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ROSSETTA and LUCINDA are discovered atWork, seated upon two Garden Chairs,

AIR.

Ros. Hope! thou nurse of young desire,
Fairy promiser of joy,

Painted vapour, glow-worm fire,
Temp'rate sweet, that ne'er can cloy :

Luc. Hope! thou earnest of delight, Softest soother of the mind, Balmy cordial, prospect bright, Surest friend the wretched find:

Both. Kind deceiver, flatter still,

Deal out pleasures unpossest, With thy dreams my fancy fill, And in wishes make me blest.

Luc. Heigho!-Rossetta?

Ros. Well, child, what do you say?

Luc. 'Tis a devilish thing to live in a village a hundred miles from the capital, with a preposterous gouty father, and a superannuated maiden aunt.-I am heartily sick of my situation.

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

So slavish a spirit?

Confin'd thus, and chain'd to a log!
Now fondled, now chid,
Permitted, forbid;

'Tis leading the life of a dog.

For shome, you a lover!

More firmness discover;

Take courage, nor here longer mope ;

Resist and be free,

Run riot, fine me,

And, to perfect the picture, elope.

Luc. And is this your advice?
Ros. Positively.

Luc. Here's my hand; positively I'll follow it. 1 have already sent to my gentleman, who is now in the country, to let him know he may come hither this day; we will make use of the opportunity to settle all preliminaries—And thenmarch But take notice, whenever we decamp, you off along with us.

Ros. On! 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 any thing.

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Ros. Except being absurd! you must allow they sympathize perfectly in that-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 your's? He follows me about the house like a tame goat.

-You

Luc. Nay, I'll assure you he hath heen 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 marriagesmile 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,
And so shall be my voice;
No mortal man shall wed with me,
Till first he's made my choice.
Let parent's rule, cry nature's laws;
And children still obey;
And is there, then, no saving clause,
Against tyrannic sway?

-Was your

Luc. Well, but my dear mad girlRos. Lucinda, don't talk to mefather 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 inclinations, 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 I 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'm 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 I am fond of melancholy amusements.

Luc. So it seems, indeed: sure, Rossetta, 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's a pretty young man, and the servants say, he's always writing verses

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-But suppose you did like him, how could flowers.] Now or never is the time to conquer you help yourself?

AIR.

When once Love's subtle poison gains
A passage to the female breast,
Like lightning rushing through the veins,
Each wish, and every thought's possest:
To heal the pangs our minds endure,
Reason in vain its skill applies;
Nought can afford the heart a cure,
But what is pleasing to the eyes. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Another part of the Garden.

Enter YOUNG MEADOWS.

Young 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 twentieth 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 Meadows-But that's impossible.

AIR.

O! had I been by fate decreed
Some humble cottage swain;
In fair Rossetta's sight to feed
My sheep upon the plain;
What bliss had I been born to taste,

Which now I ne'er must know!
Ye envious powers! why have ye placed.
My fair one's lot so low ?

Ha! who was it I had a glimpse of as I past by that arbour! Was it not she sat reading there! the trembling of my heart tells me my eyes. were not mistaken-Here she comes.

Enter ROSSETTA.

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!

Young Mea. I am determined I won't speak to her [Turning to a rose-tree; and plucking the

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.

Young Mea. Hah, going without a word, a 'look !—I can't bear that-Mrs. Rossetta, 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.

Young 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

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Young Mea. This girl is a riddle !-That she loves me, I think there is no room to doubt; she takes a thousand opportunities to let ine see it : and yet, when I speak to her, she will hardly give me an answer; and, if I attempt the smalTest familiarity, is gone in an instant—I feel my passion for her grow every day more and more violent-Well, would I marry 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 my evil genius laid this snare in my way. However, there is one comfort, it is in my power to dy from it; if so, why do I hesitate? I am distracted, unable to determine any thing.

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For ever used to be

I care for nobody, no, not I,
If no one cares for me.

House, here, house! what, all gadding, all
abroad! house, I say, hilli-ho, ho!

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Hodge. Did your worship call, sir.

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 fidlers, 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.

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 Hawthorn! I guessed it was some such mad-cap-be. Are 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 you Why, sir, I have not been in bed five minutes after sun-rise these thirty years, am 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 an hale cobler 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.

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Haw. Why, I like this now; this is as it should

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 meeting; 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 rest.

J. Wood. I wish, master Hawthorn, I could teach you to be a little more sedate: why won't you take pattern by me, and consider your dignity?-Odds heart, I don't wonder you are not a rich man; you laugh too much ever to be rich.

Haw. Right, neighbour Woodcock! health, good-humour, and competence, is my motto: and, if my executors have a mind, they are welcome my epitaph. to make it

AIR.

The honest heart, whose thoughts are clear
From fraud, disguise, and guile,
Need neither fortune's frowning fear,
Nor court the harlot's smile.

The greatness, that would us make grave,
Is but an empty thing:

What more than mirth would mortals have?
The cheerful man's a king.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

LUCINDA, HODGE.

Luc. Hist, hist, Hodge!

Hodge. Who calls? here am I.

Luc. Well, have you been?

Hodge. Been? ay, I ha' been far enough, an'

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that be all: you never knew any thing fall out | Hodge. 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'el from me, if the crossgrained toad did not deny me the favour.

Luc. Unlucky!

Hodge. Well, then, I went my ways to the King's Head in the village, but all their cattle were at plough and I was as far to seek below at the turnpike: so at last, for want of a better, I was forced to take up with dame Quicksett's blind mare.

Luc. Oh, then you have been?
Hodge. Yes, yes, I ha' been.

Luc. Psha! Why did not you say so at once? Hodge. Aye, 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 haʼna' lost it.

Luc. Lost it, man!

Hodge. Nay, nay, have a bit of patience: adwawns, you are always in such a hurry. [Rummaging his pockets.] I put it somewhere in this waistcoat pocket. Oh, here it is!

Lue. So give it me.

[Reads the letter to herself.

Hodge. Lord-a-mercy! how my arm achs with beating that plaguy beast; I'll be hanged if 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?

Luc. Yes-Mr. Eustace tells me, in this letter, that he will be in the green lane, at the other end of the village, by twelve o'clock-You know where he came before?

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AIR.

Well, well, say no more;
Sure you told me before;

I see the full length of my teather;
Do you think I'm a fool,
That I need go to school?

I can spell you, and put you together.
A word to the wise,
Will always suffice;
Addsniggers, go talk to your parrot ;
I'm not such an elf,

Though I say it myself,

But I know a sheep's head from a carrot. [Exit HODGE

Luc. How severe is my case! Here I am obliged to carry on a clandestine correspondence with a man in all respects my equal, because the oddity of my father's temper is such, that I dare not tell him I have ever yet seen the person I should like to marry-But, perhaps, he has quality in his eye, and hopes, one day or other, as I am his only child, to match me with a title-vais imagination!

AIR.

Cupid, god of soft persuasion,

Take the helpless lover's part:
Seize, oh seize some kind occasion,
To reward a faithful heart.
Justly those we tyrants call,
Who the body would enthral;
Tyrants of more cruel kind,
Those, who would enslave the mind.

What is grandeur? foe to rest,
Childish mummery at best.
Happy I in humble state;
Catch, ye fools, the glittering bait.
[Exit.

SCENE VA Field, with a Stile.

Enter HODGE, followed by MARGERY; and, some

time after, enter YOUNG MEADOWs. Hodge. What does the wench follow me for? Odds flesh, folk may well talk to see you dangling after me every where, like a tantony pig find some other road, can't you! and don't keep wherreting me with your nonsense.

Mar. Nay, pray you, Hodge, stay, and let me speak to you a bit!

Hodge, Well; what sayn you?

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