Analects in verse and prose: chiefly dramatical, satirical, and pastoral. ... [pt.2]

THE COTTAGERS, AN OPERA: IN THREE ACTS.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

• BRAINLY, a Country 'Squire.
• CELON, a young Shepherd.
• HYLAS, Father to Celon.
• SIMON, his Cousin.
• TRUSTY, Steward to Brainly.
• First Reaper.
• Second Reaper.
• Third Reaper.
• Hermit.
• A little Boy, his Son.
• Traveller.
• Thieves.

WOMEN,

• Mrs. BRAINLY, Wife to 'Squire Brainly.
• EDDIE, her Daughter.

• Housebreakers. Attendants on the 'Squire.

THE COTTAGERS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Room in Brainly's House.

Enter Brainly, Mrs. Brainly and Trusty.

Brainly.

ALONG with Celon, say you? I'm astonish'd! O she's a forward young Hussy! but I'll stop her gadding;—Are you sure of this?

[To Trust.

Trusty.

Yes, truly, Sir, for she has been out for this month past, at four and five o'clock in the morning; I could not think where she went to, till the other day, when going o'er the green pastures; there I saw Celon and her, billing and cooing like too young pidgeons.

Brain.

Indeed? odds my life, I remember now;—ah, she's a coaxing young pug; that's where she gets her posies from I suppose, which

she comes holding up to my nose in a morn|ing, with a how do you do? my dear papa,

[Mimicks her]

O the jade!

Tru.

I thought it were best to tell your wor|ship, least some harm might come of it.

Mrs. Brain.

A mighty industrous soul in|deed! thou had'st better have been minding thy own business, I think, than to strive like an ill-natur'd fool, to set my child and her father at variance.

Brain.

Hold your tongue, pray madam, and let him speak; he sees her follies, tho' you can't, and 'tis honest in him to tell me of them.

Mrs. Brain.

Why sure Mr. Brainly, I may speak in my turn.

Brain.

'Tis not your turn yet Madam.

Mrs. Brain.

I am sorry my dear, to see you so angry,—don't think that I approve of her pro|ceedings; no, far be it from me; but I can't help taking notice how ready the fellow is to tell you of her faults; for he sees they work upon you to excess, and you are as eager to hear what gives you so much pain; if he had gene|rously told me of it before, I wou'd have put a stop to it ere now, and you might have escap'd all this uneasiness; for if our children are to

bear the censure of our servants, what child will escape slander? I don't doubt what he has said to be true, but while he sees it feeds your anger, and he finds himself listen'd to, he may turn surmises into facts, and she may be stig|matiz'd where e'er she goes, as being guilty of what she never dreamt of.

Brain.

Well, well, it does not signify hold|ing this harrangue about her,—I'm determin'd to have her kept at home, and then I'm sure she'll be safe, let the world then say what it pleases;—go fetch her hither Trusty.

[Exit. Trusty.

Mrs. Brain.

Marry I doubt it much, e'en then; and whether the creature (that has taken so much pains to tell you her faults) would not be the first in the world that would strive to make her guilty of another; for I know he's very sweet upon her when our backs are turn'd.

Brain.

Poh, poh, what do you think the fel|low's a fool?

Mrs. Brain.

No, but I think he would make a fool of you, and I, and the whole family, if he could.

Brain.

Pshaw, pshaw, I see you have some antipathy to the poor young fellow, because

he's honest, and so want me to turn him about his business; but here he comes,

[Enter Trusty]

Well sirrah, what's the reason you did not bring Eddie with you?

Tru.

Why in good truth I cannot find her.

Brain.

Not find her! why what the plague is the wench set out already?

Tru.

O yes Sir, she's been up and gone these three hours.

Brain.

Has she indeed? I fancy I shall fetch her home again in half that time, if Cupid has not furnish'd her wings.—Come along with me Trusty.—My dear you may expect us here again presently.

[Exeunt Brainly and Trusty,.

Mrs. Brain.

I wish you success with all my heart,—poor foolish girl! I pity her; 'tis natu|ral—for the heart will follow where the eye is pleas'd.

[Exit. Mrs. Brainly.

SCENE II.

Celon and Eddie seated in a pasture.

Edd.

'Tis the fairest morn I ever saw; I war|rant they are all asleep at home, but hardly dream that I am here with you.

Celon.

O let 'em sleep until the sun sets again, then I shall have my Eddie with me all the day.

AIR I.

Cel.

Thy father and thy mother sleeps— There Love has had his fill; And Eddie to her Celon creeps, When all the plains are still;

The sun and Eddie rise at once, And gild the hills around; The lark awakens at her steps, And leaves the dewy ground.

My lambkins skip at her approach, And all their dams look gay; While Zephyr, in his airy coach, Upon the tree-tops play.

Edd.

If my father shou'd e'er suspect my com|ing hither, I'm afraid he'd never let me come again; wou'd you not pity me?

Cel.

I shou'd pine myself to death, and be like a wandering lunatic in despair: for when you are from me but an hour, I think that every flower looks drooping, and every bird fits mourning for your return.

Edd.

Be witness for me all ye hills and groves, how dear I prize my Celon's love, not all the wealth my father boasts, should rob me of that joy.

AIR II.

Edd.

O grant us thus to meet each morn, Upon so fair a plain, Where linnets whistle on each thorn, In love's melodious strain.

While Celon whispers notes more sweet Than ever linnet sung, And thus each morn such blessings meet, As fall from Celon's tongue.

Cel.

Wou'd to-morrow were our wedding day, I long to call thee mine, I've had sad dreams of late; but I hope they tend to no|thing ill towards us.

Edd.

Pray tell me what they were, and I'll be your interpreter,

Cel.

Not now my love, they'll prey upon thy gentle spirits, and dash our promis'd joys. Let us go to yonder valley now, and pick the sweetest flowers there, blue-bells and violets, that I may weave a crownet for my queen.

Edd.

E'en where you please, nor will I e'er complain, so I go with you;—here

[pulls out a book]

I've brought thee another book this morning, 'tis the prettiest I could find; and thou shalt read it to me.

Cel.

You're ever kind—But I fear my love you'll get some anger from your father, if he should chance to miss it—What is it you have brought me now?

Edd.

The Nut-brown Maid.

[gives him the book]

my father ne'er will miss it, he minds nothing but his horses and his dogs; so pray thee sit down and read it to me.

Cel.

Nay, but you must excuse me now; I can read it when you are gone; now it will be killing too much precious time.

AIR III.

Cel.

Whilst thou art here I cease to read, Throw by my pipe, forget my reed, Nothing on earth such pleasures bring, As when I hear my Eddie sing.

For when thou'rt gone, I'll learn from this, When I no more can toy and kiss, How other shepherds bore their pain, Until they meet their loves again.

Edd.

Very well, Celon.

Cel.

Nay be not angry, I own I'm much oblig'd to you for these indulgencies; and but from the instruction of those volumes you have brought me, I should have been a poor compa|nion for my Eddie; they have, in some measure, taught me how to please; to know my humble situation blest when you are with me, and more serenely to bear the pain when you are gone.

Eddie.

Listen! listen! methought I heard the voice of some one near; and now I see 'em too. O! 'tis Trusty and my father.

Cel.

They have beheld us, and 'twill be in vain to fly. Alas! what shall we do!—how could this happen?

Brainly within.)

I see you, you jade, I'll stop your strolling, I will hussy;

[Enters]

and as for thee, thou sheep-biting dog, I'll have thee sent into another country,

[takes Eddie from him.

Cel.

It matters not where you send me, or where I go, since you have taken her away.

[looking tenderly on Eddie.

Brain.

The boy's certainly in love? I'gad it grieves me to see them look so pitifully at each other; I could find in heart to leave 'em to|gether again.

Tru.

Aye truly 'tis a pity, Sir, but consi|der the consequence, it will be the talk of the whole country, that 'Squire Brainly's daughter is courted by a shepherd.

Brain.

Ods-bud and so it will; come, hussy, come;—thou may'st stay behind and whine a little,

[to Celon.

Edd.

Dear father permit me to take a part|ing kiss!

Brain.

A parting kiss! what before my face! why they've bewitch'd one another, I believe! No, no, no, no more kissing here? come along; and if you can't live without kissing, there's your great doll at home, you may kiss and hug that all day if you please, come away I say.

Edd.

O can you forget yourself, or did you never love; surely if you did, you would not practice so hard a trial for so small a crime.

AIR IV.

Edd.

Adieu my love, ye flocks adieu, Farewell ye happy plains, More blest than I, by far are you, While Celon here remains.

Farewell ye little warblers all, Ye larks that upward rise, No more shall I attend your call, Or meet my Celon's eyes.

Brain.

Come along I say, or I'll break thy neck.

Cel.

O do not hurt her, for indeed she's done no harm.

Brain.

If thou hast done her none, I shall be satisfied, and I'll take care thou shalt do her none hereafter.

[Exeunt all but Celon.

Cel.

This is the sorest wound I ever felt; would she had been as poor as myself, or that I had been a 'squire's son.

AIR V.

Cel.

Unequal fortune, equal fate, Was ever lot like mine? Thus high and low in ev'ry state, Beneath some grief repine.

The rich are curst with fears and pride, The poor man with despair; The lover's patience oft is try'd By some unfeeling fair.

••ut mine's the worst of woes indeed; The maid that I adore, Is by a father's hand decreed, Never to see me more,

SCENE III.

Brainly's House. Enter Brainly, Trusty, and Eddie.

Brain.

Here Mrs. Brainly, we've brought your daughter home, and I desire you'll make it your business to keep her there so long as she lives,—what piping again, what the devil ails thee now?

Edd.

Have I not cause to weep, to hear my|self doom'd a prisoner for life, and by my father too?

Brain.

You'd better be a pris'ner here hussy, with a good house over your head, and victuals in your belly, than strolling the mountains, and starving under a hedge, along with that booby you'd got along with this morning.

Mrs. Brain.

What cou'd induce thee, child, to make so strange a choice?

Edd.

His gentle nature, besides he loves me dearly as himself.

Brain.

No doubt but he loves himself well enough; but what do'st think he loves thee for, hey, fool?

Edd.

For loving him, which I will do for ever.

Brain.

So, so, so, so, there's for you now! take her out of my sight, or I shall certainly do her a mischief;—O you wanton young jade; go take her up stairs, and lock her in her bed|chamber directly.

[Exit. Mrs. Brainly and Eddie.

Brainly sings.

AIR VI.

Was ever father living, So distress'd as I; These women are deceiving As the very sky; They first look clear, And promise fair, Then rises up a cloud, That covers all the atmosphere, And thunders burst aloud.

[Exeunt Brainly and Trusty.

SCENE IV.

Celon by the side of a wood.

Cel.

I'll rest me here a little, nothing that I see or hear will give me comfort now.

[comes forward.

AIR VII.

Cel.

Full eighteen years I lived in bliss, Upon yon verdant plain, From many a maid I stole a kiss, But never felt a pain.

'Till Eddie's face I first beheld, I knew nor grief nor care; My eyes against my heart rebell'd, If e'er I shed a tear.

Enter Hylas and Simon in Conversation.

Hylas.

I tell thee the girl has made her escape, by the help of a tree, that hung against her window, for somebody has told her that Celon was fled into another country, and I am sorely afraid I shall find it too true.

Cel.

True thou'lt find it indeed, if Eddie is gone, I'll search every country round but I will find her.

[Aside & Exit.

Sin.

Marry luck forbid, cousin, for I lov'd him as if he had been a child of my own, and did in|tend to have left him all that I had when I died.

Hyl.

Ha, thou art very kind; for though I say it, he had as much to say for himself as the parson o' the parish; if I could but set eyes on him again, I should be easy; I han't seen him since four o'clock in the morning, and if I don't find him before night, I shall break my heart.

Sim.

I'fecks I think I see him yonder, running across the meadow.

Hyl.

Where, where?

Sim.

Yonder loo'thee t'other side that large tree.

Hyl.

Odds heart and so it is; pray thee cousin, for thou canst run faster than me, go thou before, and I'll after and halloo lustily behind.

[Exeunt.

Enter three Reapers.

1st. Reap.

Come along, come along, and be hang'd to you, what a yawning you make, in|deed, why now because you've got your bellies full, I suppose you have not a heart to go to work again.

2d. Reap.

'Swounds what a din thou mak'st indeed, thy bawling beats my yawning I'm sure; one would think thou hadst not had thy belly full this month past; I'fecks I'm afraid thou art one of those I heard our old dame talking of t'other day, more noise than work.

3d. Reap.

No, no I suppose he only wants to get his work done before he begins, that he may go a sweat-hearting; for as soon as he gets home, he begins to make such a washing and combing of himself, with his ribbands at his knees, and his buckles at his sho'en, that he ne'er gives himself time to eat or drink, but out he goes to rosey fac'd Sue, down by the mill.

2d. Reap.

Aye, aye, I suppose he gets his belly-full there. I believe in my heart folks are bewitch'd, now-a-days, there's the dickens to pay, about Celon and the 'squire's daughter; this love's as bad as a plague, I think, its catching.

1st. Reap.

Take care it does not catch thee then; it has many a time caught a wiser man.

2d. Reap.

I'fecks if it does, I know how to cure myself.

1st. Reap.

I don't doubt but thou hast a good opinion of thyself.

2d. Reap.

Marry if one don't like me, I'll seek out for another.

1st. Reap.

And love ne'er a one above an hour.

AIR VIII.

A foolish lover like a child, That with a toy doth play, Who's gaudy sides his heart beguil'd. And pleas'd him for a day.

But if by chance his wand'ring eyes, Another shou'd survey, The last is thought a golden prize, The first is thrown away.

3d. Reap.

Heigh, ho; this love is a strange thing, I think.

2d. Reap.

No, no, there's nothing so common. I heard our parson say the world was grown foolish, and this is a sure sign he sometimes speaks the truth.

3d. Reap.

Why so I think indeed, Celon must be a fool now to think of marrying the 'Squire's daughter, I warrant the 'Squire would see him hang'd first.

2d. Reap.

And must not she be a fool to think

of marrying Celon; why this makes good the text; the world's grown foolish, and they're two of the greatest; I think in my heart they're even worse than this fool here.

1st. Reap.

Fool! who dost thou call fool; if it were not now for losing so much time, I'd shew thee who was the greatest fool.

3d Reap.

'Swounds what a passion he's in, I've heard say these lovers grow mad sometimes, if you shou'd teaze him too much, perhaps he'll grow mad too, and then I suppose he'll be for biting.

2d. Reap.

Aye, aye, let him alone, let him alone, he may kiss and court all the guts out of his belly, for what I care.

3d. Reap.

Come let's to work again, or we shall have the sun down ere we begin.

2d. Reap.

Troth and so it will, and it won't get up at thy bidding again, but that shan't give me any uneasiness:

AIR IX.

My heart is my own, And a stranger to care, Content is my throne, I sit without fear.

At night I retire, With health and with ease; The lasses admire, And study to please.

But if I don't find They'll please in their part, 'T may fire the mind, But shan't touch the heart.

1st. Reap.

That was my mind once, but I cou'd not help changing it.

3d. Reap.

That's a sure sign you kind of crea|tures never know your own minds.

2d. Reap.

Why that's true enough; Celon us'd to swear and protest he'd never marry, and now you see how well he keeps his word.

3a. Reap.

And he may'nt be the happier for all he's so great with the 'Squire's daughter; for they say there's nothing but snarling and bit|•…•… among the gentryfolkes.

AIR X.

The poor with content, Are richer by far, Than a king in his tent, Or a lord at the bar.

No fear of being worse, E'er troubles his breast; Tho' empty his purse, At night he can rest.

No armies o'erthrown, No causes ill try'd, Shall e'er make me groan, Or turn for a bribe.

2d. Reap.

Hold, hold, who are these coming across the barley field.

1st. Reap.

Odds life I'll be hang'd, if it ben't, our master and his cousin.

2d. Reap.

Let us sneak off then, as fast as we can.

1st. Reap.

No, no, they see us now, and we'd better stay and know the worst on't.

3d. Reap.

The dickens take your sweet|hearting I say, I suppose there'll be the duce to pay.

2d. Reap.

What a pack of fools we look like now.

Enter Hylas and Simon.

Hyl.

What in the name of old nick do ye all here, has any of you seen Celon lately?

3d. Reap.

No not we master, we han'not seen him these two days.

Hyl.

Why go seek him then, and he that finds him first shall have a holliday for a week.

2d. Reap.

Shall he master, I'fecks then I'll give a good look out, and bring him home an I can.

Hyl.

Away with you then.

[Exeunt Reapers.]

Come cousin, thee and I'll go and get us a horse a piece, and we'll set out too; wayst-heart I've run myself almost out of breath already, and I don't know how soon I may want a little.

[Exeunt Hylas and Simon.

The End of the First Act.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Hermit's Cave.

A Hermit, and Crito a little boy his son appears.

Crito.

YOu've often told me, I shou'd see the place where I was born, and where my mother died: believe me Sir, I should like it much; I think I've seen it an hundred times in dreams already, and if indeed it be so pleasing in reality as in dreams, I'm sure it must by far excel this sad dwelling.

Herm.

I'm afraid indeed thou'll think it so, therefore it is, I fear to let thee go.

Crit.

Why fear? do you think I wou'd not come again.

Herm.

I hope so, but there's a thousand little play-fellows wou'd rival me, and thou wou'dst want to stay thee there.

Crit.

Indeed they shou'd not, I'd rather stay here all my days than you shou'd be in fear,

Herm.

Thou art my cherub again for that; and e'er a month I'll let thee go.

[Eddie crosses the cave.

Crit.

O well-a-day, do but turn about, and see what's passing cross the cave.

Herm.

A woman, or a fairy, I'll speak to her, however.

Crit.

Believe me Sir, she seems in sorrow.

Herm.

Peace with thee fair one, if thou wilt deign to tell, whither dost thou sojourn?

Edd.

Alas! I cannot; first tell me stranger, who e'er thou art, (for thou bear'st the face of friendship) did'st thou not see a lovely shepherd, sad as myself, pass this way.

Herm.

In truth fair maid no human form, save this of thine, has pass'd this cave these many years.

Edd.

Alas! I'm sore distress'd.

Her.

If thou dar'st trust me with thy story, I'll promise thee all the aid that I can give.

Edd.

I thank thee; nor do I think that I should fear to trust thee, for thou bear'st as kind a face as e'er I saw, save his I took for; for O he is the gentlest swain that ever smil'd on maid, I first beheld him tending on his father's sheep upon a mountain's brow; he humbly bow'd

and with a gentle look he stole my willing heart, and I as willing gave my hand; he knelt and kiss'd it; and, with more than shepherd's grace, told me how much he lov'd; I be|liev'd him because he wept, then sigh'd and took my leave; but ev'ry morning e'er the sun beams kiss'd the dimpl'd brook, I stole to him again. So happy we, like two fair vessels on a calm sea borne, long sail'd together; till my father's angry hand, like a rude tempestuous wave, dash'd us both asunder.

Herm.

Alas I pity you; what was your lover's name?

Edd.

Celon.

[Crito weeps.

Herm.

What is it child that makes thee weep?

Crit.

The story that she told you.

Herm.

I love thee for thy mother's spirit, just so would she o'erflow, when e'er she heard of suff'ring virtue.

Edd,

I love him too for his friendly tears, come and let me kiss thee; my heart is full of gratitude, but I've no means of recompence, save tear for tear. Alas! I must yet go on, for while I live, I will pursue my love, if ever I return, I'll make you some amends.

Crit.

Pray don't go, my father will be very kind.

Herm.

Let me intreat you to stay a little, this boy is my only child, the only comfort I have on earth, he shall attend you; there is a mountain, whose lofty head o'erlooks the country round for many a mile, thither shall he go, and with his young discerning eyes, try if he can see which way your Celon wanders.—I prithee Crito go this instant, and if thou shou'dst any one chance to see, wind thou thy horn, and beckon them to stay.

[Exit Crito]

Mean while I wou'd advise that you retire into yon harbour, and rest yourself, till I go and seek for something that may comfort you.

Edd.

Indeed you are too kind, I have not deserv'd these indulgencies from you, but since you have promis'd to be my friend, I do not know a time that I ever stood so much in need of one.

Herm.

Be chearful, and doubt not, but ere long we shall hear some tidings of your Celon.

[Exit Hermit.

Edd.

Then you will be a friend indeed.

AIR XI.

Ye nodding forests, verdant plains, Ye limpid brooks that murmur by, In your retreats there yet remains A friend to sad calamity.

[Exit Eddie.

SCENE II.

A Heath. Enter Brainly, Trusty, &c.

Brain.

We're certainly on the right road my lads; but hold, who have we here, a fellow traveller? perhaps he may give us some intel|ligence; I'll enquire however.

Enter Passenger.

Save thee friend, whither be'st going?

Passen.

To the first cottage I can find; for I have had a long day's journey of it, and have not seen a dwelling, where I cou'd get me any refreshment.

Brain.

Nor did'st not meet with any body on the road?

Passen.

Yes, waystheart, a lovely youth, almost in despair.

Brain.

And didst thou not speak with him then?

Passen.

Yes, that I did, and wish I cou'd have been his friend.

Brain.

Why; what was his complaint then?

Passen.

Alas-a-day, he told me he had lost the sweetest maid on earth, and came this way in search of her.

Brain.

Did he so? 'Slife that must be Celon, here I'll give thee this purse, if thou'lt tell me where he's gone.

Passen.

Alas, I cannot tell thee, for when I could give him no intelligence of his love, he left me; I stood awhile and watch'd him, and when he got to yonder oak, that dips its brim into the brook, he sat down and drank of the cold stream, then rose again, and made his way to the top of yonder hill; and turning round seem'd to search with his eyes all the vales below. Anon (as if he had some one seen) he hurry'd off again; but descending on the other side, I lost sight of him.

Brain.

We'll after him directly; as for thee

my friend, thou wilt find a cottage hard by, take this and get thee some refreshment.

Passen.

Good luck attend thee for thy kind|ness.

[Exit Passenger.

Brain.

Come along lads, we're upon the right scent, and if we should start the puss, we'll run her down and take her home alive.

[Exeunt Omnes.

SCENE III.

The Hermit's Cave.

Enter Hermit and Eddie. [Crito is seen by 'em.]

Herm.

Lo! here comes Crito, I hope he brings some news.

Edd.

I doubt there's none of Celon.

Herm.

Doubt not,

[Enter Crito]

welcome my darling; well what hast seen.

Crit.

A man, who is making towards the cave; I saw him straying near the mighty cliff; and then, as you desir'd, did wind my horn; I wav'd my hand, he answer'd thus, and then set off with speed this way.

Herm.

Now what think you fair-one?

Edd.

It certainly is my Celon, and yet I think it almost impossible; but if it should some other prove, I fain would not be seen.

Herm.

Therefore least it should, I would ad|vise, that you retire again into the cave, 'till I have made some sure proof.

Edd.

I will,—but pray if it should prove my love indeed, let it not be a moment ere you call me forth again.

Herm.

You may be assur'd of that; haste, haste, methinks I hear his footsteps near al|ready.

Edd.

I'm gone—Alas I tremble so my legs will scarcely bear me.

[Ex. Eddie.

Crit.

See father, he's entering the cave.

Herm.

He bears the form that she describes.

[Enter Celon]

Welcome youth, most welcome, I invite thee for my guest; thou seem'st aweary; I shall be glad to be thy comforter.

Cel.

I thank you—weary I am indeed, in search of what I fear I ne'er shall see again.

Herm.

Never despair, nothing is ever lost beyond our hopes but reputation. Is it for the living that you seek?

Cel.

Living she was last night, and well.

Herm.

It is a woman then; what is the fair one's name?

Cel.

Eddie. Fair as the cristal stream.

[Hermit whispers Crito.

Herm.

You'd know her then, no doubt, were you to see her?

Cel.

Why do you ask me that? Is it possible I could not know the thing I saw but yesterday?

Herm.

Say, do you know that fair-one?

[Crito and Eddie appear.

Cel.

Know her! O ye miraculous powers, 'tis my Eddie!

[He runs and embraces her.

Edd.

Celon! O I scarcely can believe that I'm awake.

Herm.

I bear witness you are not in a dream, and am glad that I have partly been the means of all this happiness.

Cel.

O may you be blest with every thing that's good, what shall we do to make you some amends?

Herm.

I am already satisfied in seeing you so happy.

Edd.

He shall be our father, and we will stay here all our days, and Crito too shall be my brother.

Herm.

Say, Crito, wouldst thou not like to have a sister?

Crito.

Yes, and I should like to have a bro|ther too.

Herm.

'Tis well replied; but now it grieves me that I have none but homely fare, that you might eat with me.

Cel.

We are in no need; this is feast enough for me, I have no room for any thing but love.

AIR XII.

The heart when thirsty with desire, No draught can quench the burning fire, Until the spark that caus'd the flame, 'Presented to the eye again; But when it comes again to view, The soul with transport will renew It's native ease, and fill the breast, As mine is now, with Eddie blest.

Edd.

I feel no pain, nor hunger, but my sighs have made me thirsty.

Herm.

Go, Crito, to the spring, and haste hack again.

[Ex. Crito]

Pardon my offering you so cool a cordial, it is the best this world affords me.

Edd.

It will be receiv'd as kindly as the most costly one; and on condition I might stay me here with Celon, I could content me with it all my days.

AIR XIII.

Eddie.

I will stay here all my life, When I am my Celon's wife; We'll taste each spring, And dance and sing, Across the hills so green; Thou shall be my lord and king. And I will be thy queen.

Celon.

At night when all the world's asleep, I'll go fetch thee all my sheep; I'll watch the dams, Thou feed the lambs, And so we'll spend each day; Our father here shall join our hands, And thou shalt cry obey.

Edd.

I'm glad they've drove us hither now, for here we can love in their despite, nor fear their parting us again.

Herm.

I fear the trial will prove worse than the idea; the hard means of life you will be oblig'd to submit to here, will I fear dash your future hopes; but believe me you are welcome as the morning.

Cel.

We are assur'd of that, and free from danger, they'll hardly find us here—therefore we'll risque whatever else may happen.

AIR XIV.

Since luck has brought us here together, I fear nor cold nor stormy weather. With this lov'd mate, I fear no fate, That may hereafter threat my state, The hand to-day that brought us here, May send us comfort all the year.

Enter Crito.

Crit.

Returning home from the well, I saw four travellers coming on this way; and, see|ing me, they ey'd me to the cave.

Herm.

More miracles? 'tis very strange, I now begin to fear some sad event.

Cel.

Some travellers, I suppose, that have lost their way, and followed Crito for intelligence.

Herm.

Some ignis fatuus sure has drawn the world this way.

Edd.

Let us retire.

Cel.

Be not afraid my love, we've no ene|mies here.

Brain.

[within.]

Here they are my lads, here they are; make haste or they'll give us the slip again.

[Eddie faints]

Hey day, who have we here!

Enter Brainly, the rest following him.

Tru.

The devil and one of his imps, I be|lieve, only they've hid their cloven feet.

Brain.

Odds heart, my child is dying, help some of you help, to hold her up.—O thou damn'd dog, I wish thou hadst been hang'd a twelvemonth ago, thou'st kill'd my child, thou hast thou dog,

[pushes Celon away.]

my dear, my Eddie,

[Eddie coming to life]

poor creature! how she pants! softly, softly, she's coming to herself again.

[fanning her with his hat]

How is it with thee? thy father is not angry with thee child, come, come, don't be frightn'd, thou shan't be hurt.

Edd.

(weeping)

My father! O well-a-day—where is my Celon, you wont kill him I hope.

Brain.

Kill him! no not I! tho' I don't care how soon he was hang'd.

Edd.

Alas, alas, you said you was not angry, and now you've forgot your saying.

Brain.

No, not with you child, I came to fetch you home; but we'll leave him to find his way himself.

Edd.

Nay pray let him go with me too.

Brain.

No, no, not I indeed, I'm not so fond of his company.

Edd.

Nor wont you let me see him when at home?

Brain.

Not if I can help it, we'll have no more visiting of witches and wizards here; nay he may be the devil for ought I know.

Edd.

Did not you say just now you wou'd be kind?

Brain.

So I think I am, for taking you away and carrying you to a good home again.

Edd.

If that is kindness, I'd rather you wou'd be unkind, and let me stay here all my life.

Brain.

So I suppose; no, no, I did not come all this way for nothing, so come along, since

you don't know when you are doing wrong, I shall make bold to tell you when you don't do right.

Edd.

Farewell my dearest Celon, farewell, I shall—

Brain.

Come, come, no whining; a short parting's always best, so help me some of you to force her away.

[Exeunt Brainly, &c. with Eddie.

Cel.

Farewell, most lovely maid, my heart shall follow thee where'er thou goest,—O most unnatural father!

AIR XV.

O Cupid God of love, Take now a wretched pair, Beneath thy friendly care; Use all thy art, while now apart, To keep us from despair.

Protect that lovely maid, So injur'd and oppress'd, In love so much distress'd, She is so meek, her heart will break, Unless by thee redress'd.

Herm.

Alas! I pity you from my heart, and wish I could administer some comfort to your

sorrow, let us retire into the cave and compose yourself awhile.

Cel.

No I will follow her, whatever fate be|fall me.

Herm.

Whither wilt thou go? night will o'ertake thee, e'er thou canst reach thy father's dwelling.

Cel.

Aye and so it will if I stay here; I thank thee for thy care, but I can no where rest if Eddie be not near, I thank thee for all thy friendship; think me not ungrateful, thus to leave thee, but when the heart is from the body torn, the spirit soon must die; therefore I must go. A kind farewell to both, my heart is now so full of grief, that I can nothing say; but once more farewell.

Exit Celon.

Herm.

Farewell kind youth, and may'st thou never meet so hard a trial more; O wretched world, I have felt thee sharp as the keen air, and now methinks, I see myself in this sad youth, a goodly heart overwhelm'd in grief; come, Crito, we'll in and rest, thou see'st what it is to mix with man; how hard they deal with one another.

[Exeunt Crito and Hermit.

The End of the Second Act.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Moon-light Scene. Celon under Eddie's Window.

Celon.

HERE rests my Eddie, and if she knew that I was here, it wou'd not be long ere I beheld her.

AIR XVI.

Thou silver Moon, O lend thy aid, And light me to the charming maid, Send forth some power from above, And help me once more to my love.

O turn her cruel father's heart, Let mercy touch the hardest part; Let pity stop his threat'ning rage, And think on Eddie's tender age.

Enter three Robbers, at the 'Squire's door, trying to break into the house.

Cel.

Alas, I am betray'd, and yet they're strangers all to me; I fear some ill intent, they're breaking open the door; I must inter|pose, lest my Eddie shou'd be in danger.

[They enter the house.]

Hold you there, what mean you, by entering the house in that manner, and at this time o' the night?

1st. House-br.

Knock him down! Knock him down! silence him, or we shall miscarry.

2d. House-br.

You proceed,—I'll manage him, I warrant me.

[Two of them enter the house, the other stays behind, and attacks Celon; Celon dis|arms him, and afterwards knocks him down with his own weapon, then pursues the other two into the house: mean while the maim'd one crawls off the stage, and makes his escape,—there's a great bustle within.]

Brain.

[within]

Bring 'em along lads, bring 'em along.

Enter Brainly in his shirt, Mrs. Brainly, and a number of servants, in great confusion, with the Rogues, and Celon as a confederate.

Brain.

We've secur'd the villains! hold up the lanthorn, and let us see who we have got; 'sdeath and heart, why this is Celon! Run, wife, directly, and see to the girl, she may have been in the plot, and made her escape, for what I know.

[Exit Mrs. Brainly.]

Ho, ho, young gentleman, have we caught you; what, because I wou'd not let you ruin my daughter, you and your comrades came to cut my throat; but I'll stop your course, I assure you, now;—what break into my house at midnight! O you villain, you damn'd dog; this is your love too, the devil take all love-affairs, I say.

Cel.

You say so now, Sir, because you're past 'em.

Brain.

And so shalt thou be soon; if I don't have thee hang'd, I'll give any body leave to hang me;—go, one of you, and get a halter, and tie 'em all three together; lock 'em in the barn or the stable till bye-and-bye, and I'll set|tle accounts with 'em all.

[Exit servant.

Cel.

As I hope for mercy—

Brain.

Mercy! O yes, a deal of mercy, thou shalt be hang'd, and that will prevent thy doing any more mischief. Come bring 'em away.

[Exeunt Brainly and the rest.

SCENE II.

Enter Mrs. Brainly and Eddie.

Edd.

To prison, did you say, Mamma?

Mrs. Brain.

They're all confin'd in the barn or stable together, and that's much the same, your father's determin'd to have 'em all hang'd.

Edd.

And Celon too?

[she weeps.

Mrs. Brain.

Why, does not he deserve it, Child?

Edd.

I hope not, I am sure he ne'er meant harm.

AIR XVII.

Why thus, ye powers, do ye strive, To heap distress on me alone, Say, have you doom'd a maid to live, Beneath the willow shade to moan.

Let not your vengeance fall severe, Upon a maiden so distress'd, Release, release my Celon dear, And pluck the sting from Eddie's breast.

Mrs. Brain.

Here comes thy father and Hy|las, there'll be a strange to-do, I suppose.

Edd.

I fear so too.

Enter Brainly, Hylas, and Trusty.

Brain.

So Miss Thrifty, thou'rt up, I see;—'tis a wonder thou'st not been a wooing e'er now; But I suppose thou waits for thy deary's coming to thee this morning, and therefore I'll send the gentleman an invitation myself.—Trusty, go, take somebody along with thee, and fetch those hang-dogs to me.

[Exit Trusty.

Hyl.

I hope your worship will have mercy on my poor boy!

Brain.

Yes, if he deserves it, not else, I as|sure you.

Hyl.

Ah, but consider.

Brain.

I do consider, and pity you with all my heart; I wou'd not have such a son for the world; and I think, the sooner you get rid of

him, the better.—He must be dealt with ac|cording to law; and that, I fancy, will hang him.

Hyl.

Oh law! that ever I shou'd have any thing to do with thee? O my poor boy, who ever thought thou wert born to be hang'd!

Edd.

Hang'd! my Celon hang'd!

Brain.

Hang'd! aye, and thee too, for aught I know, for being his confederate.

Edd.

O spare his precious life!

AIR XVIII.

If not my Celon, pity me; Behold me at your feet, While thus, upon my bended knee. Make not my woes complete.

Will you throw that rose away, That once you thought so sweet, And let it wither and decay, Like daisies under feet.

Brain.

Get out of my sight.

Mrs. Brain.

How can you plead so, child, for one that came to take away your father's life?

Hyl.

Her father's life!—no, not he poor soul.

Brain.

Oh, here he comes,—now let him plead for himself.

[Enter Trusty, Celon, and House-breakers.]

A pretty set of fellows, truly.

Hyl.

Waystheart, how he looks! O my poor boy,

[runs to Celon]

what has bewitch'd thee, to bring these troubles on thy poor father's head?

Edd.

Celon!

Brain.

Get away, Miss Fitchet; keep silence till I examine 'em, one by one.—You fellow in the black coat, do you hear; hem, hem.—I admit thee king's evidence,—stand forth, and speak like a man, say, what were your inten|tions for breaking into my house so abruptly; but mind you speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

1st. Thief.

I will, and please your worship.

Brain.

Well, mind you do.—Proceed.

1st. Thief.

Our intentions were, and please your worship, to have plunder'd the house, forc'd away your daughter, and to have mur|der'd all those that interpos'd.

Brain.

There's pretty fellows for you, there's pretty fellows.—Now neighbour Hylas, what

do you think of your innocent son? these are all his contrivances.

Hyl.

Good lack, good lack-a-day, I know not what to think, I'm almost beside myself.

Cel.

If your worship will please—

Brain.

Hold your tongue, sirrah, till it comes to your turn, if you interrupt me again, I'll send you back, without any further examina|tion. Well, but again;—say who was the con|triver of this dreadful plot.

1st. Thief.

No one here, and please your worship.

Brain.

No one here?—take care, if I find thee deviate from the truth, I'll have thee hang'd up directly—who was it then, and where is he?

1st. Thief.

He can tell you best,

[pointing to Celon.]

we left him and the other scuffling at the door together, when we two enter'd the house.

Brain.

Who do you mean, Celon?

1st. Thief.

I don't know his name; I know, I felt the weight of his fury;—'twas he that gave me this cut o'th' head.

Brain.

Odds heart, how is this! was not he in the plot?

1st. Thief.

No, and please your worship, (if I must speak the truth) had it not been for him, we should have carried our point.

Hyl.

Huzza! huzza! what think you of my son now? what think you of my son now?

Brain.

I don't know what to think, this is a point would puzzle a Lord Chief Justice;—stay, stay, I've something yet to start, what bu|siness, in the name of Old Nick, could he have there, at that time o'th' night?

Cel.

Waiting in hopes to see Eddie again.

Brain.

Was that all?

Cel.

Yes, as I hope for mercy;—I had scarce been there a moment, ere these ruffians came, accompany'd with another; who (while these two enter'd the house) they left to encounter me; but I proving conqueror, left him on the ground; and in pursuing these, was taken pri|soner as an accomplice.

Brain.

Is all this really true, you Sir?

[to the 1st. Thief.

1st. Thief.

Yes, in good faith, every word.

Brain.

Why then he deserves her, were she a princess; here, take her, boy, and a thousand blessings go with you both.

Cel.

Ten thousand blessings, and thanks in return.

Hyl.

Let me give my blessing too;—may you be as happy, as the King and the Queen;—odds heart, I shall jump out of my old skin again.

[gives a caper.

Brain.

Take this fellow to prison, the other I'll set at liberty.

2d. Thief.

I have a demand on your worship, before I go;—will your worship stand to your own words.

Brain.

Thou saucy rascal, dost thou think a man of character, a Justice of the Corum, dare break his word? If thou ever find me breaking my word, I'll give thee leave to send me to pri|son in thy stead.

2d. Thief.

Then you must either hang Celon, or give me leave to hang your worship.

Brain.

'Sheart, I believe he has me, and for thy remembrance, I'll forgive thee, so get thee gone about thy business.

[Ex. Thieves.]

I plain|ly see, if a man was to be accountable for all he says in a passion, he might be hang'd presently. Come, this has been a strange day; but now we'll have nothing but dancing and feasting for a week.

Hyl.

Odds bud lad, thou'rt made for ever.—Madam Brainly, I must have a buss, and wish you joy of a son.

[kisses her.

Mrs. Brain.

I'm overjoy'd too, to find that we are all deceiv'd.

Cel.

And I'm overjoy'd, after all my fears, to find that I am not deceived, for I've got, in reality, all I ever wish'd for.

AIR XIX.

Like sailors surrounded at sea, For ever 'tween hope and despair; But when they the harbour once see, Away flies their trouble and care.

And soon as they step on the shore, The comforts still greater appear; They relish the blessing the more, By thinking they once were in fear.

Brain.

Ah, you young rogue, you've chang'd your tune.—Friend Hylas, give me thy hand, I'll make thy son a 'squire.

Hyl.

A 'squire! hear'st thou that, lad? wounds and wherrykins, thoul't be as great as a lord, by-and-by.

Col.

I'm as great already, in my opinion, at least, I'm as happy, I'm sure.

Edd.

And I'm much happier.

Brain.

Heaven bless you both, you've fought hard for one another; we'll have a merry wed|ding on't.

AIR XX.

I ne'er was so pleas'd in my life, At making of husband and wife, Tho' I've been at full threescore, I ne'er saw a pair, That promis'd so fair, In all my good days before.

Hyl.

Here comes cousin Cymon; here cou|sin, here cousin, here's Celon as great as the Lord Mayor of London.

Cy.

I heard of it all on the road, and so came hobbling hither to see the young couple, and give 'em my blessing too;—may you live to be as old as Mathusalem, I say.

Cel.

Thank you, uncle, tho' e'er that time, I fancy, we shall be as weary of the world, as you sometimes appear to be.

Hyl.

We're to have such doings! ah, the young dog, how he sniggers;—'sdeath, I mun|not call him dog, neither, that's a little too free, now he's a 'squire; didst hear that, cousin? didst hear that, cousin?

AIR XXI.

We'll ring the bell, And make a fire; While the tune tells, My boy's a 'squire.

Cel.

This is more than you dream'd, I be|lieve, cousin.

Cy.

I'm glad, that I'm awake to see it.

Cel.

So am I, for I feel it in reality.

AIR XXII.

Cel.

Since fate has ended all our woe, And brought my Eddie to my arms; All the ills that teaz'd us so, Vanish now before her charms.

Edd.

Our former suff'rings are repaid, By this mutual joy at at last, Nor shall our future joys e'er fade, By thinking on the ills that's past.

Both.

But thus in transport spend each day, 'Till our griefs are driv'n away.