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Dor. Do, dear: the poor must be sparing.
[ROSINA going to put out the lamp, DOR-
CAS looks after her and sighs; she re-
turns 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.

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, which thou pick'dst up half starved under the hedge yesterday, after its mother had been shot, and brought'st to life in thy| bosom. Let ine speak to his honour, he's main kind to the poor.

Ros. Not for worlds, Dorcas! I want nothing: you have been a mother to me.

Dor. Would I could! would I could! I ha' worked hard, and earned money in my time; but now I am old and feeble, and am pushed about by every body. More's the pity, I say: it was not so in my young time; but the world grows wickeder every day.

Ros. Your age, my good Dorcas, requires rest go into the cottage, whilst Phoebe and I join the gleaners, who are asseinbling 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 her's would live to share my poor pittance. But I wo' not grieve thee.

[DORCAS enters the Cottage, looking back affectionately at ROSINA.

Pha. What makes you so melancholy, Rosina? mayhap it's because you have not a sweetheart? but you are so proud, you won't let our young men come a near you. You may live to repent being so scornful.

AIR.

When William at eve meets me down at the stile,

How sweet is the nightingale's song! Of the day I forget the labour and toil,

Whilst the moon plays yon branches among.

By her beams, without blushing, I hear him complain,

And believe every word of his song:

thinks insensible! the heart which nourishes a hopeless passion! I blest, like others, Belville's gentle virtues, and knew not that 'twas love. Unhappy, lost Rosina!

AIR.

The morn returns in saffron drest,
But not to sad Rosina rest.

The blushing morn awakes the strain,
Awakes the tuneful choir,
But sad Rosina ne'er again

Shall strike the sprightly lyre.

Rus. [Between the Scenes.] To work, my hearts of oak, to work! here the sun is half an hour high, and not a stroke struck yet.

[Enters singing, followed by Reapers.

AIR.

Rus. See, ye swains, yon streaks of red
Call
you from your slothful bed!
Late you till'd the fruitful soil;
See where harvest crowns your toil.

Chorus of Reapers.

Late you till'd the fruitful soil;
See where harvest crowns your toil!

Rus. As we reap the golden corn,

Laughing Plenty fills her horn;
What would gilded pomp avail,
Should the peasant's labour fail?

Chorus of Reapers.

What would gilded pomp avail,
Should the peasant's labour fail ?

Rus. Ripen'd fields your cares repay,
Sons of labour haste away;
Bending, see the waving grain
Crown the year, and cheer the swain.

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1 Irish. Is it us he's talking of, Paddy? then You know not how sweet 'tis to love the dear the decil may thank him for his good com

swain,

Whilst the moon plays yon branches among.

[During the last Stanza, WILLIAM appears at the end of the Scene, and makes signs to PHOEBE, 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

mendations.

Enter BELVILLE, with two Servants.

Bel. You are too severe, Rustic, the poor fellows came three miles this morning; therefore I made them stop at the manor-house to take a little refreshment.

1 Irish. God love your sweet face, my jewel, and all those that take your part! Bad luck to

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myself if I would not, with all the veins of my heart, split the dew before your feet in a morning. [TO BELVILLE. Rus. 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. Rus. [Seeing ROSINA.] What a dickens doth 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 gleaned down again.

[She lets fall 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. Rus. Your honour is too good by half. Bel. No more; gather up the corn she has let fall. Do as I command you.

Rus. There, take the whole field, since his honour chooses.

[Putting the corn into her apron. Relires gleaning.

2 Irish. Upon my soul now, his honour's no churl of the wheat, whatever he may be of the barley.

Bel. [Looking after ROSINA.] What bewitching softness! there is a blushing, bashfu! gentleness, and almost infantine innocence, in that lovely countenance, which it is impossible to behold without emotion! she turns this way: what bloom on that cheek! 'tis the blushing down of the peach.

AIR.

Her mouth, which a smile,
Deroid of all guile,
Half opens to view,
Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,
Impearl'd with the dew.
More fragrant her breath
Than the flower-scented heath
At the dawning of day;
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,

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.

Capt. B. I meant to have been here last night; but one of my wheels broke, and I was obliged to sleep at a village six miles distant, where I left my chaise, and took a boat down 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 cleared on the other side the mountain.

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Hark! the volley resounds to the skies!
Whilst echo in thunder replies!
In thunder replies,

And resounds to the skies,
Fire away! fire away! fire away!

Capt. B. [Aside.] But where is my little rus tic charmer? O! there she is. I am transported! -Pray, brother, is not that the little girl whose dawning beauty we admired so much last year?

Bel. It is, and more lovely than ever. I shall dine in the field with my reapers to-day, brother: will you share our rural repast, or have a dinner prepared at the manor house?

Capt. B. By no means; pray let me be one of your party: your plan is an adinirable one, espe cially if your girls are handsome. I'll walk round the field, and meet you at dinner time.

Bel. Come this way, Rustie; I have some orders to give you.

[Exeunt BELVILLE and RUSTIC. [CAPTAIN BELVILLE goes up to Rosina, gleans a few ears, and presents them to her; she refuses them; she 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 P¤Œвɛ.

Rus. 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. Phobe!

Phabe. 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, and that's enough to win a woman.

Phabe. I don't desarve this of you, William; but I'm rightly sarved for being such an easy fool. You think, mayhap, I'm at my last 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.

Phabe. And you, belike, that I did not catch you tying up one of the cornflowers and wild roses for the miller's maid: but I'll be fooled no longer; I have done with you, Mr. William. Will. I shan't break my heart, Mrs. Phoebe. The miller's maid loves the ground I walk on.

AIR.-Duet.

Will. I've kiss'd and I've prattled to fifty fair maids,

And changed 'em as oft, d'ye see;

But of all the fair maidens that dance

on the green,

The maid of the mill for me.

AIR.

Whilst with village maids I stray, Sweetly wears the joyous day: Cheerful glows my artless breast, Mild content the constant guest.

Capt. B. Mere prejudice, child: you will know better. I pity you, and will make your fortune.

Kos. Let me call my mother, sir. I am young, and can support myself by my labour, but she is old and belpless, and your charity will be well bestowed. Please to transfer to her the bounty you intended for me.

Capt. B. Why, as to that

Ros. I understand you, sir; your compassion does not extend to old women.

Capt. B. Real y, I believe not.

Enter DORCAS.

Ros. You are just come in time, mother. I have met with a generous gentleman, whose

Phoe. There's fifty young men have told me charity inclines him to succour youth.

fine tales,

And call'd me the fairest she;

But of all the gay wrestlers that sport

on the green,

Young Harry's the lad for me. Will. Her eyes are as black as the sloe in the hedge,

Her face like the blossom in May ; Her teeth are as white as the new shorn

flock,

Her breath like the new made hay. Phoe. He's tall and he's strait as a poplar tree, His cheeks are as fresh as a rose; He looks like a 'squire of high degree, When drest in his Sunday clothes. Phoe. There's fifty young men, &c. Will. I've kiss'd and I've prattled, &c.

[Go off on different sides of the Stage. Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE and ROSINA. Capt. B. Stay, and hear me, Rosina. Why will you fatigue yourself thus? only homely girls are born to work-your obstinacy is vain; you shall hear 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.

Dor. Tis very kind; and old age

Ros. He'll tell you that himself.

[ROSINA 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 this kindness?

I owe

Capt. B. You have a charming daughter Dor. [Aside.] I thought as much. A vile wicked man!

Capt. B. Beauty like her's 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 won't turn at the same time?

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 shall 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.

A word with you, Rustic.

Rus. I'm in a great hurry, your bonour; I am

Ros. Would it give you pleasure to see me going to hasten dinner. 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. I shan't keep you a minute. Take these five guineas.

Rus. For whom, sir?

Capt. B. For yourself; and this purse.
Rus. For whom, sir?

Capt. B. For Rosina; they say she is in distress, and wants assistance,

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Bel. Well, Rustic, have you any intelligence to communicate?

Rus. A vast deal, sir. Your brother begins to make a good use of his money he has given me these five guineas for myself, and this purse for Rosina.

Bel. For Rosina! [Aside.] 'Tis plain he loves her!-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

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Bel. By this fountain's flowery side,
Drest in Nature's blooming pride,
Where the poplar trembles high,
And the bees in clusters fly;
Whilst the herdsman on the hill
Listens to the falling rill,
Pride and cruel scorn away,
Let us share the festive day.
Ros. & Bel. Taste our pleasures ye who may,
This is Nature's holiday.
Simple Nature ye who prize,
Life's fantastic forms despise.
Taste our pleasures ye who may,
This is Nature's holiday.

Chorus.

Capt. Blushing Bell, with downcast eyes,
Sighs, and knows not why she sight;
Tom is by her we shall know———
How he eyes her! Is't not so?

Will. He is fond, and she is shy!
He would kiss her !—fie !—Oh, fie !
Mind thy sickle, let her be;
By and by she'll follow thee.
Chorus. Busy censors, hence, away!
This is Nature's holiday.
Now we'll quaff the nut-brown ale,
Then we'll tell the sportive tale;
All is jest, and all is glee,
All is youthful jollity.

Rus.

Pho. Lads and lasses all advance, Carol blithe, and form the dance! Trip it lightly, while you may, This is Nature's holiday. Chorus. Trip it lightly while you may, This is Nature's holiday. [All rise; the Dancers come down the Stage through the Sheaves of Corn, which are removed; the Dance begins, and finishes the Act.

SCENE continues.

ACT II.

Rus. This purse is the plague of my life: I hate money when it is not my own. I'll even put in the five guineas he gave me for myself: I don't want it, and they do. It's a good action, and will be its own reward. They certainly

must find it there. I'm glad I've got rid on't however; but I hear the cottage door open. [Retires a little.

[DORCAS and ROSINA come out of 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. [Peevishly.] No, no.

Ros. If you love me, only take half: this evening, or to-morrow morning, I will carry the

rest.

[She takes part of the Skeins out of the
Basket, and lays them on the Bench,
looking affectionately on DORCAS.
if you please.

There, be

angry

with me,

Will. I knows nothing about it. Ros. Dorcas, however has found one. Will. So much the better for she. Ros. You will oblige me very much, if you 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; it shan't be the lighter for my carrying.

Ros. That I am sure of, William.
[Exit ROSINA.

Enter PHŒBE.

Pha. There is William ; but I'll pretend not

Dor. No, my sweet lamb, I am not angry; to see him. 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, listening. 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.

[Whilst DORCAS feels in her pocket for the Key.

Capt, B. [Aside.] 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. [Stops to lock the Door.

Dor. [Sees the purse.] Good lack: what is here? a purse, as I live!

Ros. How?

Dor. Come, and see; 'tis a purse, indeed.
Ros. Heavens! 'tis full of gold!

Dor. We must put up a bill at the church gate, 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 dare not speak to him.

Dor. 'Tis nothing but childishness: but his honour will like your bashfulness better than too much courage-carry it, my love.

[Goes out.

Ros. I cannot support his presence-my embarrassment-my confusion-a stronger sensation than that of gratitude agitates my heartyet hope in my situation were madness.

Enter WILLIAM.

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AIR.

Henry cull'd the flow'ret's bloom,
Marian loved the soft perfume,
Had playful kist, but prudence near
Whisper'd timely in the ear;
Simple Marian, ah! beware;
Touch them not, for love is there.'
[Throws away her Nosegay.

[While she is singing, WILLIAM turns, looks at her, whistles, and plays with his stick. Will. That's Harry's posy; the slut likes me still.

Pha. [Aside.] That's a copy of his counte nance, I'm sartain; he can no more help following me nor he can be hanged.

[WILLIAM crosses again, singing.

Of all the fair maidens that dance on the green,
The maid of the mill for me.

Pha. I am ready to choke wi' madness, but
I'll not speak first an' I die for't.

[WILLIAM sings; throwing up his Stick, and catching it.

Will. Her eyes are as black as the sloe in the hedge,

Her face like the blossoms in May.

Pha. I can't bear it no longer-you vile, un grateful, parfidious-but it's no matter-I can't think what I could see in you,-Harry loves me, and is a thousand times more hand[Sings, sobbing at every word.

somer.

Of all the gay wrestlers that sport on the green,

Young Harry's the lud for me.

Will, He's yonder a reaping: shall I call him? [Offers to go. Pha. My grandmother leads me the life of a dog; and it's all along of you.

Will. Well, then she'll be better tempered

Pray, William, do you know any body that has now. lost a purse.

Pha. I did not value her scolding of a brass

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