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Young M. Sir, I don't doubt the lady's me- kind of embarrassment, and I don't wonder 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, oftly; you should pay some respect to your will, I apprehend, expound the riddle. He ther 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 ere's once. Look you, Tom, not to make has brought us together in masquerade, there y more words of the matter, I have brought is no occasion for me to inform him of. é lady here with me, and I'll see you con- Young M. What is all this? Pray don't acted before we part; or you shall delve and make a jest of me!

ant 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. -? 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 arry her? We'll see that! Pray, master Haw-short, you have not been a more whimsical orn, conduct the fair one in. Ay, sir, you gentleman, than I have a gentlewoman; but ay fret and dance about, trot at the rate of you see we are designed for one another, teen miles an hour, if you please; but, marry 'tis plain. aip me, I'm resolved.

Enter ROSETTA.

Haw. Here is the lady, sir William.
Sir W. Come in, madam; but turn your
ce from him-he would not marry you be-
use he had not seen you: but I'll let him
ow my choice shall be his, and he shall
nsent to marry you before he sees you, or
t an acre of estate
Pray, sir, walk this

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

Sir W. How, Tom, how?

DUETT.

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

t the better of my inclination, and never ve done a thing which I knew would be. agreeable to you.

Ros.

Ros.

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.
ns engaged to? Let me know that.
Young M. To a person, sir, whose rank Together.
fortune may be no recommendation to
r, but whose charms and accomplishments
Eitle her to a monarch. I am sorry, sir,
impossible for me to comply with your

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

ded if I quit your presence.

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

ur 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

Rosella advances. Young Meadows turns of sir William and Mr. Hawthorn immedia¬

round and sees her.

AIR. ROSETTA.

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
now?

Haw. Perhaps, sir William, your son does like the lady; and, if so, pray don't put Force upon bis inclination.

Young M. You need not have taken this thod, sir, to let me see you are acquainted h my folly, whatever my inclinations are. Sir W. Well but, Tom, suppose I give my sent 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? 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-Cone, children, go 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

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

AIR.

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
unbroke,

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,

Jus. IV. Pray, sir William, are you ar quainted with this person?

Sir W. What, with Jack Eustace? why he's my kinsman: his mother and I were co sin-germans once removed, and Jack's a ver 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 ? you, you know nothing of the matter; th man is a music-master; a thrummer of wire, and a scraper of catgut, and teaches my daugt [Exeunt. ter to sing.

And show me for twopence a - piece.

SCENE III.-JUSTICE WOODCOCK'S Hall. Enter JUSTICE WOODCOCK, MRS. DEBORAH WOODCOCK, LUCINDA, EUSTACE, and HODGE. Mrs D. Why, brother, do you think I 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.

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Sir W. What, Jack Eustace a music-master no, no; I know him better.

Eust 'Sdeath, why should I attempt to ca ry on this absurd farce any longer;-Wit 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 ladyla represented me, [Pointing to Mrs. Deborahý your daughter's lover: whom, with her o Jus. W. Well, you hear what they say. consent, I did intend to have carried of La Mrs. D. I care not what they say; it's you night; but now that sir William Meadyrs encourage them in their impudence-Harkye, is here, to tell you who and what lan bussy, will you face me down that I did not throw myself upon your generosity; lock the fellow up? which I expect greater advantages than I co Luc. Really, aunt, I don't know what you reap from any imposition on your unsu 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 say for yourself now? You have made a cious day's work of it! Had my advice be taken! Oh, I am ashamed of you; but are a weak man, and it can't be help'd; h ever, you should let wiser heads direct yo

Luc. Dear papa, pardon me.

Sir W. Ay, do, sir, forgive her; my sin Jack will make her a good husband, 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 from first to last; and in this very place was speak two or three words to his worsh 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 nois 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 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!-I-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.

AIR.

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 k But here I charge you-Make them la Bless the fond pair, and crown their 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, how it is; this is a lie of her own invention, be thankful that my brother does not ty make herself appear wise: but, you simple- you, for he could do it; he's a justic 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.

Enter SIR WILLIAM MEADOWS, HAWTHORN,
ROSETTA, and young MEADOWS.
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 t him out of the house?-be shall stay w he is.

Mrs. D. He shan't marry my niece. Jus. W. Shan't he! but I'll show you" difference now; I say he shall marry and what will you do about it? Mrs. D. And you will give nim your too, will you?

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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 1783, 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. Fair. What dost mutter? Is't not a strange

SCENE I. A rural Prospect, with a Mill at 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, set a hand to what I have desired thee? come o'er the boy? So then thou wilt not where FANNY sits mending a Net; GILES 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

Cart.

CHORUS.

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.

DUETT.

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

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. Fair. Who has been giving thee liquor,

sirrah?

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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

lord's steward has been with me just now, and I find we are like to have great doings; his lordship has brought down sir Harry S. camore and his family, and there is more company expected in a few days.

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 fa vourite 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 fi I've promised to go back to the gentleman; milies, ere long. It seems his lordship wa 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 t thinks of. then there's a swinging fortune: master Good Fair. Well, son Ralph, run thy gait; but man tells me, a matter of twenty or thir remember I tell thee, thou wilt repent this thousand pounds. untowardness.

Ralph. Why, how shall I repent it? Mayhap you'll turn me out of your service; a match; with all hearts-Icod I don't care three brass pins,

AIR.

If that's all you want, who the plague will
be sorry?
'Twere better by half to dig stones in a quarry;
For my share, I'm weary of what is got by't:
S'flesh here's such a racket, such scolding
and coiling,

You're never content, but when folks are a toiling,
And drudging like horses from morning till
night.

You think I'm afraid, but the diff'rence to
show you,
First yonder's your shovel; your sacks too I
throw you;
Henceforward take care of your matters who
will:
They're welcome to slave for your wages
who need'em;

Pat. If it was a million, father, it wo not be more than my lord Aimworth deser ves; I suppose the wedding will be celebrated here at the mansion-house.

Fair. So it is thought, as soon as things can be properly prepared-And now, Patty if I could but see thee a little merry-Cor bless thee, pluck up thy spirits-To be sure thou hast sustained, in the death of thy la a heavy loss; she was a parent to thee; par and better, inasmuch as she took thee whe thou wert but a babe, and gave thee an c cation which thy natural parents could afford to do.

I

Pat. Ah! dear father, don't mention wi perhaps has been my greatest misfortune. Fair. Nay then, Patty, what's become all thy sense that people talk so much abe -But I have something to say to thee wh would have thee consider seriously-I believe I need not tell thee, my child, that a you maiden, after she is marriageable, especials she has any thing about her to draw peop notice, is fiable to ill tongues, and a mat cross accidents; so that the sooner she's out harm's way the better. I say, then, a you [Exit. woman's best safeguard is a good husha Fair. Dear heart, dear heart! I protest this Now there is our neighbour, farmer Gle ungracious boy puts me quite beside myself. he is a sober, honest, indust:ious, youngi Palty, my dear, come down into the yard a low, an done of the wealthiest in these part little, and keep me company-and you, thieves, he is greatly taken with thee; and it is 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 dire tion; whatever you think proper for me is s Fair. Why that's spoken like a duti sensible girl; get thee in, then, and leave to manage it-Perhaps our neighbour G is not a gentleman; but what are the greate part of our country gentlemen good for? Pat. Very true, father. [Exit into the Cottag

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 Collage. Fair. Patty, child, why wouldst not thou 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 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 ng, 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 approbationFair. Well, master Giles, I'll assure thee Pat. Oh, dear father-what are you going he is not one whit less obliged to my lord to imself. When his mother was taken off so Fair. Nay, child, I would not have stirr'd uddenly, and his affairs called him up to step for fifty pounds, without advertising ondon, if Patty would have remained at the his lordship beforehand. astle, she might have had the command of 11; or if she would have gone any where Ise, he would have paid for her fixing, let he cost be what it would.

a

say?

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

Fair. How rash, how is it rash, Patty? I don't understand thee.

Giles. Why, for that matter, folks did not Pat. Oh, you have distress'd me beyond pare to say, that my lord had a sort of a imagination-but why would you not give neaking kindness for her himself: and I re-me notice, speak to me first? Tember, at one time, it was rife all about e neighbourhood, that she was actually to e 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 inking, friend Giles-but this is neither here art not contented. I am sure the farmer is or there to our business-Have you been al as sightly a clever lad as any in the country; e castle yet? and is he not as good as we?

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

Pat. 'Tis very true, father, I am to blame; pray forgive me.

Fair. Forgive thee! Lord help thee, my child, I am not angry with thee; but quiet thyself, Patty, and thou'lt see all this will turn out for the best. [Exit.

Fair. No! why then go up to my lord, let n know you have a mind to make a match th my daughter, hear what he has to say it, and afterwards we will try if we can't Pat. What will become of me?-My lord tle 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 I'll do it with the biggest pleasure in life. But where's miss Pat? Might not one ax 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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