ACT I. AIR. sweetheart? But you are so proud you won't let our young men come a near you. You SCENE I. After the Trio, the Sun is seen may live to repent being so scornful. to rise: the Door of the Cottage is open, a Lamp burning just within; DORCAS, seated on a Bench, is spinning; ROSINA When William at eve meets me down at and PHOEBE, just within the Door, are measuring Corn; WILLIAM comes from the top of the Stage; they sing the following Trio. When the rosy morn appearing the stile, How sweet is the nightingale's song! By her beams, without blushing, I hear him And believe every word of his song: You know not how sweet 'tis to love the dear swain, Whilst the moon plays yon branches among. [During the last Stanza William appears at the end of the Scene, and makes Signs to Phabe; who, when it is finished, steals softly to him, and they disappear. Ros. How small a part of my evils is poverty! And how little does Phoebe know the heart she thinks insensible! the heart which nourishes a hopeless passion. I blest, like others, Belville's gentle virtues, and knew not [Coming forward, and showing the Corn that 'twas love. Unhappy! lost Rosina! [William retires. Ros. See! my dear Dorcas, what we glean'd yesterday in Mr. Belville's field! at the Door. : Dor. Lord love thee! but take care of thyself: thou art but tender Ros. Indeed it does not hurt me. put out the lamp? Shall I Dor Do, dear; the poor must be sparing. [Rosina going to put out the Lamp, Dorcas looks after her and sighs; she returns hastily. Ros. Why do you sigh, Dorcas? Dor. I canno' bear it: it's nothing to Phoebe and me, but thou wast not born to labour. [Rising and pushing away the Wheel. Ros. Why should I repine? heaven, which deprived me of my parents, and my fortune, left me health, content, and innocence. Nor is it certain that riches lead to happiness. Do you think the nightingale sings the sweeter for being in a gilded cage? Dor. Sweeter, I'll maintain it, than the poor little linnet that thou pick'dst up hali starved under the hedge yesterday, after its mother had been shot, and brought'st to life in thy bosom. Let me speak to his honour, he's main kind to the poor. Ros. Not for the world, Dorcas, I want nothing; you have been a mother to me. Dor. Would I could! Would I could! I ha' worked hard and 'arn'd money in my time; but now I am old and feeble, and am push'd about by every body. More's the pity, say; it was not so in my young time; but the world grows wickeder every day. Ros. Your age, my good Dorcas, requires all the rest; go into the cottage, whilst Phoebe and market? I join the gleaners, who are assembling from every part of the village. Dor. Many a time have I carried thy dear mother, an infant, in these arms; little did I think a child of hers would live to share my poor pittance. But I wo'not grieve thee. [Dorcas enters the Cottage, looking back affectionately at Rosina. Enter BELVILLE, followed by two Irishmen and Servants. 1 Irish. Is it us he's talking of, Paddy? Then the devil may thank him for his good commendations. Bel. You are too severe, Rustic; the poor fellows came three miles this morning; therePho. What makes you so melancholy, Ro- fore I made them stop at the manor-house to sina? Mayhap it's because you have not a take a little refreshment. 1 Irish. Bless your sweet face, my jewel, Bel. There are twenty coveys within sight and all those who take your part. Bad luck of my house, and the dogs are in fine order. to myself, if I would not, with all the veins Capt. B. The gamekeeper is this moment of my heart, split the dew before your feet leading them round. I am fir'd at the sight. in a morning. [To Belville. Rust. If I do speak a little cross, it's for your honour's good. [The Reapers cut the Corn, and make it into Sheaves. Rosina follows, and gleans. Rust. [Seeing Rosina] What a dickens does this girl do here? Keep back; wait till the reapers are off the field; do like the other gleaners. Ros. [Timidly] If I have done wrong, sir, I will put what I have glean'd down again. [She lets falls the Ears she had gleaned. Bel. How can you be so unfeeling, Rustic? She is lovely, virtuous, and in want. Let fall some ears, that she may glean the more. Rust. Your honour is too good by half. Bel. No more: gather up the corn she has let fall. Do as I command you. Rust. There, take the whole field, since his honour chooses it. AIR. By dawn to the downs we repair, Fire away! Hark! the volley resounds to the skies! And resounds to the skies, I Fire away! Fire away! Fire away! But where is my little rustic charmer? O! there she is: I am transported. [Aside] Pray, brother, is not that the little girl whose dawn[Putting the Corn into her Apron. ing beauty we admired so much last year? Ros. I will not abuse his goodness. Bel. It is, and more lovely than ever. [Retires, gleaning. shall dine in the field with my reapers to-day, 2 Irish. Upon my soul now, his honour's brother: will you share our rural repast, or no churl of the wheat, whate'er he may be have a dinner prepar'd at the manor-house? of the barley 1). Capt. B., By no means: pray let me be of Bel. [Looking after Rosina] What be- your party: your plan is an admirable one, witching softness! There is a blushing, bash- especially if your girls are handsome. ful gentleness, an almost infantine innocence walk round the field, and meet you at dinner in that lovely countenance, which it is im-time. possible to behold without emotion! She turns this way: What bloom on that cheek! 'Tis the blushing down of the peach. Or the blossoms of May. Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE, in a Riding-dress. Capt. B. Good morrow, brother; you are early abroad. Bel. My dear Charles, I am happy to see you. True, I find, to the first of September 2). וויר [Exeunt Belville and Rustic. Captain Belville goes up to Rosina, gleans a few Ears, and presents them to her; she refuses them, and runs out; he follows her. Enter WILLIAM, speaking at the side Scene. Will. Lead the dogs back, James; the captain won't shoot to day. [Seeing Rustic and Phoebe behind] Indeed, so close! I don't half like it. Enter RUSTIC and PHоebe. Rust. That's a good girl! Do as I bid you, and you shan't want encouragement. [He goes up to the Reapers, and William comes forward. Will. O no, I dare say she won't. So, Mrs. Phoebe! Pho. And so, Mr. William, if you go to that! Will. A new sweetheart, I'll be sworn; and a pretty comely lad he is: but he's rich, Capt. B. I meant to have been here last and that's enough to win a woman. night, but one of my wheels broke, and I was Pho. I don't desarve this of you, William: obliged to sleep at a village six miles distant, but I'm rightly sarved, for being such an easy where I left my chaise, and took a boat down fool. You think, mayhap, I'm at my last the river at day-break. But your corn is not off the ground. Bel. You know our harvest is late in the north; but you will find all the lands clear'd on the other side the mountain. Capt. B. And pray, brother, how are the partridges this season? 1) He gives his bread away willingly enough; but he seems to keep his drink all to himself-Beer being made from malt and hops. 2) The captain is a sportsman, and does not forget the 18t of September, the beginning of the shooting-season prayers; but you may find yourself mistaken. Will. You do right to cry out first; you think belike that I did not see you take that posy from Harry. Pho. And you, belike, that I did not catch you tying up one, of cornflowers and wild roses, for the miller's maid; but I'll be fool'd no longer; I have done with you, Mr. William. Will. I shan't break my heart, Mrs. Phœbe. The miller's maid loves the ground I walk on. DUETT.-WILLIAM and PHOEBE. maids, And chang'd them as oft, d'ye see! the green, The maid of the mill for me. Pho. There's fifty young men have told me fine tales, And call'd me the fairest she: Young Harry's the lad for me. Dor. 'Tis very kind.-And old age- [Goes into the Cottage. Dor. I thought so. Sure, sure, 'tis no sin to be old. Capt. B. You must not judge of me by others, honest Dorcas. I am sorry for your misfortunes, and wish to serve you. Dor. And to what, your honour, may I owe this kindness? Capt. B. You have a charming daughterDor. I thought as much. A vile, wicked man! [Aside. Capt. B. Beauty like hers might find a thousand resources in London; the moment she appears there, she will turn every head. Dor. And is your honour sure her own Her face like the blossoms in May, Her breath like the new-made hay. poplar tree, His cheeks are as fresh as the rose; ROSINA runs across the Stage; CAPTAIN Capt. B. Stay and hear me, Rosina. Why I will you fatigue yourself thus? Only homely girls are born to work. Your obstinacy is vain; you shall bear me. Ros. Why do you stop me, sir? My time is precious. When the gleaning season is over, will you make up my loss? Capt. B. Yes. Ros. Will it be any advantage to you to make me lose my day's work? Capt. B. Yes. Ros. Would it give you pleasure to see me pass all my days in idleness? Capt. B. Yes. Ros. We differ greatly then, sir. I only wish for so much leisure as makes me return to my work with fresh spirit. We labour all the week, 'tis true; but then how sweet is our rest on Sunday! Capt. B. She shall live in affluence, and take care of you too, Dorcas. Dor. I guess your honour's meaning; but you are mistaken, sir. If I must be a trouble to the dear child, I had rather owe my bread to her labour than her shame. [Goes into the Cottage, and shuts the Door. Capt. B. These women astonish me; but I won't give it up so. Enter RUSTIC, crossing the Stage. A word with you, Rustic. Rust. I am in a great hurry, your honour; am going to hasten dinner, Capt. B. I shan't keep you a minute. Take these five guineas. Rust. For whom, sir? Capt. B. For yourself. And this purse. Capt. B. For Rosina; they say she is in distress, and wants assistance. Rust. What pleasure it gives me to see you so charitable! You are just like your brother. Capt. B. Prodigiously. Rust. But why give me money, sir? Capt. B. Only to-tell Rosina there is a person who is very much interested in her happiness. Rust. How much you will please his honour by this! He takes mightily to Rosina, and prefers her to all the young women in the parish. Capt. B. Prefers her! Ah! you sly rogue! [Laying his Hand on Rustic's Shoulder. Rust. Your honour's a wag; but I'm sure I meant no harm. Capt. B. Give her the money, and tell her she shall never want a friend; but not a word to my brother. Ros. Let me call my mother, sir: I am young, Rust. All's safe, your honour. [Exit Capt. and can support myself by my labour; but Belville] I don't vastly like this business. At she is old and helpless, and your charity will the captain's age, this violent charity is a little be well bestow'd. Please to transfer to her duberous 1). I am his honour's servant, and the bounty you intended for me. it's my duty to hide nothing from him. I'll go seek his honour; O, here he comes. Enter BELVille. Capt. B. Why-as to that Ros. I understand you, sir; your compassion does not extend to old women, Capt. B. Really-I believe not. Enter DORCAS. Ros. You are just come in time, mother. I have met with a generous gentleman, whose charity inclines him to succour youth. Bel. Well, Rustic, have you any intelligence to communicate? Rust. A vast deal, sir. Your brother begins to make good use of his money; he has given me these five guineas for myself, and this purse for Rosina. 1) Dubious Bel: For Rosina! 'Tis plain he loves her. [Aside] Obey him exactly; but as distress renders the mind haughty, and Rosina's situation requires the utmost delicacy, contrive to execute your commission in such a manner that she may not even suspect from whence the money comes. Rust. I understand your honour. Bel. Have you gain'd any intelligence in respect to Rosina? Rust. I endeavour'd to get all I could from the old woman's grand daughter; but all she knew was, that she was no kin to Dorcas, and that she had had a good bringing-up; but here are the labourers. Enter DORCAS, ROSINA, and PHOEBE. Bel. But I don't see Rosina. Dorcas, you must come too, and Phoebe. Dor. We can't deny your honour. Ros. I a am asham'd; but you command, sir. Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE, followed by the Reapers. FINALE. Bel. By this fountain's flow'ry side, Drest in nature's blooming pride, Taste our pleasures ye who may, Life's fantastic forms despise. Cho. Taste our pleasures ye who may, Capt. B. Blushing Bell, with downcast eyes, Will. He is fond, and she is shy; He would kiss her!-fie!-ch, fie! Cho. Busy censors, hence, away; Now we'll quaffthe nut-brown ale, Rust. Then we'll tell the sportive tale; All is youthful jollity. Cho. Taste our pleasures ye who may, ACT II. SCENE I.-The same. Enter RUSTIC. Rust. This purse is the plague of my life; I hate money when it is not my own. I'll e'en put in the five guineas he gave me for myself: I don't want it, and they do. They certainly must find it there. But I hear the cottage-door open. [Retires a little. Enter DORCAS and ROSINA from the Cottage. DORCAS with a great Basket on her Arm, filled with Skeins of Thread. Dor. I am just going, Rosina, to carry this thread to the weaver's. Ros. This basket is too heavy for you: pray let me carry it. [Takes the Basket from Dorcas, and sets it down on the Bench. Dor. No, no. [Peevishly. Ros. If you love me, only take half; this evening, or to-morrow morning, I will carry the rest.-[Takes Part of the Skeins out of the Basket and lays them on the Bench, looking affectionately on Dorcas] There, be angry with me if you please. Dor. No, my sweet lamb, I am not angry; but beware of men. Ros. Have you any doubts of my conduct, Dorcas? Dor. Indeed I have not, love; and yet I am uneasy. Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE, unperceived. Go back to the reapers, whilst I carry this thread. Ros. I'll go this moment. Dor. But as I walk but slow, and 'tis a good way, you may chance to be at home before me; so take the key. Ros. I will. Capt. B. [Aside, while Dorcas feels in her Pockets for the Key] Rosina to be at home before Dorcas! How lucky! I'll slip into the house, and wait her coming, if 'tis till midnight. [He goes unperceived by them into the Cottage. Dor. Let nobody go into the house. Ros. I'll take care; but first I'll double-lock the door. [While she is locking the Door, Dorcas, going to take up the Basket, sees the Purse. Dor. Good lack! What is here! a purse, as I live! Ros. How! Dor. Come, and see; 'tis a purse indeed. Ros. Heav'ns! 'tis full of gold. Dor. We must put up a bill at the churchgate, and restore it to the owner. The best way is to carry the money to his honour, and get him to keep it till the owner is found. You shall go with it, love. Ros. Pray excuse me, I always blush so. Dor. 'Tis nothing but childishness: but his honour will like your bashfulness better than too much courage. [Exit. Ros. I cannot support his presence-my embarrassment-my confusion-a stronger sensation than that of gratitude agitates my heart. -Yet hope in my situation were madness. AIR. Sweet transports, gentle wishes go! In vain his charms have gain'd my heart; Pray, William, do you know of any body: Will. I knows nothing about it. Ros. Dorcas, however, has found one. If chance some fairing caught her eye, With scorn she hears me now complain, And gold, alas! has banish'd love. Ros. You will oblige me very much if you howsomever. Bye1), Phœbe: I shall always will carry it to Mr. Belville, and beg him to keep it till the owner is found. Will. Since you desire it, I'll go be the lighter for my carrying. Enter PHOEBE. it shan't [Exit. Pho. That's a copy of his countenance, I'm sartin; he can no more help following me nor he can be hang'd. [Aside. William crosses again, singing. Of all the fair maidens that dance on the green, The maid of the mill, for me. Pha. I'm ready to choke wi' madness; but [William sings, throwing up his Stick somer. wish you well. Pho. Bye, William. [Cries, wiping her Eyes with her Apron. Will. My heart begins to melt a little. [Aside] I lov'd you very well once, Phœbe: but you are grown so cross, and have such vagaries Pho. I'm sure I never had no vagaries with you, William. But go; mayhap Kate may be angry. Will. And who cares for she? I never minded her anger, nor her coaxing neither, till you were cross to me. Pho. [Holding up her Hands] O the father! I cross to you, William? Will. Did not you tell me, this very morning, as how you had done wi' me? Pho. One word's as good as a thousand. Do you love me, William? Will. Do I love thee? Do I love dancing on the green better than thrashing in the barn? Do I love a wake; or a harvest-home? Pho. Then I'll never speak to Harry again the longest day I have to live. Will. I'll turn my back o'the miller's maid the first time I meet her. Pha. Will you indeed, and indeed? Will. Marry will 1; and more nor that, I'll go speak to the parson this moment—I'm happier-zooks, I'm happier nor a lord or a squire of five hundred a year. DUETT. PHOEBE and WILLIAM. Pho. In gaudy 'courts, with aching hearts, The great at fortune rail: Will. Her face like the blossoms in May. Pha. I can't bear it no longer-you vile, ungrateful, parfidious-But it's no matterI can't think what I could see in you-Harry loves me, and is a thousand times more hand[Sings, sobbing at every Word. Of all the gay wrestlers that spost on the green, Young Harry's the lad for me. Will. He's yonder a reaping: shall I call him? [Offers to go. Both. Pho. My grandmother leads me the life of a dog; and it's all along of you. Will. Well, then she'll be better temper'd now. Pho. I did not value her scolding of a brass farthing, when I thought as how you were true to me. Will. Wasn't I true to you? Look in my face, and say that. AIR. When bidden to the wake or fair, The bills may higher honours claim, See high-born dames, in rooms of state, No youth admires their fading charms, Amid the shades the virgin's sighs [Exeunt, Arm in Arm. Enter BELVILLE. Bel. I tremble at the impression this lovely girl has made on my heart. My cheerfulness has left me, and I am grown insensible even to the delicious pleasure of making those happy who depend on my protection. AIR. Ere bright Rosina met my eyes, |