The maid of the mill. A comic opera: As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. The music compiled, and the words written by the author of Love in a village.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A rural prospect, with a mill at work. Several people employed about it; on one side a house, PATTY reading in the window; on the other a barn, where FANNY sits mending a net; GILES appears at a distance in the mill; FAIRFIELD and RALPH, taking sacks from a cart.

CHORUS.

FREE from sorrow, free from strife, Oh how blest the miller's life! Chearful working thro' the day, Still he laughs and sings away. Nought can vex him, Nought perplex him, While there's grist to make him gay.

DUET.

Let the great enjoy the blessings By indulgent fortune sent. What can wealth, can grandeur offer More than plenty and content.

Fairf.

Well done, well done, 'tis a sure sign work goes on merrily when folks sing at it. Stop the mill there; and dost hear, son Ralph! hoist yon sacks of

flour upon this cart lad, and drive it up to lord Aim|worth's; coming from London last night with strange company, no doubt there are calls enough for it by this time.

Ral.

Ay Feyther, whether or not; there's no fear but you'll find enow for a body to do.

Fairf.

What dost mutter? is't not a strange plague that thou can'st never go about any thing with a good will; murrain take it what's come o'er the boy? so then thou wilt not set a hand to what I have de|sired thee?

Ral.

Why don't you speak to Suster Pat to do something then? I thought when she come home to us after my old lady's 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.

Fairf.

Sirrah don't speak so disrespectfully of thy sister; thou will't ne'er have the tyth of her deserts.

Ral.

Why I'll read and write with her for what she dares; and as for playing on the hapsicols, I thinks her rich good mother might have learn'd her something more properer, seeing she did not remember to leave her a legacy at last.

Fairf.

That's none of thy business, Sirrah.

Ral.

A farmer's wife painting pictures, and playing on the hapsicols; why, I'll be hanged now, for all as old as she is, if she knows any more about milking a cow, than I do of sewing a petticoat.

Fairf.

Ralph, thou hast been drinking this morning.

Ral.

Well, if so be as I have, its nothing out of your pocket, nor mines niether.

Fairf.

Who has been giving thee liquor, sirrah?

Ral.

Why it was wind—a gentleman guv'd me.

Fairf.

A gentleman!

Ral.

Yes, a gentleman that's come piping hot from London: he is below at the Cat and Bagpipes; I cod he rides a choice bit of a nag; I dares to say she'd fetch as good as forty pound at ever a fair in all England.

Fairf.

A figgs end for what she'd fetch; mind thy business, or by the lord Harry—

Ral.

Why I won't do another hands turn to-day now, so that's flat.

Fairf.

Thou wilt not—

Ral.

Why no I won't, so what argufies your putting yourself in a passion, Feyther; I've promis'd to go back to the gentleman; and I don't know but what he's a lord too, and mayhap he may do more for me than you thinks of.

Fairf.

Well son Ralph, run thy gait; but remem|ber I tell thee, thou wilt repent this untowardness.

Ral.

Why, how shall I repent it? Mayhap you'll turn me out of your service; a match; with all hearts —I cod 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 scoulding 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 shew you, First, yonders your shovel, your sacks too I throw you; Hence forward, take care of your matters who will: They're welcome to slave for your wages that need 'em, Tol lol derol lol, I have purchas'd my freedom. And never hereafter shall work at the mill.

SCENE II.

FAIRFIELD and PATTY.

Fairf.

Dear heart, dear heart! I protest this ungra|cious boy puts me quite beside myself. Patty my dear, come down into the yard a little, and keep me com|pany—and you thieves, vagabonds, gipsies, out here, 'tis you debauch my son.

Patty.

AIR.

In love to pine and languish, Yet know your passion vain; To harbour heart-felt anguish, Yet fear to tell your pain.

What pow'rs unrelenting, Severer ills inventing, Can sharpen pangs like these? Where days and nights, tormenting, Yield not a moment's ease.

Fairf.

Well Patty, Master Goodman my 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 Sycamore, and his family; and there is more company expected in a few days.

Patty.

I know sir Harry very well, he is by marriage a distant relation of my lord's.

Fairf.

Pray what sort of a young body is the daugh|ter there? I think she us'd to be with you at the castle, three or four summers ago, when my young lord was out upon his travels.

Patty.

Oh very often, she was a great favourite of my lady's; pray father is she come down?

Fairf.

Why you know the report last night, about my lord's going to be married; by what I can learn she is, and there is likely to be a nearer relationship be|tween

the families, e're long. It seems, his lordship was not over willing for the match, but the friends on both sides in London pressed it so hard: then there's a swinging fortune, master Goodman tells me, a matter of twenty or thirty thousand pounds!

Patty.

If it was a million, father, it would not be more than my lord Aimworth deserves; I suppose the wedding will be celebrated here, at the mansion-house?

Fairf.

So it is thought, as soon as things can be properly prepared—And now, Patty, if I could but see thee a little merry—Come, bless thee, pluck up thy spirits—To be sure thou has sustained, in the death of thy lady, a heavy loss; she was a parent to thee, nay, and better, inasmuch as she took thee when thou wert but a babe, and gave thee an education which thy na|tural parents could not afford to do.

Patty.

Ah! dear father, don't mention, what per|haps, has been my greatest misfortune.

Fairf.

Nay then, Patty, what's become of all thy sense, that people talk so much about? —But I have something to say to thee which I would have thee con|sider seriously.—I believe I need not tell thee, my child, that a young maiden, after she is marriageable, especially if she has any thing about her to draw people's notice, is liable to ill tongues, and a many cross accidents; so that the sooner she is out of harm's way the better.

Patty.

Undoubtedly, father, there are people enough who watch every opportunity to gratify their own ma|lice; but when a young woman's conduct is un|blameable—

Fairf.

Why, Patty, there may be something in that; but you know slander will leave spots where malice finds none: I say, then, a young woman's best safeguard is a good husband. Now there is our neigh|bour, farmer Giles; he is a sober, honest, industrious young fellow, and one of the wealthiest in these parts; he is greatly taken with thee; and it is not the first time I have told thee I should be glad to have him for a son-in-law.

Patty.

And I have told you as often, father, I would submit myself entirely to your direction; whatever you think proper for me, is so.

Fairf.

Why that's spoken like a dutiful, sensible girl; get thee in, then, and leave me to manage it— Perhaps our neighbour Giles is not a gentleman; but what are the greatest part of our country gentlemen good for?

Patty.

Very true, father. The sentiments, indeed, have frequently little correspondence with the condi|tion; and it is according to them alone we ought to regulate our esteem.

AIR.

What are outward forms, and shews, To an honest heart compar'd? Oft the rustic, wanting those, Has the nobler portion shar'd.

Oft we see the homely flow'r, Bearing, at the hedge's side; Virtues of more sov'reign pow'r, Than the garden's gayest pride.

SCENE III.

FAIRFIELD. GILES.

Giles.

Well, master Fairfield, you and Miss Pat have had a long discourse together; did you tell her that I was come down?

Fairf.

No, in truth, friend Giles, I did not even tell her I had sent for thee, but I mentioned our affair at a distance; and I think there is no fear but what it will go as agreeably, of her side, as we could wish.

Giles.

That's right—Well, and when shall us?— You do know I have told you my mind often and often.

Fairf.

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 hus|band.

Giles.

Thanks to your kind opinion, master Fair|field; if such be my hap I hope there will be no cause of complaint.

Fairf.

And I promise thee my daughter will make thee a choice wife.—But there is one thing to be considered.—Thou know'st, friend Giles, that I, and all belongs to me, have great obligations to lord Aimworth's family; Patty, in particular, would be one of the most ungrateful wretches this day breathing, if she was to do the smallest thing contrary to their con|sent and approbation.—I need not tell thee what she owes them.

Giles.

Nay, nay, 'tis well enough known to all the country, she was the old lady's darling.

Fairf.

Well, master Giles, I'll assure thee she is not one whit less obliged to my lord himself.—When his mother was taken off so suddenly, and his affairs called him up to London, if Patty would have re|mained at the castle, she might have had the command of all; or if she would have gone any where else, he would have paid for her fixing, let the cost be what it would.

Giles.

Why, for that matter, folks did not spare to say, that my lord had a kind of a sneaking kindness for her himself: and I remember, at one time, it was rise all about the neighbourhood, that she was actually to be our lady.

Fairf.

Pho, pho! a pack of women's tales.

Giles.

Nay to be sure, they'll say any thing.

Fairf.

My lord's a man of a better way of thinking, friend Giles.— But this is neither here nor there to our business.—Have you been at the castle yet?

Giles.

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

Fairf.

No! why then I'll tell you what you shall do; go up to my lord, let him know you have a mind to

make a match with my daughter; hear what he has to say to it; and afterwards we will try if we can't settle matters.

Giles.

Go up to my lord! Icod if that be all I'll do it with the biggest pleasure in life.

Fairf.

Suppose you were to go this morning.

Giles.

This minute an you will; never fear me, I warrant I shan't be sham'd faced—but where's Miss Pat? might not one ax her how she do do?

Fairf.

Never spare it, she's within there.

Giles.

I sees her—odd rabbit it, this hatch is locked now,—Miss Pat—Miss Patty—she makes believe not to hear me.

Fairf.

Well, well, never mind; thou'lt come and eat a morsel of dinner with us.

Giles.

Nay, but just to have a bit of joke with her at present.—Miss Pat I say—won't you open the door.

AIR.

Hark! 'tis I your own true lover, After walking three long miles; One kind look, at least discover, Come and speak a word to Giles. You alone my heart I fix on, Ah you little cunning vixen! I can see your roguish smiles.

Addslids! my mind is so possest, 'Till we're sped, I shan't have rest; Only say the thing's a bargain, Here an you like it, Ready to strike it, There's at once an end of arguing: I'm hers, she's mine; Thus we seal, and thus we sign.

SCENE IV.

FAIRFIELD; PATTY.

Fairf.

Get away and finish the business thou art going about; I warrant we shan't disagree.—So, this now is just as I would have it—Patty, child, why woud'st not thou open the door for our neighbour Giles?

Patty.

Really Father I did not know what was the matter.

Fairf.

Well, another time; he'll be here again pre|sently. He's gone up to the castle, Patty: thou know'st it would not be right for us to do any thing without giving his lordship intelligence, so I have sent the farmer to let him know that he is willing, and we are willing; and with his lordship's approbation—

Patty.

Oh dear father—what are you going to say?

Fairf.

Nay child, I would not have stirr'd a step for fifty pounds, without advertising his lordship before|hand.

Patty.

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

Fairf.

How rash, how is it rash Patty? I don't un|derstand thee.

Patty.

Oh you have distress'd me beyond imagina|tion—but why wou'd you not give me notice, speak to me first?

Fairf.

Why han't I spoken to thee an hundred times? no Patty, 'tis thou that would'st distress me, and thou'lt break my heart.

Patty.

Dear father!

Fairf.

All I desire is to see thee well settled; and now that I am likely to do so, thou art not contented; I am sure the farmer is as sightly a clever lad as any in the country; and is not he as good as we?

Patty.

I don't say to the contrary father, I know I have no higher pretensions, and you have a right to dispose of me as you think proper.

Fairf.

Well then, what harm was there in sending him to his lordship, seeing one or other of us must have gone?

Patty.

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

Fairf.

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.

SCENE V.

PATTY.

What will become of me?—my lord will certainly imagine this is done with my consent. — Well, is he not himself going to be married to a lady, suitable to him in rank, suitable to him in fortune, as this far|mer 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 how|ever, 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 va|nity! did I possess any thing capable of attracting such a notice, to what purpose could a man of his distinc|tion cast his eyes on a girl, poor, meanly born; and indebted for every thing to the ill-placed bounty of his family.

AIR.

Ah! why should fate, pursuing, A wretched thing like me; Heap ruin thus on ruin, And add to misery?

The griefs I languish'd under, In secret let me share; But this new stroke of thunder, Is more than I can bear.

SCENE VI.

Changes to a saloon in Lord AIMWORTH's house.

Sir HARRY SYCAMORE, THEODOSIA.

Sir Har.

Well but Theodosia, child, you are quite unreasonable.

Theo.

Pardon me papa, it is not I am unreasonable; when I gave way to my inclinations for Mr. Mervin, he did not seem less agreeable to you and my mama, than he was acceptable to me. It is therefore you have been unreasonable; in first encouraging his addresses, and afterwards forbidding him your house, in order to bring me down here, to force me on a gentleman—

Sir Har.

Force you Dossy, what do you mean? by the la! I would not force you on the Czar of Muscovy.

Theo.

And yet papa, what else can I call it? for though lord Aimworth is extremely attentive, and ob|liging, I assure you he is by no means one of the most ardent of lovers.

Sir Har.

Ardent, ah! there it is; you girls never think there is any love, without kissing and hug|ging; but you shou'd consider child, my lord Aim|worth is a polite man; and has been abroad in France and Italy, where these things are not the fashion; I remember when I was on my travels, among the ma|dames, and signoras, we never saluted more than the tip of the ear.

Theo.

Really papa, you have a very strange opinion of my delicacy; I had no such stuff in my thoughts.

Sir. Har.

Well come, my poor Dossy, I see you are chagrin'd, but you know it is not my fault; on the contrary I assure you, I had always a great regard for young Mervin, and should have been very glad—

Theo.

How then papa, could you join in forcing me to write him that strange letter, never to see me more; or how indeed could I comply with your commands? what must he think of me?

Sir Har.

Ay, but hold Dossy, your mama convinced me that he was not so proper a son-in-law for us as lord Aimworth.

Theo.

Convinced you! ah my dear papa you were not convinced.

Sir Har.

What don't I know when I am convinced?

Theo.

Why no papa, because your good-nature and easiness of temper is such, that you pay more respect to the judgment of mama, and less to your own, than you ought to do.

Sir Har.

Well, but Dossy, don't you see how your mama loves me; if my finger does but ach, she's like a bewitched woman; and if I was to die, I don't be|lieve she wou'd outlive the burying of me: nay she has told me as much herself.

Theo.

Her fondness indeed is very extraordinary.

Sir Har.

Besides, could you give up the prospect of being a countess, and mistress of this fine place?

Theo.

Yes truly could I.

AIR.

With the man that I love, was I destin'd to dwell, On a mountain, a moor, in a cot, in a cell; Retreats the most barren, most desert would be More pleasing than courts or a palace to me. Let the vain and the venal, in wedlock aspire To what folly esteems, and the vulgar admire; I yield them the bliss, where their wishes are plac'd, Insensible creatures! 'tis all they can taste.

SCENE VII.

SIR HARRY, THEODOSIA, LADY SYCAMORE.

La. Syc.

Sir Harry where are you?

Sir Har.

Here my lamb.

La. Syc.

I am just come from looking over his lord|ship's family jewels; I protest they are prodigiously magnificent—Well miss Sycamore, you are a happy creature, to have diamonds, equipage, title, all the blessings of life poured thus upon you at once.

Theo.

Blessings Madam! do you think then that I am such a wretch as to place my felicity in the pos|session of any such trumpery.

La. Syc.

Upon my word miss, you have a very dis|dainful manner of expressing yourself; I believe there are very few young women of fashion, who wou'd think any sacrifice they cou'd make, too much for them—did you ever hear the like of her Sir Harry?

Sir Har.

Why my dear, I have just been talking to her in the same strain, but whatever she has got in her head she seems to think—

La. Syc.

Oh I know very well what she has got in her head, it is Mr. Mervin, her gentleman of Buck|lersbury; fye miss, marry a cit, where is your pride, your vanity, have you nothing of the person of dis|tinction about you?

Sir Har.

Well, but my lady, you know I am a piece of a cit myself, as I may say, for my great grand|father was a dry salter.

Theo.

And yet Madam, you condescended to marry my papa.

La. Syc.

Well, if I did miss, I had but five thou|sand pounds to my portion, and Sir Harry knows I was past eight and thirty, before I would listen to him.

Sir Har.

Nay Dossy, that's true, your mama own'd eight and thirty, before we were married, but by the

la my dear, you were a lovely angel; and by candle|light nobody would have taken you for above five and twenty.

La. Syc.

Sir Harry, you remember the last time I was at my lord duke's.

Sir Har.

Yes my love, it was the very day your little bitch Minxey pupt.

La. Syc.

Well, and what did the whole family say, my lord John, and my lord Thomas, and my lady Duchess in particular? cousin says her grace to me— for she always calls me cousin.

Sir Har.

And me too, her grace is exceedingly kind—she always calls me cousin.

La. Syc.

In short they all said, that this match, if my prudence could bring it about, was the most de|sireable in the universe; and the other absolutely be|low our attention—A fellow that will have an estate got by selling mundungus and mollossus—

Theo.

Well but Madam, be their quality ever so great, I can't see what right my lord John, and my lord Thomas, have to direct my inclinations; and I must tell you there is a much nearer relation of mine, and one who has a better right to rule me, that is my father, who has a great regard for Mr. Mervin, and would consent to our union with all his heart.

La. Syc.

Did you say so Sir Harry?

Sir Har.

Who I love!

La. Syc.

Then all my care and prudence are come to nothing.

Sir Har.

Well, but stay my lady—Dossy, you are always making mischief.

Theo.

Ah! my dear sweet—

La. Syc.

Do Miss, that's right, coax—

Theo.

No Madam, I am not capable of any such meanness.

La. Syc.

'Tis very civil of you to contradict me, however.

Sir Har.

Eh! what's that—hands off Dossy, don't come near me.

AIR.

Why how now Miss pert, Do you think to divert My anger by fawning and stroking, Wou'd you make me a fool? Your play thing, your tool, Was ever young minx so provoking?

Get out of my sight, 'Twould be serving you right, To lay a sound dose of the lash on; Contradict your Mama, I've a mind by the la! But I won't put myself in a passion.

SCENE VIII.

SIR HARRY, LADY SYCAMORE, LORD AIM|WORTH, GILES.

L. Aim.

Come farmer, you may come in, there are none here but friends; Sir Harry your servant.

Sir Har.

My lord, I kiss your lordships hands—I hope he did not overhear us squabbling.

L. Aim.

Well now master Giles, what is it you have got to say to me? if I can do you any service, this company will give you leave to speak.

Giles.

I thank your lordship, I has not got a great deal to say; I do come to your lordship about a little business, if you'll please to give me the hearing.

L. Aim.

Certainly, only let me know what it is.

Giles.

Why an please you my lord, being left alone, as I may say, feyther dead, and all the business upon my own hands, I do think of settling and tak|ing a wife, and I come to ax your honour's consent.

L. Aim.

My consent farmer! if that be necessary, you have it with all my heart—I hope you have taken care to make a prudent choice.

Giles.

Why I do hope so my lord.

L. Aim.

Well, and who is the happy fair one? does she live in my house?

Giles.

No my lord, she does not live in your house, but she's a parson of your acquaintance.

L. Aim.

Of my acquaintance!

Giles.

No offence I hope your honour.

L. Aim.

None in the least: but how is she an ac|quaintance of mine?

Giles.

Your lordship do know Miller Fairfield?

L. Aim.

Well—

Giles.

And Patty Fairfield, his daughter, my lord.

L. Aim.

Ay, is it her you think of marrying?

Giles.

Why if so be as your lordship has no ob|jection; to be sure we will do nothing without your consent and approbation.

L. Aim.

Upon my word farmer, you have made an excellent choice—It is a god-daughter of my mother's Madam, who was bred up under her care, and I pro|test I do not know a more amiable young woman— but are you sure farmer, that Patty herself is inclin|able to this match?

Giles.

O yes my lord, I am sartain of that.

L. Aim.

Perhaps then she desired you to come and ask my consent?

Giles.

Why as far as this here, my lord; to be sure, the miller did not care to publish the banns, without making your lordship acquainted — But I hope your honor's not angry with I.

L. Aim.

Angry farmer! why should you think so? —what interest have I in it to be angry?

Sir Har.

And so honest farmer, you are going to be married to little Patty Fairfield—her father's a good warm fellow; I suppose you take care that she brings something to make the pot boil.

La. Syc.

What does that concern you Sir Harry? how often must I tell you of meddling in other people's affairs.

Sir Har.

My lord, a penny for your thoughts.

La. Syc.

I beg your pardon, Sir Harry, upon my word, I did not think where I was.

Giles.

Well then your honour, I'll make bold to be taking my leave, I may say you gave consent for Miss Patty and I to go on.

L. Aim.

Undoubtedly farmer, if she approves of it; but are not you afraid that her education has rendered her a little unsuitable for a wife for you?

La. Syc.

Oh my lord, if the girl's handy.

Giles.

Handy, why saving respect, there's nothing comes amiss to her; she's cute at every varsal kind of thing.

AIR.

Odds my life, search England over, An you match her in her station; I'll be bound to fly the nation: And be sure as well I love her.

Do but feel my heart a beating, Still her pretty name repeating, Here's the work 'tis always at, Pitty, patty, pat, pit, pat.

When she makes the music tinkle, What on yearth can sweeter be? Then her little eyes so twinkle, 'Tis a feast to hear and see.

SCENE IX.

LORD AIMWORTH, SIR HARRY, LADY SYCAMORE.

Sir Har.

By dad this is a good merry fellow, is not he love, with his pitty patty — And so my lord you have given your consent that he shall marry your mo|ther's old housekeeper. Ah, well, I can see—

L. Aim.

Nobody doubts Sir Harry, that you are very clear sighted.

Sir Har.

Yes, yes, let me alone, I know what's what: I was a young fellow once myself, and I should have been glad of a tenant, to take a pretty girl off my hands now and then, as well as another.

L. Aim.

I protest my dear friend, I don't under|stand you.

La. Syc.

Nor nobody else — Sir Harry you are going at some beastliness now.

Sir Har.

Who I, my lady? not I, as I hope to live and breath; 'tis nothing to us you know, what my lord does before he's married; when I was a batchelor, I was a devil among the wenches, myself; and yet I vow to George my lord, since I knew my lady Sycamore, and we shall be man and wife eigh|teen years, if we live till next Candlemas day; I never had to do—

La Syc.

Sir Harry, come out of the room I desire.

Sir Har.

Why what's the matter, my lady, I did not say any harm?

La. Syc.

I see what you are driving at, you want to make me faint.

Sir Har.

I want to make you faint, my lady?

La. Syc.

Yes you do—and if you don't come out this instant I shall fall down in the chamber—I beg my lord you won't speak to him—will you come out, Sir Harry?

Sir Har.

Nay but my lady!

La. Syc.

No, I will have you out.

SCENE X.

LORD AIMWORTH.

This worthy baronet, and his lady, are certainly a very whimsical couple, however, their daughter is perfectly amiable in every respect; and yet I am sorry I have brought her down here; for can I in honour marry her, while my affections are engaged to ano|ther? To what does the pride of condition and the cen|sure of the world force me! Must I then renounce the only person that can make me happy; because, be|cause what? because she's a miller's daughter. Vain pride and unjust censure: has she not all the graces that education can give her sex, improved by a genius seldom found among the highest? Has she not modesty, sweetness of temper, and beauty of person, capable of adorning a rank the most exalted? But it is too late to think of these things now; my hand is promised, my honour engaged; and if it was not so, she has engaged herself, the farmer is a person to her mind, and I have authorised their union by my approbation.

AIR.

The mad man thus, at times, we see, With seeming reason blest; His looks, his words, his thoughts are free, And speak a mind at rest.

But short the calms of ease and sense, And ah, uncertain too; While that idea lives from whence At first his frenzy grew.

SCENE XI.

Changes to a prospect of the mill.

Enter RALPH, with MERVIN, in a riding dress, fol|lowed by FANNY.

Fanny.

Ah, pray your honour, try if you have not something to spare for poor Fanny the gypsey—

Ralph.

I tell you Fan, the gentleman has no change about him, why the plague will you be so trouble|some?

Fanny.

Lord what is it to you, if his honor has a mind to give me a trifle? do pray gentleman, put your hand in your pocket.

Mervin.

I am almost distracted! ungrateful Theo|dosia! to change so suddenly; and write me such a letter; however, I am resolved to have my dismission face to face; this letter may be forced from her by her mother, who I know was never cordially my friend: I could not get a sight of her in London, but here they will be less on their guard; and see her I will, by one means or other.

Fanny.

Then your honour will not extend your charity?

AIR.

I am young, and I am friendless, And poor alas! withal; Sure my sorrows will be endless, In vain for help I call. Have some pity in your nature. To relieve a wretched creature, Though the gift be ne'er so small.

May you possessing, every blessing. Still inherit Sir, all you merit Sir, And never know what it is to want; Sweet Heaven, your worship all happiness grant.

SCENE XII.

RALPH, MERVIN.

Ral.

Now I'll go and take that money from her, and I have a good mind to lick her, so I have.

Mer.

Pho, prithee stay where you are.

Ral.

Nay, but I hate to see a toad so devilish greedy.

Mer.

Well come, she has not got a great deal, and I have thought how she may do me a favour in her turn.

Ral.

Ay, but you may put that out of your head, for I can tell you she won't.

Mer.

How so?

Ral.

How so, why she's as cunning as the Devil.

Mer.

Oh she is—I fancy I understand you. Well, in that case friend Ralph—Your name's Ralph, I think.

Ral.

Yes Sir, at your service, for want of a better.

Mer.

I say then friend Ralph, in that case, we will remit the favour you think of, 'till the lady is in a more complying humour, and try if she cannot serve me at present in some other capacity—there are a good many gypsies hereabout, are there not?

Ralph.

Softly—I have a whole gang of them here in our barn; I have kept them about the place these three months, and all on account of she.

Mer.

Really.

Ral.

Yes—but for your life don't say a word of it to any Christian—I am in love with her.

Mer.

Indeed.

Ral.

Feyther is as mad with me about it, as Old Scratch; and I gets the plague and all of anger; but I don't mind that.

Mer.

Well friend Ralph, if you are in love, no doubt you have some influence over your mistress; don't you think now you could prevail upon her, and her compa|nions,

to supply me with one of their habits, and let me go up with them to-day to my lord Aimworth's.

Ral.

Why do you want to go a mumming? we never do that here but in the Christmas holidays.

Mer.

No matter: manage this for me, and manage it with secrecy; and I promise you shall not go unre|warded.

Ral.

Oh! as for that sir, I don't look for any thing; I can easily get you a bundle of their rags; but I don't know whether you'll prevail on them to go up to my lord's, because they're afraid of a big dog that's in the yard; but I'll tell you what I can do, I can go up be|fore you and have the dog fastened, for I know his ken|nel.

Mer.

That will do very well—by means of this disguise I shall probably get a sight of her; and I leave the rest to love and fortune.

AIR.

Why quits the merchant, blest with ease, The pleasures of his native seat; To tempt the dangers of the seas, And climes more perilous than these; Midst freezing cold, or scorching heat?

He knows the hardships, knows the pain, The length of way, but thinks it small; The sweets of what he hopes to gain, Undaunted, make him combat all.

SCENE XIII.

PATTY, RALPH, GILES, FANNY.

Giles.

So, his lordship was as willing as the flowers in May—and as I was coming along who shou'd I meet but your father—and he bid me run in all haste and tell you—for we were sure you wou'd be deadly glad.

Patty.

I know not what business you had to go to my lord's at all farmer.

Giles

Nay I only did as I was desired—Master Fairfield bid me tell you moreover, as how he wou'd have you go up to my lord out of hand, and thank him.

Ral.

So she ought, and take off those cloaths, and put on what's more becoming her station; you know my father spoke to you of that this morning too.

Patty.

Brother, I shall obey my father.

Lye still my heart, oh! fatal stroke That kills at once my hopes and me.

Giles.

Miss Pat!

Patty.

—what?

Giles.

—Nay I only spoke,

Ralph.

Take courage mon, she does but joke. Come Suster, somewhat, kinder be?

Fanny.

This is a thing the most oddest, Some folks are so plaguily modest;

Ral. Fan.

Were we in the case, To be in their place, We'd carry it off with a different face.

Giles.

Thus I take her by the lilly hand, So soft and white,

Ral.

—why now that's right: And kiss her too, mon, never stand.

Pat. Giles.

What words can explain My pleasure—my pain? It presses, it rises, My heart it surprises, I can't keep it down tho' I'd never so fain.

Fan.

So here the play ends, The lovers are friends.

Ral.

Hush!

Fan.

—Tush!

Giles.

—Nah!

Patty.

—Psha!

All.

What torment's exceeding, what joys are above, The pains and the pleasures that wait upon love

END OF THE FIRST ACT.