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Young M. Sir, I don't doubt the lady's me- kind of embarrassment, and I don't wonder it; 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 ather 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 ou he shall marry her, or I'll disinherit him! me; and what has happened, since chance here's once. Look you, Tom, not to make has brought us together in masquerade, there ny more words of the matter, I have brought is no occasion for me to inform him of. he lady here with me, and I'll see you con- Young M. What is all this? Pray don't racted before we part; or you shall delve and make a jest of me! lant 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. ir? 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 narry her? We'll see that! Pray, master Haw- short, you have not been a more whimsical horn, conduct the fair one in. Ay, sir, you gentleman, than I have a gentlewoman; but nay fret and dance about, trot at the rate of you see we are designed for one another, ifteen miles an hour, if you please; but, marry 'tis plain. vhip me, I'm resolved.


Haw. Here is the lady, sir William. Sir W. Come in, madam; but turn your ace from him-he would not marry you beause he had not seen you: but I'll let him now my choice shall he his, and he shall onsent to marry you before he sees you, or ot 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 tience; do you give her to me? Sir W. Give her to you! ay, that I do, and my blessing into the bargain. Young M. Sir, I cannot help thinking your Young M. Then, sir, I am the happiest man onduct a little extraordinary; but, since you in the world! I inquire no further; here I fix rge me so closely, I must tell you my af- the utmost limits of my hopes and happiness. ections are engaged.


Sir W. How, Tom, how?


Young M. I was determined, sir, to have Young M. All I wish in her obtaining,

ot the better of my inclination, and never ave done a thing which I knew would be isagreeable to you.



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

Sir W. And pray, sir, who are your affec-Young M. ions engaged to? Let me know that. Young M. To a person, sir, whose rank Together. nd fortune may be no recommendation to er, but whose charms and accomplishments ntitle her to a monarch. I am sorry, sir, 's impossible for me to comply with your

ommands, and I hope you will not be of--And, under favour, I'll salute you too, if

ended if I quit your presence.

Sir W. Not I, not in the least: go about

our 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!

Ros. 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.


When we see a lover languish
And his truth and honour prove,
Ah! how sweet to heal his anguish,
And repay him love for love.

Sir W. Well, Tom, will you go away from

ne now?

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

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? so I am! for we'll make a double wedding; May I never do an ill turn, but I am glad, 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.

Ros. Come, sir William, we have carried Haw. Thank you, sir William; I'll go inhe jest far enough: I see your son is in a to the house with you, and to church to see


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


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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. IV. 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 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; | am no music-master, indeed.

Jus. W. You are not, you own it then? Eust. Nay more, sir, I am, as this lady ha 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 the 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, 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 unsusp mean; when you talk intelligibly, I'll answer cious nature. you.

Eust. Seriously, madam, this is carrying the 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 say for yourself now? You have made a precious 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 co sin Jack will make her a good husband, [

Ros. Stand out of the way, and let r speak two or three words to his worship Come, my dear sir, though you refuse all world, I am sure you can deny me nothi love is a venial fault-You know what I m

Mrs. D. Brother, as I am a Christian wo-answer for it. man, she confessed the whole affair to me from first to last; and in this very place was down upon her marrow-bones for half an hour together, to beg I would conceal it from you. Hodge. Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Mrs. D. What, sirrah, would you brazen -Be reconciled to your daughter, I conj me too! Take that. [Boxes him. you, by the memory of our past affection 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.

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: Come, be a dear, good natur'd pappy, And I'll reward you with a kiss. 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 ha 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:

Luc. Well, aunt, you have been complaining of the stomach-ach all day; and may have taken too powerful a dose of your cordial.

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 tur him out of the house?-be shall stay where he is.

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Com. Opera, by Izaac 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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no doubt but you'll find enow for a body to do. SCENE 1.-4 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 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 she came home to us, after my old lady's




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,

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.

More than plenty and content? Fair. Well done, well done; 'tis 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 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 bis 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. 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, thou 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 Aimworth deserhap you'll turn me out of your service; aves; 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; 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 toilig, 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 diff'rence to

show you,

First yonder's your shovel; your sacks too

throw you; Henceforward take care of your matters who


They're welcome to slave for your wages who need'em;

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 would have thee consider seriously—I believe I need not tell thee, my child, that a young maiden, after she is marriageable, especially u she has any thing about her to draw people's cross accidents; so that the sooner she's out of notice, is liable to ill tongues, and à many 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, 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 have him for a son-in-law.

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

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Pat. And I have told you as often, father, I would submit myself entirely to your direction; whatever you think proper for me is so. 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?

Fair. No, in truth, friend Giles; but I mentioned our affair at a distance; and I think there is no fear.

Giles. That's right-and when shall usYou do know I have told you my mind often and often.

Fair. Farmer, give us thy hand; nobody doubts thy good will to me and my girl; and you may take my word, I would rather give her to thee than another; for I am main certain thou wilt make her a good husband.

Giles. Thanks to your kind opinion, master Fairfield; if such be my hap, I hope there will be no cause of complaint.

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Re-enter PATTY from the Cottage. Fair. Patty, child, why wouldst not thou open the door for our neighbour Giles? Pat. Really, father, I did not know what was the matter.


Fair. And I promise thee my daughter will make thee a choice wife. But thou know'st, friend Giles, that I, and all belongs to me, Fair. Well, our neighbour Giles will be have 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, Patty: 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 all the country she was the old lady's darling. willing, and, with his lordship's approbationFair. Well, master Giles, I'll assure thee Pat. Oh, dear father-what are you going she is not one whit less obliged to my lord to himself. When his mother was taken off so suddenly, and his affairs called him up to a London, if Patty would have remained at the castle, she might have had the command of all; or if she would have gone any where 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.


Fair. Nay, child, I would not have stirr'd step for fifty pounds, without advertising his lordship beforehand.

Pat. But surely, surely, you have not done this rash, this precipitate thing?

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 the neighbourhood, that she was actually to be our lady.

Fair. Why han't I spoken to thee an hundred times? No, Patty, 'tis thou that wouldst distress me, and thou'lt break my heart. Pat. Dear father!

Fair. Pho, pho! a pack of woman's tales. 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 of tled; 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 he not as good as we?

Giles. Who, I! bless your heart I did not hear a syllable of his lordship's being come down, till your lad told me.

Pat. 'Tis very true, father, I am to blame; pray forgive 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 thou'lt see all this will with my daughter, hear what he has to say turn out for the best. 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. -But where's miss Pat? Might not one ax her how she do?

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married to a lady, suitable to him in rank, suitable to him in fortune, as this farmer is to me; and under what pretence can I refuse the husband my father has found for me? Shall I say that I have dared to raise my inclinations above my condition, and presumed to love where my duty taught me only gratitude and respect? Alas! who could live in the house with lord Aimworth, see him, converse with him, and not love him! I have this consolation, however, my folly is yet undiscover'd to any; else, how should I be ridiculed and despised! nay, would not my lord himself despise me, especially if he knew that I have more than once construed his natural affability and politeness into sentiments as unworthy of him, as mine are bold and extravagant. Unexampled vanity.

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