter shall work at the mill.

Pat. Ah! dear father, don't mention what perhaps has been my greatest misfortune.

Fair. Nay then, Patty, what's become of -But I have something to say to thee which all thy sense that people talk so much about? I need not tell thee, my child, that a young I would have thee consider seriously—I believe maiden, after she is marriageable, especially if she has any thing about her to draw people's notice, is liable to ill tongues, and a many cross accidents; so that the sooner she's out of harm's way the better. I say, then, a young [Exit. woman's best safeguard is a good husband. Fair. Dear heart, dear heart! I protest this Now there is our neighbour, farmer Giles; ungracious boy puts me quite beside myself. he is a sober, honest, indust:ious, young Pally, 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 have him for a son-in-law. Pat. And I have told you as often, father, I would submit myself entirely to your direction; whatever you think

Enter PATTY from the House.



In love to pine and languish,
Yet know your passion vain;
To harbour heart-felt anguish,
Yet fear to tell your pain:
What powers unrelenting,
Severer ills inventing,

Can sharpen pangs like these;
Where days and nights tormenting,
Yield not a moments case?

1) The country way of pronouncing wino,


for me is so.

proper Fair. Why that's spoken like a dutiful, sensible girl; get thee in, then, and leave me to manage it-Perhaps our neighbour Giles is not a gentleman; but what are the greatest part of our country gentlemen good for? Pat. Very true, father. [Exit into the Cottage.

Enter GILES.

Giles. Well, master Fairfield, you and miss Pat have had a long discourse together; did you tell her that I was come down?

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