Have not you traced, have you not found it, Eh, | See, what a drove of horns fly in the air, Kite. I have I confess my folly, and own I have deserved what I have suffered for it.-The trial has been severe, but it is past. All I have to ask now, is, that as my folly is cured, and my persecutors forgiven, my shame may be forgotten. Clem. That will depend upon yourself, Master Kitely; do not you yourself create the food for mischief, and the mischievous will not prey upon you. But come, let a general reconciliation go round, and let all discontents be laid aside. You, Mr. Downright, put off your anger. You, Master Kno'well, your cares.-And do you, Master Kitely, and your wife, put off your jealousies. Kite. Sir, thus, they go from me: kiss me, mv wife. Watch 'em, suspicious eyes, watch where they fall, See, see, on heads that think they've none at all. O, what a plenteous world of this will come! Clem. 'Tis well, 'tis well. This night we'll dedicate to friendship, love, and laughter.- Mas ter Bridegroom, take your bride, and lead, every one a fellow. Here is my mistress, Brain-worm to whom all my addresses of courtship shall have their reference: whose adventures this day, when our grandchildren shall hear to be made a fable, I doubt not but it shall find both spectators and applause. Ros. Hope! thou nurse of young desire, Luc. Hope! thou earnest of delight, Both. Kind dereiver, flatter still, Deal out pleasures unpossess'd, Luc. Heigho!-Rosetta! COVENT GARDEN Mr. Powell. Mr. Quick. Mr. Townshend. Mr. Davies. Mr. Knight. Mrs. Clendinning. Ros. And with reason-But 'tis in a great measure your own fault: here is this Mr. Eustace, a man of character and family; he likes you, you like him; you know one another's minds, and yet you will not resolve to make yourself happy with him. AIR. Whence can you inherit Confin'd thus, and chain'd to a log! Permitted, forbid; 'Tis leading the life of a dog. For shame, you a lover! More firmness discover; Take courage, nor here longer mope; Run riot like me, And, to perfect the picture, elope. Luc. And is this your advice? Luc. Here's my hand; positively I'll follow it -I have already sent to my gentleman, who ie Ros. Well, child, what do you say? now in the country, to let him know he may conne Luc. "Tis a devilish thing to live in a village, a hither this day; we will make use of the oppor hundred miles from the capital, with a preposter-tunity to settle all preliminaries—And then-But ous gouty father, and a superannuated maiden take notice, whenever we decamp, you march off aunt. I am heartily sick of my situation. along with us. VOL. II....2 E 19 217 Ros. Oh! Madam, your servant; I have no inclination to be left behind, I assure you-But you say you got acquainted with this spark while you were with your mother during her last illness at Bath, so that your father has never seen him? Luc. Never in his life, my dear; and, I am confident he entertains not the least suspicion of my having any such connection: my aunt, indeed, has her doubts and surmises; but, besides that my father will not allow any one to be wiser than himself, it is an established maxim between these affectionate relations, never to agree in any thing. | Ros. Except being absurd; you must allow they sympathize perfectly in this-But, now we are on the subject, I desire to know, what I am to do with this wicked old justice of peace, this libidinous father of yours? He follows me about the house like a tame goat. Luc. Nay, I'll assure you he hath been a wag in his time-you must have a care of yourself. Ros. Wretched me to fall into such hands, who have been just forced to run away from my parents to avoid an odious marriage. You smile at that now; and I know you think me whimsical, as you have often told me; but you must excuse my being a little over-delicate in this particular. AIR. My heart's my own, my will is free, No mortal man shall wed with me, Let parents rule, cry nature's laws, Luc. Well, but my dear, mad girl Ros. Lucinda, don't talk to me-Was your father to go to London, meet there by accident with an old fellow as wrong-headed as himself; and in a fit of absurd friendship agree to marry you to that old fellow's son, whom you had never seen, without consulting your inclination, or allowing you a negative, in case he should not prove agreeable Luc. Why, I should think it a little hard, I confess yet, when I see you in the character of a chambermaid Ros. It is the only character, my dear, in which I could hope to lie concealed; and, I can tell you, I was reduced to the last extremity, when, in consequence of our old boarding-school friendship, I applied to you to receive me in this capacity: for we expected the parties the very next week. Luc. But had not you a message from your intended spouse, to let you know he was as little inclined to such ill-concerted nuptials as you were? Ros. More than so, he wrote to advise me, by all means, to contrive some method of breaking them off, for he had rather return to his dear studies at Oxford; and after that what hopes could one have of being happy with him? Luc. Then you are not at all uneasy at the strange rout you must have occasioned at home? I warrant, during this month you have been ab sent- Ros. Oh! don't mention it, my dear; I have had so many admirers since I commenced Abigail, that I am quite charmed with my situation-But hold, who stalks yonder in the yard, that the dogs are so glad to see? Luc. Daddy Hawthorn, as I live! He is come to pay my father a visit; and never more luckily, for he always forces him abroad. By the way, what will you do with yourself while I step into the house to see after my trusty messenger, Hodge? Ros. No matter, I'll sit down in that arbour, and listen to the singing of the birds: you know am fond of melancholy amusements. I Luc. So it seems, indeed: sure, Rosetta, none of your admirers had power to touch your heart; you are not in love, I hope? Ros. In love! that's pleasant: who do you suppose I should be in love with, pray? Luc. Why, let me see-What do you think of Thomas, our gardener? There he is, at the other end of the walk-He is a pretty young man, and the servants say he's always writing verses on you. Ros. Indeed, Lucinda, you are very silly. Luc. Indeed, Rosetta, that blush makes you look very handsome. Ros. Blush? I'm sure I don't blush. Ros. Pshaw, Lucinda, how can you be so ridiculous ? Luc. Well, don't be angry, and I have done -But suppose you did like him, how could you help yourself? AIR. When once Love's subtile poison gains Reason in vain its skill applies; SCENE II. Enter YOUNG MEADOWS. Y. Mea. Let me see-on the fifteenth of June, at half an hour past five in the morning, [Taking out a pocket-book.] I left my father's house, unknown to any one, having made free with a coat and jacket of our gardener's, which fitted me, by way of a disguise: so says my pocket-book; and, chance directing me to this village, on the twen tieth of the same month I procured a recommendation to the worshipful Justice Woodcock, to be the superintendant of his pumpkins and cabbages, because I would let my father see, I chose to run any lengths, rather than submit to what his obstinacy would have forced me, a marriage against my inclination, with a woman I never saw. [Puts up the book, and takes up a watering-pot.] "Here I have been three weeks, and in that time I am as much altered, as if I had changed my nature with my habit. 'Sdeath, to fall in love with a chambermaid! And yet, if I could forget that I am the son and heir of Sir William MeadowsBut that's impossible. AIR. O! had I been by fate decreed Some humble cottage swain; YOUNG MEADOWS, ROSETTA. Ros Lucinda was certainly in the right of it, and yet I blush to own my weakness even to myself Marry, hang the fellow for not being a gentleman. Y. Mea. I am determined I wont speak to her Turning to a rose-tree, and plucking the flowers.] Now or never is the time to conquer myself: besides, I have some reason to believe the girl has no aversion to me; and, as I wish not to do her an injury, it would be cruel to fill her head with notions of what can never happen. [Hums a tune.] Pshaw! rot these roses, how they prick one's fingers! Ros. He takes no notice of me; but so much the better, I'll be as indifferent as he is. I am sure the poor lad likes me; and if I was to give him any encouragement, I suppose the next thing he talked of would be buying a ring, and being asked in church- -Oh, dear pride, I thank you for that thought. my way. However, there is one comfort, it is in my power to fly from it: if so, why do I hesitate? I am distracted, unable to determine any thing. AIR. Still in hopes to get the better SCENE V-A Hall in JUSTICE WOODCOCK'S Enter HAWTHORN, with a fowling-piece in his hands, and a net with birds at his girdle; and afterwards, JUSTICE WOODCOCK. AIR. There was a jolly miller once Liv'd on the river Dee; He work'd and sung from morn till night; No lark more blythe than he. And this the burden of his song For ever us'd to be, I care for nobody, not I, If no one cares for me. House, here, house! what all gadding, all abroad! house, I say, hilli-ho, ho! J. Wood. Here's a noise, here's a racket!— William, Robert, Hodge! why does not somebody answer? Odds my life, I believe the fellows have lost their hearing! [Entering.] Oh, Master HawY Mea. Hah, going without a word! a look-thorn! I guessed it was some such madcap-Are I can't bear that-Mrs. Rosetta, I am gathering a few roses here, if you please to take them in with you. Ros. Thank you, Mr. Thomas, but all my lady's flower-pots are full. Y. Mea. Will you accept of them for yourself, then? [Catching hold of her.] What's the matter? you look as if you were angry with me. Ros. Pray, let go my hand. Y. Mea. Nay, pr'ythee, why is this? you sha'n't I have something to say to you. go, Ros. Well, but I must go, I will go; I desire, Mr. Thomas AIR. Gentle youth, ah, tell me why SCENE IV. YOUNG MEADOWS. This girl is a riddle-That she loves me, I think there is no room to doubt; she takes a thousand opportunities to let me see it; and yet, when I speak to her, she will hardly give me an answer; and, if I attempt the smallest familiarity, is gone in an irstant-I feel my passion for her grow every day more and more violent-Well, would I Iarry her? would I make a mistress of her if I could-Two things called prudence and honour, forbid either.-What am I pursuing then? A shadow.-Sure mv evil genius laid this snare in you there? Haw. Am I here? Yes: and if you had been where I was three hours ago, you would find the good effects of it by this time; but you have got the lazy unwholesome London fashion, of lying a-bed in a morning, and there's gout for youWhy, Sir, I have not been in bed five minutes after sun-rise these thirty years, and generally up before it; and I never took a dose of physic but once in my life, and that was in compliment to a cousin of mine, an apothecary, that had just set up business. J. Wood. Well but master Hawthorn, let me tell you, you know nothing of the matter; for, I say, sleep is necessary for a man; ay, and I'll maintain it. Haw. What, when I maintain the contrary? Look you. neighbour Woodcock, you are a rich man, a man of worship, a justice of peace, and all that; but learn to know the respect that is due to the sound from the infirm; and allow me that superiority a good constitution gives me over you— Health is the greatest of all possessions; and 'tis a maxim with me, that a hale cobbler is a better man than a sick king. J. Wood. Well, well, you are a sportsman. Haw. And so would you too, if you would take my advice. A sportsman! why there is nothing like it: I would not exchange the satisfaction I feel, while I am beating the lawns and thickets about my little farm, for all the entertainments and pageantry in Christendom. AIR. Let gav ones and great Make the most of their fate, JUSTICE WOODCOCK, HAWTHORN, HODGE. J. Wood. Call, Sir; where have you and the rest of these rascals been? but I suppose, I need not ask-You must know there is a statute, a fair for hiring servants, held upon my green to-day we have it usually at this season of the year, and it never fails to put all the folks here-about out of their senses. Hodge. Lord, your honour, look out, and see what a nice show they make yonder; they had got pipers, and fiddlers, and were dancing as I came along, for dear life-I never saw such a mortal throng in our village in all my born days again. Haw. Why, I like this now, this is as it should be. J. Wood. No, no, 'tis a very foolish piece of business; good for nothing but to promote idleness and the getting of bastards: but I shall take measures for preventing it another year, and I doubt whether I am not sufficiently authorised already; for by an act passed Anno undecimo Caroli primi, which impowers a Justice of peace, who is lord of the manor Haw. Come, come, never mind the act; let me tell you this is a very proper, a very useful meet ing; I want a servant or two myself, I must go see what your market affords;—and you shall go, and the girls, my little Lucy and the other young rogue, and we'll make a day on't as well as the Luc. Well, have you been? Hodge. Been, ay, I ha' been far enough, an that be all you never knew any thing fall out so crossly in your born days. Luc. Why, what's the matter? Hodge. Why you know, I dare not take a horse out of his worship's stables this morning, for fear it should be missed, and breed questions; and our old nag at home was so cruelly beat i' th' hoofs, that, poor beast, it had not a foot to set to ground; so I was fain to go to farmer Ploughshare's at the Grange, to borrow the loan of his bald filly; and, would you think it? after walking all that way, de'il from me, if the cross-grained toad did not deny me the favour. Luc. Unlucky! Hodge. Well, then I went my way to the King's-head in the village, but all their cattle at the turnpike: so at last, for want of a better, were at plough: and I was as far to seek below was forced to take up with dame Quicksetts blind mare. Luc. Oh, then you have been? Luc. Psha Why did not you say so at once? Hodge. Ay, but I have had a main tiresome jaunt on't, for she is a sorry jade at best. Luc. Well, well, did you see Mr. Eustace, and what did he say to you?-Come, quick-have you e'er a letter? Hodge. Yes, he gave me a letter, if I ha'na lost it. Luc. Lost it, man! Hodge. Nay, nay, have a bit of patience; adwawns, you are always in such a hurry. [Ru maging his pockets.] I put it somewhere in this waistcoat pocket. Oh here it is. Luc. So, give it me. [Reads the letter to herself. with beating that plaguy beast; I'll be hanged if Hodge. Lord-a-mercy! how my arm aches I won'na rather ha' thrashed half a day, than ha’ ridden her. Luc. Well, Hodge, you have done your business very well. Hodge. Well, have not I now? that he will be in the green lane, at the other end Luc. Yes-Mr. Eustace tells me in this letter, of the village, by twelve o'clock—You know where he came before. Hodge. Ay, ay. he arrives, and watch your opportunity to introLuc. Well, you must go there: and wait till duce him, across the fields, into the little summerhouse, on the left side of the garden Hodge. That's enough. Luc. But take particular care that nobody sees you. Hodge. I warrant you. Luc. Nor for your life, drop a word of it to any mortal. Hodge. Never fear me. Luc. And Hodge AIR. Hodge. Well, well, say no more, I see the full length of my teather; That I need go to school? 1 can spell you and put you together. |