NORTHWESTERN
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
The Gift of
EDWARD VOGELBACH
love ma yielage
3ILLINGTOW m IIOSIETTA-
Dubia I'uiliii'ä iy "Vv^ Jones >^86 Dame Street.
IKIblmPuLHih-'S-lyrW^Joiies!N?86 Dame Streec.
ones's ßr,-lriik
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
A
COMIC OPERA.
BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF,
ADAfTEO FOR
rHEATRICAL REPRESENTATION,
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE-^OYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.
REGULATED FROM THE PROMPT-BOOK,
By PermiJJion of the Managers.
•• The Line. diiUnguiOied by inverted Commas, are omitted in the Reprefentation."
DUBLIN :
PRINTED BV GRAISBERR7 AN.D CAMlÍBELL,
FOR WILLIAM JONES, NO. 86, DAME-STREET,
M DCC XCl.
$zz.ôi
^11
to
MR. BEARD.
Sir,
n h lu'ith great pteafure I unbrace this opportunity
to acknoivledge the favors I have received from you.
Among others, I vuould mention in particular, the
'warmth •with •which you efpoufed this piece in its paf-
fage to the ßage ; hut I am afraid it •would he thought
a compriment to your good-nature, too much at the
expence of your judgment.
If •what I now venture to lay before the public, is
cotfidered merely as a piece of dramatic writing, it
will certainly be found to have very tittle merit : in
that light no one can think more indifferently of h
than I do myfelf ; but I believe I may venture to
effort, on your opinion, that fome of the fongs are
tolerable ; that the mtfic is more plea/mg than has
hitherto appeared in compofitions of this kind ; and
the words better adapted, corfidering the nature of
the airs, which are not common ballads, than could
be expeäed, fuppofing any degree of poetry to be pre-
ferved in the verff cation.
.•«ÍS359
ív
dedication.
More than this, feto people expeS in an Opera ; and if
fome of the feverer critics Jhould he inclined to blame
yóur indulgence to one of the ßrß attempts of a ydung
writer, I am perfuaded the public in general will ap¬
plaud your endeavour to provide them with fome-
thing new, in a fpecies of entertainment in which the
performers at your theatre fo eminently excel.
You may perceive. Sir, that 1 yield a punSual oh-
fervance to the injunSions you laid upon me, when
I threatened you with this addrefs, and make it rather
a preface than a dedication ; and yet I muß confeft
I can hardly reconcile thofe formalities which render
it indelicate to pay praifes where all the world allows
them to be due; nor can I eeßly conceive why aman
ßsould be fo ßudious to deferve what he does not de-
ßre ; but ßnce you will not allow me to oßer any
panegyric to you, I muß hißen to heßow one upon
myfelf, and let the pubüc know (which was my chief
defign in this introduSionJ that I have the happi-
nefs to be.
Sir,
Your moß obliged,
and moß obedient fervani.
The AUTHOR,
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Compiled from the Village Opera of Charles
Johnfon—and this mufical Entertainment firft ap¬
peared at Covent-Garden Theatre in 1763. Its fuc-
cefs was nearly equal to that prodigy of fortune, the
Beggar's Opera.
This piece is founded upon rural Life, and ru¬
ral unacquaintance with the depravity of a metropolis.
The charadlers are naturally drawn—the incidents
have fufficient probability—It had the benefit of much
delightful mufic from the compofer, and the fweeteft
voices on the Englifli ftage have graced it by finging
the airs of Rossetta, Young Meadows, and Haw¬
thorn.
Mrs. Billington in this Opera, as in every othef
we liften to her in, throws the powers of her pre-
deceifors at an immeafurable diftance : her tone, her
taße, and mufical fcience, are the pride of the Britifh
Opera.
DRAMATIS PERSONJE.
DRURT.LANE.
Sir WittlAM Míadow»
Young Meadows
Juftice Woodcock
Hawthorne
Eustace
Hodge
Men.
Mr. Aickin,
Mr. KeUy.
Mr. Parfons.
Mr. Dignum.
Mr. Williames.
Mr. Hollingfworth,
ross etta
Eucinda
Deborah Woodcock
Margerv
ont en,
Mrs. Crouck.
Mifs Stageldcir.
Mrs. Love.
Mrs. CQ^ett.
DRAMATIS PERSQNJE.
COVENT-GARDEN.
Sir William Meadows
Young Meadows
Juftice Woodcock
Hawthorne
Edstace •
Hodge > •
Men.
Mr. Powell.
Mr. Johnilone.
Mr. Quick.
Mr. Banniiler.
Mr. Davis.
Mr. Blanchard.
Rossetta •
Lucinda
Deborah Woodcock
Margery
IVmen.
Mrs. Billingtofl.
Mrs. Mountain,
Mrs. Pitt.
Mrs. Wells,
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
ACT I. SCENE I.
A garden, nu'ithßatues, fountains, andßoiver-pots. Se¬
veral Arbours appear in theßde fcenes : Rossetta
and Lucinda are difcàveredat work,featedupon two
garden-chairs.
AIR.
Ros. Hope ! thou nurje of young deßre.
Fairy promifer of joy.
Painted vapour, glow-worm ßre.
Temperate fweet, that ne'er can cloy :
Luc. Hope ! thou earneß of delight,
Softeß foot her of the mind.
Balmy cordial, profpeñ bright,
Sureß friend the wretchedfind:
Both. Kind deceiver, ßattefßill.
Deal out pleafures unpffefi, ig
With thy dreams my fancy fill.
And in wi/hes male me biß.
10 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act I.
Luc. Heigho !—Rojfetta ?
Ros. Well, child, what do you fay ?
Luc. 'Tis a devilifli thing to live in a village a hun¬
dred miles from the capital, with a prepofterous gouty
father, and a fuper-annuated maiden aunt.—I am
heartily ßck of my iituation.
Ros. And with reafon—But 'tis in a great meafure
your own fault : here is this Mr. Euftace, a man of
charaftcr and family ; he likes you, 3ro« like bim ;
you know one another's minds, and yet you will not
refolve to make yourfelf happy with him. 23
AIR.
Whence can you mherit
So JIavj/h a fpirit ?
Confin'd thus, and chained to a log !
Now fondled, now chid.
Permitted, forbid :
' Tis leading the life of a dog.
For Jhetmt, you a hver ! 30
More frvmefs dißaver ;
Take courage, nor here longer mope ;
Rfifl and be free.
Run riot like me,
And, to perfeñ the fiñure, elope.
Luc. And is this your advice ?
Ros. Politively.
Act 1. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. H
Luc. Here's my hand ; pofitively I'll follow it—I
have already fent to my gentleman, who is now in the
country, to let him know he may come hither this
day ; we will make ufe of the opportunity to fettle all
preliminaries—And then—But take notice, whenever
we decamp, you march off along with us.
Ros. Oh ! madam, your fervant j I have no incli¬
nation to be left behind, I alTurc you—But you fay
you got acquainted with this Ipark, while you were
with your mother during her lail illnefs at Bath, fo
that your father has never feen him ?
Luc. Never in his life, my dear ; and, I am confi¬
dent, he entertains not the leall fufpicion of my hav¬
ing any fuch conneéiion : my aunt, indeed, has her
doubts and furmifes ; but, befides that my father will
not allow any one to be wifer than himfelf, it is an
eftablilhed maxim between thefe affedionate relations,
never to agree in any thing.
Ros. Except being abfurd ; you muft allow they
fympathize perfedly in that—But, now we are on the
fubjed, I defire to know, what I am to do with this
wicked old juftice of peace, this libidinous father of
yours ? He follows me about the houfe like a tame
goat.
Luc. Nay, I'll afllire you he hath been a wag in his
time—you muft have a care of yourfelF.
Ros. Wretched me ! to fall into iùch hands, who
have been juft forced to run away from my parents to
avoid an odious marriage You fmile at that now ;
and I know you think me whimfical, as you have of¬
ten told me ; but you muft excufe my being a little
over-delicate in this particular.
12
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Act I.
AIR.
My heart''s my own, my will is free.
And fa Jhall be my voice ; lO
No mortal man fiall wed with me,
Tillßrß he's made my choice.
Let parent's rule, cry nature's laws ;
And children ßill obey ¡
And is there then no faving claufe,
Againß tyrannic fway ?
l ue. Well, but my dear mad girl
Ros. Lucinda, don't talk to me—^Was your father
to go to London ; meet there by accidént with an old
fellow as wrong-headed as himfelf ; and in a fit of
abfurd friendihip, agree to marry you to that old fel¬
low's fon, whom you had never feen, without con-
fulting your inclinations, or allowing you a negative,
in cafe he ihould not prove agreeable
Luc, Why I fhould think it a little hard, I confels
—yet, when I fee you in the charafler of a chamber¬
maid— 87
Ros. It is the only charadler, my dear, in which I
could hope to lie concealed ; and, I can tell you, I
was reduced to the lall extremity, when in con-
fequence of our old boarding-fchool friendihip, I
applied to you to receive me in this capacity : for we
expe£ted the parties the very next week.
Luc. But had not you a meflagc from your in¬
tended fpoufe, to let you know he was as little inclined
to fuch ill-concerted nuptials as you were ?
Act I. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 13
Roí. More than fo ; he wrote to advife me, by all
means, to contrive fome method of breaking them off,
for he had rather return to his dear ftudies at Oxford ;
and after that, what hopes could I have of being hap¬
py with him ? loi
Luc. Then you are not at all uneafy at the ftrange
rout you mull: have occafioned at home ? I warrant,
during this month you have been abfent—
Ros. Oh ! don't mention it, my dear ; 1 have had
fo many admirers, lince I commenced Abigail, that I
am quite charmed with my tituation—But hold, who
llalks yonder in the yard, that the dogs are fo glad to
fee ?
Luc. Daddy Hawthorn, as I live ! He is come to
pay my father a vilit ; and never more luckily, for he
always fof ces him abroad. By the way, what will you
do with yourfelf while 1 ftep into the houfe to fee af¬
ter my trufty melTenger, Hodge ?
Ros. No matter, I'll lit down in that arbour, and
liften to the finging of the birds ; you know I am fond
of melancholy amufements.
Luc. So it feems, indeed : fure, Rofletta, none of
your admirers had power to touch your heart j you
are not in love, I hope ? 120
Ros. In love ! that's pleafant : who do youfuppole
I Ihould be in love with, pray ?
Luc. Why, let me fee What do you think of
Thomas, our gardener ? There he is, at the other end
of the walk—He's a pretty young man, and the fer-
vants fay, he's always writing verfes on you.
Ros. Indeed, Lucinda, you are very lilly.
«4 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act I.
Luc. Indeed, Rofletta, that bluih makes you look
very handlbme.
R»t. Bluih ? I am furc I don't blulh. 130
Luc. Ha, ha, ha !
Ros. Píhaw, Lucinda, how can you be fo ridi¬
culous ?
Luc. Well, don't be angry, and I have done'
But fuppofe you did like him, how could you help
yourfelf?
AIR.
When once Love's fubtle poifon gains
 pqffage to the female Ireaß,
Lile Rghtning rufhing through the veins.
Each iv'fh, and every thought's pojfeß : 140
7*0 heal the pangs our minds endure,
Reafon in vain its JliO applies ;
Nought can afford the heart a cure.
But what is pleaßng to the eyes.
SCENE II.
Enter Young Meadows.
T. Mea. Let me fee—on the fifteenth of June, at
half an hour paR five in the morning \jakisig out a
pocket ¿ooi J I left my father's houfe, unknown to any
one, having made free with a coat and jacket of our
gardener's, which fitted me, by way of a di/guiie : fo
fays my pocket-book ; and, chance direíHng me to
Act r. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 15
this village, on the twentieth of the fame month I pro¬
cured a recommendation to the worlhipful Juftice
Woodcock, to be the fuperintendant of his pumpkins
and cabbages, becaufe I would let my falJier fee, I
chofe to run any lengths, rather than fubmit to what
his obftinacy would have forced me, a marriage
againft my inclination, with a woman I never faw.
up the book, and takes up a •watering-pot.'^ Here Í
have been three weeks, and in that time I am as much
altered, as if I changed my nature with my habit.
'Sdeath, to fall in love with a chambermaid} And yet,
if I could forget that I am the fon and heir of Sir
William Meadows—But that's impolfible. 163
AIR.
Q i had I been by fate decreed
Seme humble cottage f-wcùn ;
In fair BjoS&ial s fght to feed
My Jheep upon the plain S
What blifs had I been born to tqfle.
Which no'w I ne'er muß know ?
Te erreious powers ! why have ye pladd 170
My fair one's lot fo làw ?
Ha ! who was it I had a glimpfe of as I pail: by that ar¬
bour ! Was it not ihe fat reading there ! the trem¬
bling of my heart tells me my eyes were not miâaken
—Here ihe comes.
i6
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Act I.
SCENE III.
Young Meadows, Rossetta.
Ros. Lucinda was certainly in the right of it, and
yet I blufh to own my weaknefs even to myfelf—
Marry, hang the fellow for not being a gentleman.
T. Mea. I am determined 1 won't fpeak to her
{turning to a rofe-tree, and plucking the ßowers."^ Now
or never is the time to conquer myfelf : befides, I
have fome reafon to believe the girl has no averfion
to me : and, as I wiih not to do her an injury, it
would be cruel to fill her head with notions of what
can never happen, {hums a tune'\ Plhaw ! rot thefe
rofes, how they prick one's fingers !
Ros. He takes no notice of me ; but fo much the
better, I'll be as indifferent as he is. I am fure the
poor lad likes me ; and if I was to give him any en¬
couragement, I fuppofe the next thing he talked of,
would be buying a ring, and being alked in church—
Oh, dear pride, I thank you for that thought. 191
T. Mea. Hah, going without a word ! a look !
—I can't bear that—Mrs. Rolfetta, I am gathering a
few rofes here, if you pleafe to take them in with
you.
Ros. Thank you, Mr. Thomas, but all my lady's
flower-pots are full.
T. Mea. Will you accept of them for yourfelf,
then ? {catching hold of her"^ What's the matter ? you
look as if you were angry with me.
Ros. Pray let go my hand.
act i. love in a village. i?
T. Mea. Nay, pr'ythee, why is this ? you flian't go,
I have fomething to fay to you.
Ros. Well, but I muft go, I will go ; I delire, Mr.
Thomas—
AIR.
Gentle youth, ah, tell me <why
Still you force me thus to fly ?
Ceafe, oh I ceafe, to perfevere ;
Speak not what I mufl not hear ;
To my heart its eafe reflore ;
Go, and never fee me more.
SCENE IV.
Young Meadows.
This girl is a riddle—That ihe loves me, I think there
is no room to doubt ; ihe takes a thoufand opportu¬
nities to let me fee it: and yet, when I fpeak to her,
ihe will hardly give me an anfwer ; and, if I attempt
the fraalleft familiarity, is gone in an inftant—I feel
my paffion for her, grow every day more and more
violent—Well, would I marry her ?—would I make
a miftrefs of her if I could ?—^Two things, called pru¬
dence and honour, forbid either. What am I pur¬
suing, then ? A ihadow. Sure my evil genius -laid
this fnare in my way. However, there is one com¬
fort, it is in my power to fly from it ; if fo, why do I
heiitate? I am diilrafted, unable to determine any
thing.
i8 1<0VE IN A VILLAGE. Act I.
AIR.
SitH in hopis to get the better
Of my Jlubborn flame I try t
Swear thk moment to forget her^
And the next my oath deny.
Now, prepared with fcorn to treat her,
Ev'ry charm in thought I brave,
Boqfl my freedom, fly to meet her,
And confefi myfelf a flave,
SCENE V.
A hall in Jiflice WooDcacK'x heufe. Enter Haw¬
thorn, with a fowling-piece in hit hands, and a net
with birds at his girdle : and, afterwards, fu/Hce
Woodcock.
AIR.
7here was a jolly miller once,
Liv'd on the river Dee j
He worked and fung from morn till night ¡
No lark more blythe than he.
And this the burthen of his fong.
For ever us'd to be,
I care for nobody, not I,
If no one cares for me, 240
Houfe, here, houfe ! what all gadding, all abroad !
houfe, I fay, hilli-ho, ho !
Act i. love IN A VILLAGE. ai
and fidlers, and were dancing as I came along, for
dear life—I never faw fuch a mortal throng in our
village in all my born days again. 3°°
Hatv. Why, I like this now, this is as it ihould be.
y. Wood. No, no, 'tis a very foolifh piece of bufi-
nefs ; good for nothing but to promote idlenefs and
the getting of baftards : but I ihall take meafures for
preventing it another year, and I doubt whether I am
not fuificiently authorifed already; for by an ait
pafled Anno undécimo Caroli primi, which impowers a
juftice of peace, who is lord of the manor
Hatv. Come, come, never mind the ait ; let me tell
you, this is a very proper, a very ufeful meeting ; I
want a fervant or two.myfelf, I mull go fee what your
market affords ;—and you lhall go, and the girls, my
little Lucy and the other young rogue, and we'll make
a day on't as well as the reft.
J. Wood. I wilh, mailer Hawthorn, I could teach
you to be a little more fedate : why won't you take
pattern by me, and confider your dignity?—Odds
heart, I don't wonder you are not a rich man ; you
laugh too much ever to be rich. 319
Haiv. Right, neighbour Woodcock! health, good-
humour, and competence, is my motto : and, if my
executors have a mind, they are welcome to make it
my epitaph.
AIR.
The honeß heart, nvhofe thoughts are clear
From fraud, difguife, and guile.
Need neither fortune's frowning fear.
Nor tourt the harlot's fmilt.
a» LOVE IN A VILLAGE, Act 1.
The gfmfnefs that vtmuld tnahe us grave
Is but an empty thing j
U^hat more than nùrth avouldmortals have? 330
The chearful mea?s a làmg.
SCENE VII.
LucindAi Hodge,
Luc, Hift, hift, Hodge !
hodge. Who calls ? here am I.
Luc. Well, have you been ?
Hodge. Been, ay I ha' been fiir enough, an that be
all : you never knew any thing fall out lb crofsly in
your born days.
Lm. Why, what's the matter ?
Hodge. Why you know, I dare not take a horfe out
of his worihip's ftables this morning, for fear it
(hould be mided, and breed queftions ; and our old
nag at home was fo cruelly beat i'th'hoofs, that, poor
beaft, it had not a foot to fet to ground ; fo I was
fain to go to farmer Ploughihare's, at the Grange, to
borrow the loan of his bald filly ; and would you
think it ? after walking all that way—de'el from me,
if the crofs-grained toad did not deny me the fa¬
vour.
Luc. Unlucky !
Hodge. Well, then I went my ways to the King's
head in the village, but all their cattle were at plough :
and I was as far to feek below at the turnpike : fo at
Act I. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. tj
laft, for want of a better, I was forced to take up
with dame Quickfet's blind mare. 353
Oh, then you have been?
Hodge. Yes, yes, I ha' been.
Luc. Piha ! Why did not 3rou fay fo at once ?
Hodge. Aye, but I have had a main tirefome jaunt
on't, for ihe is a forry jade at beft.
Luc. Weil, well, did you fee Mr. Euftace, and
what did he fay to you ?—Come, quick—have you
e'er a letter ? 362
Hodge. Yes, he gave me a letter, if I ha'na loft it.
Luc. Loft it, man Í
Hodge. Nay, nay, have a bit of patience : adwawns,
you are always in fuch a hurry ^rummaging his pockets']
I put it foniewhere in this waiftcoat pocket. Oh here
it is.
Luc. So, give it me. {reads the letter to herfelf.]
Hodge. Lord-a-mercy ! how my arm achs with
beating that plaguy beaft; I'll be hàng'd if'I
won'na rather ha' thraih'd half a day, than ha'
ridden her.
Luc. Well, Hodge, you have done your buiinefs
very well.
Hodge. Well, have not I now ?
Luc. Yes—Mr. Euftace tells me in this letter, that
he will be in the green lane, at the other end of the
village, by twelve o'clock—You know where he came
before. 380
Hodge Ay, ay.
Luc. Well, you muft go there ; and wait till he ar¬
rives, and watch your opportunity to introduce him.
34 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act I,
acrofs the fields, into the little fummer-houfe, on the
left fide of the garden.
Hodge. That's enough.
Luc. But take particular care that nobody fees you.
Hodge. I warrant you.
Luc. Nor for your life, drop a word of it to any
mortal. 390
Hodge. Never fear me.
Luc, And Hodge
AIR.
Hodge. Well, ivelljfay no more ;
Sure you told me before ;
Jfee the full length of my teather ;
Do you think I'm a fool.
That I need go to fchool?
I can fpell you and put you together.
A word to the wife.
Will always fuffice ; 400
Addfniggers go talk to your parrot;
I'm not fuch an elfe.
Though I fay it myfelf.
But I know a Jheep's headfrom a carrot.
SCENE VIII,
Lucinda.
How fevere is my cafe ! Here I am obliged to car¬
ry on a clandeftine correfpondence with a man in all
Act I. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. aj
refpeéls my equal,becaufe the oddity of my father's tem¬
per is fuch, that I dare not tell him I have ever yet
feen the perfon I fliould like to marry—But perhaps he
has quality in his eye, and hopes, one day or other, as
I am his only child, to match me with a title—vain
imagination !
AIR.
Cupid, God of foft perfuafton,
lake the helplefs lover's part :
Seize, oh feize fome kind occqfion.
To reward a faithful heart.
Jußly thofe we tyrants call.
Who the body would enthral ¡
Tyrants of more cruel kind,
Thofe, who would enflave the mind, 42 O
What is grandeur ? foe to reß,
Childiß mummery at beß.
Happy I in humbleßate ;
Catch, ye fools, the glittering bait.
SCENE IX.
Afield with afiile. Enter Hodge, followed by Mar¬
ge ay; and, fome time after, enter Young Mea¬
dows.
Hodge. What does the wench follow me for? Odds
flefli, folk may well talk, to fee you dangling after me
vol. 1. B
ï6 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. ACT I.
every wliere, like a tantony pig : fiijd forae other
road, can't you ; and don't keep wherreting me With
your nonfèiife.
Mar, Nay, pray you, Hodge, ftay, and let me
fpeak to you a bit. 431
HoJge. Well; what fayn you?
Mar. Dear heart, how can you be fo barbarous ?
and is this the way you ferve me after all ; and won't
you keep your word, Hodge ?
Hodge. Why no I won't,! tell you ; I have chang'd
my mind.
Mar. Nay but furely, furely—Confider Hodge,
you are obligated in confcience to make me an honeft
woman. 440
Hodge. Obligated in confcience ! How am I obli¬
gated ?
Mar. Becaufe you are ; and noBe but the bafeft of
rogues would bring a poor girl to lhame, and after¬
wards leave her to the wide world.
Hodge. Bring you to ihame ! Don't make me ipeak,
Madge, don't make me fpeak.
Mar. Yes do, fpeak your worft,
Hodge. AVliy then, if you go to that, you were fain
to leave your own village down in the Weft, for a
baftard you had by the clerk of the pariih, and I'll
bring the man ihall fay it to your face. 453
Mar. No, no, Hodge, ftis no iuch thing, 'tis a bafe
lie of fermer Ploughíhare's—But I know what makes
you falfe-hearted to me, that you may keep company
with young madam's waiting-woman, and I am fure
ihe's no fit body for á poor'fnäfa's Wife.
Act I. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 0,1
Hodge. How ihouM you know what flie's fit for ?
She's fit for as much as you, mayhap) j don't find
fault with your betters, Madge, {ßeeing young Mea-
donus."] Oh ! mafter Thomas, I have a word or two
to fay to you ; pray did not you go down the village
one day laft week with a balltet of fomething upon
your ihoulder ?
T. Mea. Well, and what then ?
Hodge. Nay, not much, only the oftler at the Green-
man was faying, as how there was a paflenger at
their houfe as fee'd you go by, and faid he know'd
you ; and axt a mort of queftions—So I thought I'd
tell you.
T. Mea, The devil ! alk queftions about me 1 1
know nobody in this part of the country ; there mull:
be fome miitake in it.—Come hither, Hodge.
■ Mar. A nafty ungrateful fellow, to ufe me at this
rate, after being to him as I have.—Well, well, I
wilh all poor girls would take warning by my miihap,
and never have nothing to fay to none of them.
AIR.
How happy were my days, till now !
I ne'er did forrow feel,
I rofe with joy to milk my cow, 480
Or take my fpànmng-wheel.
My heart was lighter than aßy.
Like any bird I fung,
nil he pretended love, and I
Belient'd hisßatt'rii^ tongue.
B 2
a8 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. ACT I.
Oh the fool, theftlly filly fool.
Who trufs nvhat man may be ¡
I auifh I was a maid again,
And in my own country. 489
SCENE X.
A green with the profpeB of a village, and the r&prefetl'
tation of a fatute or fair. Enter Jvsticr Wood¬
cock, Hawthorn, Mrs, Deborah Wood¬
cock, Lucinda, Rossetta, Meadows,
Hodge, andfeveral country people,
Hodge, This way, your worfliip, this Way. Why
don't you ftand afide there ? Here's his worfliip a
coming.
Countrymen. His worfliip !
J, Wood, Fye, fye, whata croud's this ! Odd, I'll
put fome of them in the ftocks. \_Striking a fellow'\
Stand out of the way, firrah.
Haw. For fliame, neighbour. Well, my lad, are
you willing to ferve the king ?
Countryman, Why, can you lift ma! Serve the king,
mafter! no, no, I pay the king, that's enough for
me. Ho, ho, ho ! joi
Haw. Weil faid, Sturdy-boots.
J, Wood, Nay, if you talk to them, they'll anfwer
you.
Haw, I would have them do fo, I like they fliould.
—Well, madam, is not this a finé fight I I did not
Act I. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 2ç
know my neighbour's eftate had been fo well peopled.
—Are all thefe his own tenants ?
Mrs. Deb. More than are good of them, Mr. Haw¬
thorn. I don't like to fee fuch a parcel of young huf-
lys fleering with the fellows. 511
Haw. There's a lafs \_heck'ning to a ceuntry girl.'\
Come hither, my pretty maid. What brings yoit
here? {Chucking her under the chin. ] Do you come to
look for a fervice ?
C. Girl. Yes, an't pleafe you.
Haw. Well, and what place are you for ?
C Girl. All work, an't pleafe you.
"J. Wood. Ay, ay, I don't doubt it; any work you'll
put her to. 520
Mrs. Del. She looks like a brazen one—Go,hulIy.
Haw. Here's another. {Catchingdfirl that goes by.
What health,, what bloom !-—This is Nature's work ;
no art, no daubing. Don't be aihamed, child ; thofe
cheeks of thine are enough to put a whole drawing-
room out of countenance.
SCENE XI.
Justice Woodcock, Hawthorn, Mrs. Debo¬
rah Woodcock, Lucinda, Rossetta, Young
Meadows, Hodge, and men and women fer¬
mants.
Hodge. Now,your honour,now.the fport will come.
The gut-fcrapers are here, and fome among them
arc going to fing and dance. Why there's not the
30 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act. I.
like of our ftàtute, mun, in five counties ; others are
but fools to it. 531.
Servant-man. Come, good people, make a ring,
and ftand out, fellow ferrants, as many of you as are
willing, and able to bear a bob. We'll let my mailers
and miftrefles fee we can do fomething at leall ; if
they won't hire us, it ihati't be our fault. Strike up
the Servants Mfedley.
AIR.
House-maid,
J pray y», gentluyliß to me,
I'm young, andßrong, and clean you fees
I'll not turn tail to any.fie, 540
For nvork that's in the country.
Of all your houfe the charge I take,
I voafi, I fcrub, I hrevo, I hake ¡
.And more can do than here Pll/peak.
Depending on your bounty,
Footmam.
Behold a blade, vuho knows his trade
In chamber, hall, and entry :
And what tho' here I now appear,
I've ferv'd the beß of gentry.
A footman would you have 550
I can drefs, and comb, andfiave }
For I a handy lad am :
On a mejfage I can go.
Andfitp a billet-doux.
With your-humble fervant, madam.
Act II.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Cook-Maid.
Who tuants a good cook my hand they muß cr^ ;
For plain tuhokfome dißtes I'm ne'er at a lofi ;
^nd tuhat are your foups, your ragouts, and your faute,
Campar'd to old Engl^h roaß beef P
Carter.
If you tuant a young man, tuith a true honefl heart.
Who knows hotu to manage a plough and a cart, ¡61
Here's one for your purpofe, come take me and try }
Tou'llfay you ne'er met with a better nor I,
Ge ho Dobbin, &c.
Chorus.
My maßers and mßrejfes, hither repair ¡
What fermants you want, you'llfind in our fair ;
Men and Maids fit fur allforts of flattons there be ¡
And, as for the wages, we Jhan't difagree.
ACT IL SCENE I.
A Parlour in "^vssTicz Woodcock'/ Houfe.
Lucikda, Eustace.
Lucinda.
Well, am not I a bold adventurer, to bring you
iiito my father's houfe at nooo-day ? Though, to üy
3» LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act II.
the truth, we are fafer here than in the garden ; for
there is not a human creature under the roof befides
ourfelves.
Ettß- Then why not put our icheme into execution
this moment ? I have a poft-chaife ready.
Luc. Fye : how can you talk fo lightly ? I proteft
I am afraid to have any thing to do with you ; your
pallion feems too much founded on appetite ; and
my aunt Deborah fays— 11
Luß. What! by all the rapture my heart now
feels—
Luc, Oh to be fure, promife and vow ; it founds
prettily, and never fails to impofe upon a fond fe¬
male.
AIR.
We tuomen like weak Indians traâe,
Whofe judgment tinfel Jhenu decoys j
Dupes to our folly we are made.
While artful man the gain enjoys : 20
We give our treafure, to he paid
A paltry, poor return / in toys.
Eujl. Well, I fee you've a mind to divert yourfelf
with me ; but I wiih I could prevail on you to be a
little ferious.
Luc. Serioufly then, what would you delire me to
fay ? I have promifed to run away with you ; which
is as great a concellion as any reafonable lover can
expeil from his miftrefs. 29
Muß. Yes ; but, you dear provoking angel, you
have not told me, when you will run away with me.
Act II. LOVE IN A VILLAGE, jj
Luc. Why that, I confefs, requires fome confide-
ration.
Euß, Yet remember, while you are deliberating,
the feafon, now fo favourable to us, may elapfe, never
to return,
AIR.
Think, my faireß, how delay
Danger every moment brings ;
Tune flies fwifi, and will away ;
Tune thafs ever on its wings ; 40
Doubting andfufpence at befl.
Lovers late repentance cofl ¡
Let us, eager to be blefl.
Seize occaßon e'er 'tis Iß.
SCENE II.
Lucinda, Eustace, Justice Woodcock,
Mrs. Deborah Woodcock.
J. Wood. Why, here is nothing in the world in
this houfe but cater-wauling from morning till night,
nothing but cater-wauling. Hoity toity ; who have
we here ?
Luc. My father, and my aunt !
Eufl The devil ! What ihall we do ? yo
Luc. Take no notice of them, only obferve me.
(Speaks aloud to Euftace. ) Upon my word. Sir, 1 don't
know what to fay to it, unlefs the Juftice was at homej
Bs
34 IN A VlLLA<a:. Act If.
he is juft iffejjp»d into the villkge with fome company ;
but, if you'll fit down a moment, I dare fwear he
will Tët&tti—fpreienâs itfie ths ! Sir, here
is my papa 1
y.Wood. Here is your papa, hpfly! Who's this
you have gpt with you ? Hark you, firrah, who are
you, ye dog ? and what-'« your bufinefs here ? 60
Euß. Sir, this is a language I am not ufed to.
y. Wood, Don't anfwef me, you rafcal—I am a
juftice of the peace ; and if 1 hear a Word out of your
mouth, I'll fend you to jail, for all your lac'd"hat.
Mrs. Deh. Send him to jail, brother, that's right.
y. Wood. And how do you know it's right ? How
fliould you know aöy thing's right ?—Sifter Deborah,
you are never in the right.
Mrs. Deb. Brother, this is the man I have been
telling you about fo long. 70
y. Wood. What man, goody Wife-acre !
Mrs. Deb. Why, the man your daughter has an in¬
trigue with : but I hope you will not believe it now,
though you fee it with your own eyes—^Come, huffy,
confefs, and don't let your father make a fool of him-
felf any longer.
Luc. Confefs what, atmt ? This gentleman is a
mufic-mailer : he goes jdjout the country, teaching
ladies to play añd fing j and has been recommended
to inftruit me : I could not turn him out when he
came to offer his fervice 5 and did not know what
ánfwer to give him till I faw my papa. 82
y. Wood. A mufic-mafter I
Èufi. Yes, Sir, that's ftiy pitffellion.
Aot H. LOVE IN A VaLAGE. 35
Dth. It's a lye, youog man ; it's a lye. Bro-
ther^ he is no more a mufic-mailer, than I am a mnfic-
mafter.
y. Wood. What tbenjyoa know better than the fel¬
low himfelf, do yon ?• and you wiU be wifer than aH
the world ? 90
Mrs. Beb. Brodier, he does not look like a muiio-
uafler.
y Wood. He does not look ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Was
ever fuch a poor ftupe ! Well, and what does he look
like, tlien ? But I fuppofe you mean, he is not dreffed
like a mufic-mailer, becaufe of his ruffles, and this
bit of garnifhing about his coat—which feems to be
copper too—Why, you filly wretch, thefe whipper-
fnappers fet up for gentlemen, now-a-days, and give
themfelves as many airs as if they were people of
quality.—Hark you, friend, I fuppofe you don't come
within the vagrant a£lYou have fome fettjed
habitation—Where do yon live ?
Mrs. Deb. It's an eafy matter for him to tell yoa a
wrong place.
y. Wood. Siller Deborah, don't provoke me.
Mrs. Deb. I wilh, brother, you would let me ex¬
amine him a little.
y. Wood. You fhan't fay a word to him, youlhan't
fay a word to him. 110
Mrs. Deb. She fays he was recommended here,bro¬
ther ; alle him by whom ?
y. Wood. No, I won't now, becattfe you defire it.
Luc. If my papa did afk the queilion, annt, it
would be very eafily reiolved.
■36
love in a village.
Act it.
Mrs. Dei. Who bid you fpeak, Mrs. Nimble Chops ?
I fuppofe the man has a tongue in his head to anlwer
for himfelf.
y JVood. Will nobody flop that prating old woman's
Mrs. Deb Well, fo I canj- brother ; 1 don't want
to ftay : but, remember, I tell you, you will make
yourfelf ridiculous in this affair: for, through your
own obftinacy, you will have your daughter run
away with, before your face.
y. Wood. My daughter ! who will run away with
my daughter ?
■Mrs. Deb. That fellow will.
y. Wood. Go, go, you are a wicked, cenforious wo¬
man. .130
Luc. Why, fure, madam, you muft think me very
coming, indeed.
y. Wood. Ay, fhe judges of others by herfelf; I
remember when fhe was a girl : her mother dared not
truft her the length of her apron-ftring ; fhe was
clambering upon every fellow's back.
Mrs. Deb. 1 was not
y. Wood. You were.
Luc. Well, but why lb violent ?
mouth for me ? Get out of the room.
120
AIR.
BeReve me, dear aunt.
If you rave thus, and rant.
140
Tou'll never a lover perfuade ;
The men will all fiy.
And leave you to die.
Oh, terrible chance ! an old maid.
Act II. LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
How happy the lafs,
Muß Jhe come to this pafsf
Who ancient virginity 'fcapes !
'Twere better on earth
Have five brats at a birth.
Than in hell be a leader of apes.
SCENE III.
Justice Woodcock, Lucinda, Eustace.
y. Wood. Wèll done, Lucy, fend her about her
bufinefs ; a troublefome, fooliih creature, does ihe
think I want to be direäed by her ?—Come hither,
my lad, you look tolerable honeft.
Eujl. I hope, fir, I ihall never give you caufe to
alter your opinion.
y. Wood. No, no, I am not eafily deceived, I am
generally pretty right in my conjedhires. You
muft know, I had" once a little notion of mufic my-
felf, and learned upon the fiddle ; I could play the
Trumpet Minuet, and Buttered Peas, and two or
three tunes. I remember, when I was in London,
about thirty years ago, there was a fong, a great fa¬
vourite at our club at Nando's cofFee-houfe ; Jack
Pickle ufed to fing it for us, a droll fiih ! but 'tis an
old thing, I dare fwear you have heard of it often.
ÁIR.
When I followed a lafs that was froward andfly.
Oh ! Ifiuck to her fluff", till I made her comply ,•
3# LOVE m A VEtLAGËE. Act H.
Oh ! I took her fo lo-wtgly round tie 170
^nd I fmack'd her Upa and held her
Whenhus¿dtmd¡mád^.
She fqueal'd andßjmdid;
Buty thoughßse nmu'd ail I &d teem i», vain,
Tet I pleas d her fo <mO: ihtA ßee hare it ageán :
Then hoity, tatty,
Whifldng, andfri/king.
Green ivas her goivn upan the grafs ;
Oh I fuch ivere the joys of our dancing days,
Etfl. Very well. Sir, upoa My word.
y. Wood No, no, I forget all thoie things now ;
but I could do a little at them once j—^Well, ilay and
eat your dinner, and we'll talk about your teaching
the girl—Lucy, take your mailer to your ipinnet, and
ihew him what you can do—I muß: go and gire fome
orders ; then hoity, toity. See,
SCENE IF,
Lucinda, Eustace.
Lue. My fweet, pretty papa, your moft ohedieat
humble fervant ; hal», hah, hah ! was ever fo
whimfical an accident? Well, fitj what do you think of
this ?
E^. Think of it ! I am in a mase.
Luc. O your aukwardnefs ! I was frightened out of
my wits, left you fliould not take the hint ; and, if I
had not turned matters fo cfekerly, we Aoulid have
beeauttes^ undone.
Act IK LOVE IN A VILLAGH. ^
Euß 'Sáeadi ! whjF ikcmldt yoa bnog me Inta> the
houfe ? we cöüM espeft nothing eiier befides, Cnce
they did furprife as, it wodd feaTC keen better to
have difcovered the truth. 199
Luc. Yes, and never have feen one anodier aftea^
wards. I know my father better than you do ; he
has taken it into his head, I have no inclination for a
huiband ; and let me tell you, that is our bell fecu-
rity ; for if once he has faid a thing, he will not be
calHy perfoaded to the contrary.
Euß, And pray what am I to do now ?
Luc, Why, as 1 think all danger is pretty well over,
lince he hath invited you to dinner with him. Hay ;
only be cautious of your behaviour ; and, in the
mean time, I will confider what is next to be done.
Eiß, Had not I better go to your Êtther ?
Luc. Dofo, whiie I endeavour to recover myfetf a
Httle out of the hurry this affair has put me in.
Eiß, Weil, but what fort of a parting is this, whh-
owt lb mach as yoair iervamit, or good bye to you ?
No ceremony at all ? Can yon afford me no- Solté» to
keep up my ^irits till i fee yoa. again ^
Lue. Ah, childilh}
Eß, My angel ! 21^
AIR.
£afk. Let raies and /iierlines, re/tgu'd
To finfiud pleafures, range !
flere all the fe»'s chcarms Ifind.
And nt^er «an cool or change^
40 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act II.
Luc. Let vain coquets and prudes cóneeal
What mqfl their hearts defire ¡
With pride my pq/Jion I reveal.
Oh ! may it ne'er eapire.
Both, the fun Jhall ceafe to fpread its light,
Theßars their orbits leave,
Andfair creationßnh in night.
When I my dear deceive.
SCENE V.
A Garden.
Enter Rossetta, mupng.
Ros. If ever poor creature was in a pitiable condi¬
tion, furely I am. The devil take this fellow, I can¬
not get him out of my head ; and yet I would fain
perfuade myfelf I don't care for him : well but fure¬
ly I am not in love : let me examine my heart a little :
1 faw him killing one of the maids the other day ; I
could have boxed his ears for it, and have done no¬
thing but find fault and quarrel with the girl ever
fince. Why was I unealy at his toying with another
woman ? what was it to me ?—^Then I dream of him
almoft every night—but that may proceed from his
being generally uppermoft in my thoughts all day :
Oh ! worfe and worfe !—^Well, he is certmnly a
pretty lad ; he has fomething uncommon about him,
confidering his rank ;—And now, let me only put
the cafe, if he was not a fervant, would I, or woidd
I not, prefer hira to all the men I ever faw ? Why, to
Act II. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 41
be fure, if he was not a fervant—In ihort, I'll alle
rayfelf no more queftions, for the further 1 examine,
the lefs reafon I ihall have to be fatisfied. 251
AIR;
Hdnv blefs^d the maid, whofe hofom
No head-ßrong pqffton knoivs ¡
Her days in joy ßie paßes.
Her nights in calm repofe.
Where'er her fancy leads her.
No pain, no fear invades her ;
But pleafare.
Without meafure.
From ev'ry ohjeSflows. 260
SCENE VI.
Youkg Meadows, Rossetta.
T. Mea, Do you come into the garden, Mrs. Rof-
fetta, to put my lilies and rofes out of countenance ;
or, to fave me the trouble of watering my flowers, by
reviving them ? The fun feems to have hid himfelf a
little, to give you an opportunity of fupplying his
place.
Ros. Where could he get-that now ? he never read,
it in the Academy of Compliments.
T. Mea. Come, don't affeit to treat me with con¬
tempt ; I can fuíFer any thing better than that} in
ihort, I love you ; there is no more to be faid : I am
angry with myfelf for it, and ftrive all I can againft
it 5 but, in fpite of rayfelf, I love you.
4«
LOVE IN A VILLAGE,
Act IL
AIR.
In vain, I ev'ry art effay^
To pluck the venom dß>aß away.
That rankles in my heart ;
Deep in the centreßx'd and hound—
^ My efforts but enlarge the wound.
Andfiercer make the fmart. 279
Ros. Really, Mr. Thomas, this is very improper
language ; it is what I don't underftand ; I can't fuffer
it, and, in ihort, I don't like it.
T. Mea. Perhaps you don't like me.
Ros. Well, perhaps I don't.
T. Mea. Nay, but 'tis not ib ; come, confefs you
love me.
Ros. Confefs! indeed I ihall confcß no fuch thing:
belTdes, to what purpole Ihould I conßß it i
T. Mea. Why, as you fay, I don't know to what
purpofe ; only, it would be a &tis£i£lion to me to
hear you lay that's all. 291
Ros. Why, if I did love you^ 1 can alTure you, you
wou'd never be the better for it—Women are apt
cnou^ tO) be. weak ; we cannot always anlwer for our
inclinations, but it is. in. our power not to give way to
them ; and> if I was. fo fîUy ; I fay, if I was fb in-
difcr»^ which I hope I. am ool^ as to entertain an imi-
proper regard, when people's circumftances are quite
unlùieabie, and there are ohitadbs. in the way that
Cannot be furmoMated— 301
Act ir. W)VE IN A VILLAGE, 41
T. Mea. Oh ! to beiure, Mrs. Rofletta, to be hire :
you are entirely in the right of it—In—know vary well,
you and I can never come together.
Ros. Well then, fince that is the calk, as I afliire
you it is, I think we had better behave accordingly.
T. Mea. Suppofe we make a bargain, then, never to
fpeak to one another any more í
Ros. With all my heart;
T- Mea. Nor look at, nor, if poilible, think of, one
another? 311
Ros. I am very willing.
T. Mea. And, as long as we ftay in the: houle to*
gether, never to take any notice ?
Ros. It is the heft way.
T.Mia. Why, I believe it is—^WelV M«. RoC
fetta
AIR.
Ros. Begone 1 agree
From this momsnt. 'w¿re free.:
Already the matter I'-aeßumus 320
y. Mea. Tel let me cempbân.
Qf the fates that ordaîn*-^-
A trial fo hard to be. home.,
Ros. When things are not fit.
We Jhould calmly fuhmit ¡
No cure in reluñance ave find i
Y, Mea. Then thus I obey,
"Fear your image away.
And lanijh you quite from my mind. 329
44 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act «.
Ros, Well, now, I think, I am fomewhat eafier :
I am glad I have come to this explanation with him,
becaufe it puts an end to things at once.
T. Mea. Hold, Mrs. Rofletta, pray ftay a moment
—The airs this girl gives herfelf are intolerable ; I
find now the caufe of her behaviour ; ihe defpifes the
meannefs of my condition, thinking a gardener below
the notice of a lady's waiting-woman ; 'fdeath, I have
a good mind to difcover myfelf to her.
Ros. Poor wretch ! he does not know what to make
of it : I believe he is heartily mortified, but I muft
not pity him. 341
T. Mea. It lhall be fo : I will diicover myfelf to
her, and leave the houfe direitly.—Mrs. Rofletta—
\_ßartmg lach.'\—Pox on it, yonder's thejuftice come
into the garden !
Ros. O Lord ! he will walk round this way ; pray
go about your bufinefs ; I would not for the world
he fliould fee us together.
T' Mea. The devil take him ; he's gone acrols the
. parterre, and can't hobble here this half hour : I mufl:
and will have a little converfation with you.
Ros. Some other time.
T. Mea. This evening, in the green-houfe, at the
lower end of the canal ; I have fomething to com¬
municate to you of importance. Will you meet me
there ?
Ros. Meet you !
T. Mea. Ay ; I have a fecret to tell you ; and I
(wear, from that moment, there ihall be an end of
every thing betwixt us. 360
Act II. LOVE IN A VILLAGB. 4S
Ros, Well, well, pray leave me now.
T. Mea. You'll come then ?
Ros. I don't know, perhaps I may;
T. Mea. Nay, but promife.
Ros. What fignifies promifing ; I may break my
promife—but, 1 tell you, I will.
T. Mea. Enough—^Yet, before I leave you, let me
delire you to believe I love you more than ever man
loved woman ; and that when I relinquilh you, I give
up all that can make my life fupportable. 370
AIR.
Oh ! howßiall /, in language weak.
My ardent pinion tell ;
Or form my fault'ring tongue to fpeak.
That cruel word, Farewel ?
Farewel—but know, tho" thus we part.
My thoughts can neverßray :
Co where I will, my corflant heart
Muß with my charmerßay.
SCENE VII.
Rossetta, Justice Woodcock.
Ros. What can this be that he wants to tell me ? I
have a ftrange curioiity to hear it, methinks—well—
J. Wood. Hem ! hem ! Rofletta !
Ros. So, I thought the devil would throw him in
my way ; now for a courtlhip of a different kind ; but
I'll give him a furfeit—^Did you call me. Sir ?
378
46 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. ACT II.
y. Wood. Ay, where are you running fb fail?
Ros. I was only going into the houfe, Sir.
y. Wood. Well, but come here : come here, liày.
\_Looling ahout.y How do you do, Rolfctta ?
Ros. Thank you, fir, pretty well.
y. Wood. Why you look as friflx and blooniy to¬
day—<Adad, you little flut, I believe you are painted.
Ros. O fir 1 you are pleafed to con^limeat.
y. Wood. Adad, I believe you are—^let me try—
Ros. Lord, fir !
y. Wood. What brings you into this garden fo often,
Roffetta ? I hope you don't get eating green fruit and
traih ; or have you a hankering after fome lover in
dowlas, who fpoils my trees by epgraving true-lovers
knots on them, with your horn and buck-handled
knives ? I fee your name written upon the ceiling of
the fervants hall, with the fmoak of a candle ; and I
fuípeét—'—
Ros, Not me, I hope, fir—No, fir ; I am of ano¬
ther guefs mind, I alTure you ; for, I have heard fay,
men are faife and fickle
y. Wood. Ay, that's your flanting, idle, young Ed-
lows ; fo they are': and they are ib damn'd impudent,
I wonder a woman tvill have any thing to fay to them;
befides, all that they want is fomething to brag of,
and tell again. 410
Ros. Why, I own. Sir, if ever I was to make a flip,
it ihould be with an elderly gentleman—about fè-
venty, or feventy-five years of age.
y. Wood. No, child, that's out of reafon ; though 1
have known many a man turned of three-icore with a
hale conftitutioo.
Act II. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 47
Ros. Then,Sir,heihouldbe troubled mtb tbe gout,
bave a good ftrot^, fubilantial, winter cougb—and
I ihould not like bim the worle—if be had a fmall
touch of tbe rbeumatifni. 420
J. Wood. Pbo, pbo, Rofletta, this is jefting.
Ros. No, Sir, every body has a tafte, and I have
mine.
J. Wood. Well, but RolTetta, have you thought of
what I was faying to you ?
Ros. What w^s it. Sir?
J. Wood. Ah! you know, youkoeiKr, well enough,
hufly.
Ros. Dear fir, confider " my foul} would you have
" me endanger my foul ?
'J. Wood. " No, no—Repent.
Ros. " Befides,Sir,confider," vdiat has a poor fer-
vant to depend on but her charafter ? And, 1 have
heard, you gëntleffien will talk one thing before, and
another after.
y. Wood. I tell you again, thefe are the idle, flaihy
young dogs : but when you have to do with a ftaid,
fober man
Ros. And a aiagiftr4te, 'fir !
J. Wood. Right; it's quite adhfercat'thiBg»-«-"
Well, ihall we, Rofletta, {hull We ?
Ros. Really, Sir, I dön't'hßoW what to fey to it.
AIR.
Young Ism, and'fvre afraid:
Wou'dyou hart a harrrdefs snoid ?
Lead On innesent aßre^ ?
Tempt me not, kind Sir, J fray.
4» LOVE m A VILLAGE. Act II.
Men too often we BeReve;
Andffbould you my faith deceive^
Ruinßrß and then forfake.
Sure my tender heart wou'd hreah. 450
J. Wood. Why, you filly girl, I won't do you any
harm.
Ros. Won't you. Sir ?
J. Wood. Not I.
Rot. But won't you indeed, Sir ?
J. Wood. Why I tell you I won't.
Ros. Ha, ha, ha !
J.Wood. Hufly, HulTy!
Ros. Ha, ha, ha!—Your ferrant, Sir, your fer¬
rant. 460
J. Wood. Why, you impudent, audacious—
SCENE VIII.
Justice Woodcock, Hawthorn !
Haw. So,fo,juiliceatoddswithgrarity ! hiswor-
ihip playing at romps !—Your ferrant, fir.
J. Wood. Haw ; friend Hawthorn !
Haw. I hope I don't fpoil fport, neighbour : I
thought I had the glimpfe of a petticoat as I came in
here.
J. Wood. Oh ! the maid. Ay, flie has been ga¬
thering a fallad—But come hither, mafter Hawthorn,
and I'll ihew you fome alterations I intend to make
b my garden. 471
Act II. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 49
Ha'vj. No, no, I am no judge of it ; befides, I
want to talk to you a little more about this-—Tell me.
Sir Juftice, were you helping 3'our maid to gather a
fallad here, or confulting her tafte in your improve¬
ments, eh ? Ha, ha, ha ! Let me fee, all among the
roles ; egad, I like your notion ; but you look a little
blank upon it : you are afhamed of the bufmefs, then,
are you ? .479
AIR.
Oons ! neighbour ne'er hluß for a trifle like this ;
What harm with a fair one to toy and to kifs ?
The greateß and graveß—a truce with grimace-
Would do the fame thing, were they in the fame place.
No age, no profeßion, no ßation is free ;
To fovereign beauty mankind bends the knee :
That power, reßßlefs, no ßrength can oppofe.
We all love a pretty girl under the rofe.
y. Wood. I profefs, mailer Hawthorn, this is all
Indian, all Cherokee language to me ; 1 don't un-
derftand a word of it. 490
Haw. No, may be not : well. Sir, wiU you read
this letter, and try whether you can underftand that ?
it is juft brought by a fervant, who Rays for an an-
fwer.
y. Wood. A letter, and to me? \^taking the letter."^
Yes, it is to me ; and yet I am fare it comes from no
correfpondent, that I know of. Where are my ipec-
tacles ? not but I can fee very well without them,
VOL. I. C
5p love in a village. Act, iu
maiter HaKvthoraj but tliis. feems to be a fort of a
crabbed hand. çoq
Sir,
I am qßamed of giving pa this ttouhle s hutf t ant
informed there is an unthinking boy, a fon of mine, nova
difguifedand in your fervice,in the capacity of a gardener s
Tom is a little vaild, hut an honeß lad, and no fool either,
though I am his father that fay it. Tom—--oh, this is
Thomas, our gardener j 1 always thought that he was
a better man's child than- he appeared to be, though
I never mentioned it.
Havu. Well, well. Sir, pray let's hear the reft of
tlje letter. y 11
y. Wood. Stay, where is theplaCe ? Ob, here :—I
am come in queß of my run'-a-may, and 'write this at an
inn in your village, while I am fwcdlowing a morfel of
dinner : lecaufe, not having thepleafsre of your acquain^
tance, I did not care to intrude, without giving pu notice
(Whoever this perfon is, he underftands good man¬
ners). I beg leave to wait on you. Sir ; but deßre you
would keep my arrival a fecret, particularly from the^
young man. 520
William Meadows.
I'll afliire you, a very well worded, civil letter.
t)o you know any thing of the perfon who writes it,
neighbour ?
Haw. Let me' confider^Meadows—»by dad I be¬
lieve it is Sir William Meadows of Northamptonihire ;
and, now I remember, I heard, fomeiime ago, Úat
Act II. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. St
the heir of that family had abfconded, on account of
a marriage that was difagreeable to him. It is a good
many years fince I have feen Sir Williain, but we
were once well acquainted : and, if you pleafe, Sir, I
will go and conduit him to the houfe.
Wood. Do fo, mailer Hawthorn, do fo
But, pray what fort of a man is this Sir William Mea¬
dows ? Is. he a wife man ?
Haiv. There is no occaiion for a man that has five
thoufand pounds a year, to be a conjuror ; but I fup-
pofe you alle that queftion becaufe of this ftory about
his ion ; taking it for granted, that wife parents make
wile children. 540
y. Wood, No doubt of it, mailer Hawthorn, no
doubt of it—I warrant we ihall find now, that this
young raical has fallen in love with fome mynx,
againil his father's confient—Why Sir, if I had as
many children as king Priam had, that we read of at
fichool, in the deñruélion of Ttoy, not one of them
ihould fierve me fio.
Haw. Well, well, neighbour, perhaps not ; but
we ihould remember when we were young ourfielves ;
and I was as likely to play an old don fiuch a trick in
my day, as e'er a fipark in the hundred ; nay between
you and me, I had done it once, had the wench been
as willing as I.
AIR.
My Dolly was the faiteß thing !
Her breath difchs'd the fweets of fpring ;
C 2
¡2 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act 11.
yind if for fummer you vtou'd feci,
^ Twos painted in her eye^ her cheek ;
Her ftu tiling hofom, tempting ripe.
Of fruitful autumn tuas the type :
But, tuhen my tender tale I told, j6o
I found her heart tuas tuinter cold.
y. Wood. Ah, you were always a fcape-grace
rattle-cap.
Hatu. Odds heart, neighbour Woodcock, don't tell
me, young fellows will be young fellows, though we
preach till we're hoarfe again ; and fo there's an end
on't.
SCENE IX.
Justice Woodcock's Hall.
Hodge, Margery.
Hodge. So, miftrefs, who let you in ?
Mar. Wh)', I let myfelf in.
Hodge. Indeed ! Marry come up ! why, then pray
let yourfelf out again. Times are come to a pretty
pafs ; I think you might hare had the manners
to knock at the door firfl:—^What does the wench
iland for ?
Mar. I want to know if his worihip's at home.
Hodge. Well, what's your bufinefs with his wor-
fhip ?
Act. ÏI. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. ¡3
Mar. Perhaps you will hear that—Look ye,
Hodge, it does not fignify talking, I am come, once
for all, to know what you intends to do ; for I won't
be made a fool of any longer. 581
Hodge. You won't.
Mar. No, that's what I won't, by the beft man that
ever wore a head ; 1 am the make-game of the whole
village upon your account ; and I'll try whether your
mailer gives you toleration in your doings.
Hodge. You will ?.
Mar. Yes that's what I will ; his worlhip /hall be
acquainted with all your pranks, and fee how you
will like to be fent for a foldier. y 90
Hodge. There's the door ; take a friend's advice
and go about your bufinefs.
Mar. My bufinefs is with his wor/hip ; and I
won't go till I fees him.
Hodge. Look you, Madge, if you make any of your
orations here, never ftir if I don't fet the dogs at
you—Will you be gone í
Mar. I won't.
Hodge. HereTowzerj^w^^Â/î^-.] whu, whu, whu.
AIR.
Was ever poor fellow fo plagued with a vixen ? 600
Zanvns! Madge don't provoke me,but mind what I fay,
TouS)e ehofe a wrong parfon for playing your tricks on.
So pack up your alls and be trudging away :
Tou'd better be quiet,
Hnd not breed a riot ;
S'blood, muß /ßandprating with you here all day ?
54 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act IL
Pve got other matlert to nmd;
May hap you tnay thinl me an afs \
But to the tonirary you'llfind:
Bfine piece of work by the mafs ! 6lo
SCENE X.
Rossettä, Hones, Makgerv.
Ros. Sure I heard the voice of difcord here—as I
live, an admirer of mine, and, if I miftake not, a rival
—I'll have ibme fport with them—how now, fellow-
fervant, what's the matter i
Hodge. Nothing, Mrs. Rofletta, only this young
woman wants to fpeak with his worlhip—Madge fol¬
low me.
Mar. No, Hodge, this is your fine madam ; but I
am as good fiefh and blood as (he, and have as clear
a Ikin too, tho'f I mayn't go fo gay ; and now fee's
here, I'll tell her a piece of my mind. 621
Hodge. Hold your tongue, will you ?
M'ar. No, I'll fpeak if I die for it.
Ros. What's the matter, 1 fay ?
Hodge. Why nothing I tell you ;—^Madge—
Mar. Yes, but it is fomething, it's all along of fee,
and fee may be afcamed of herfelf.
Ros. Biefs me, cbild, do you dired your di&oorfe
to me ? 629
Mar. Yes, I do, and to nobody dfe ; there was not
a kinder foul breathing than he was till of late j I had
Act n, LOVE IN A VEXAGE, ss
never a crofs word from him till he kept yon com¬
pany ; but all the girls about fay, there is no focfa
thing as keeping a fweetheart for you.
Ros. Do you hear this, friend Hodge ?
HgJge, Why, you don't mind ihe, I hope ; but if
that vexes her, I do like you, I do ; my nñnd runs
upon nothing elfe 5 and if fo be as you was agree¬
able to it, I would marry you to-night, before to¬
morrow. 640
Mar. You're a nafty monkey, you are parjur'd,
you know yoî? are, and you deferve to have your eyes
tore out.
Hodge. Let me come at, her—I'll teach you to call
names, and abufe folk.
Mar. Do ; ftrike me ;—you a man I
Ros. Hold, hold—we ihall have a battle here pre-
fently, and I may chance to get my cap tore off
Never exafperate a jealous Woman, 'tis taking a mad
bull by the horns—Leave me to manage her. 650
Hodge. You manage her ! I'll kick her.
Ros. No, no, it will be more for my credit, to get
the better of her by fair means—I warrant I'll bring
her to reafon.
Hodge. Well, do fo then—But may I depend upon
you ? when fliail I fpeak to the parfon ?
Rix. We'll talk of that another time—Go.
Hodge. Madge, goodbye.
Ros. The brutality of this ielSow ihocksme !—Oh
tttm, man—^you are all alike—A bumkin here, bred
at fche ham-door ! had he been brought up in a court,
cotdd he have been more ÊiHhionably vicious j ihew
í6 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act II.
me the lord, 'fquire, colonel, or captain of them all^
can out-do him.
AIR.
Ceafcf gay feducer, pride to take.
In triumphs o'er the fair ;
Since clowns as well can a8 the rake.
As thafe in higher fphere.
Where then to Jhun aJhamefulfata
Shall helplefs beauty go ? 67O
In ev'ry rank, in ev'ryfate.
Poor woman finds a foe.
SCENE XI.
Rossetta, Margery.
Mar. I am ready to burft, I can't ftay in the place
any longer.
Ros. Hold, child, come hither.
Mar. Don't (peak to me, don't you.
Ros, Well, but I have fomething to fay to you of
confequence, and that will be for your good ; I fup-
pofe this fellow promifed you marriage.
Mar. Ay, or he ihould never have prevail'd upon
me. 681
Ros, Well, now you fee the ill confequence of truft-
ing to fuch proraifes ; when once a man hath cheat¬
ed a woman of her virtue, Ihe has no longer hold of
Act II. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. S^
him ; he defpifes her for wanting that which he hath
robb'd her of; and, like a lawlefs conqueror, tri¬
umphs in the ruin he hath occafioned.
JUar. Nan !
Ros, However, I hope the experience you have
got, though fomewhat dearly purchafed, will be of
ufe to you for the future ; and, as to any defigns I
have upon the heart of your lover, you may make
yourfelf eafy, for I aflure you, I fliall be no dange¬
rous rival ; fo go your ways and be a good girl.
Mar. Yes—I don't very well undeiftand her talk,
but I fuppofe that's as much as to fay fhe'll keep him
herfelf ; well let her, who cares ? I don't fear getting
better nor he is any day of the year, for the matter
"of that ; and I have a thought come into my head
that, may be, will be more to my advantage. 700
AIR.
Since Hodge proves ungrateful, no further VUfeci,
But go up to the town in the waggon next week ;
A fervice in London-is no fuch difgrace.
And Regifler's ofßce wtil get me a place :
Bet Blojfom went there andfoon met with a friend ¡
Folks fay in her filis fhe's now ßanding an end!
Then why fhould not I the fame maxim purfue.
And better my fortune as other girls do ?
C3
58
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Act. H
SCENE XII.
Enter Rossetta and Lucinda.
Ros. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh admirable, moil delêilably
ridiculous. And fo your father is content he (hould
be a mufic-mailer, and will have him fuch, in fpite
of all your aunt can fay to the contrary ?
Luc. My father and he, child, are the bell com¬
panions you ever faw ; and have been finging to¬
gether the moil hideous duets ? Bobbing Joan, and
Old Sir Simon the King : Heaven knows where
Euilace could pick them up ; but he has gone thro'
half the contents of Pills to purge Melancholy with
him. 719
Ros. And have you refolved to take wing to¬
night.
Luc. This very night, my dear : my fwain will go
from hence this evening, but no farther than the inn,
where he has left his horfes ; and, at twelve preciiely,
he will be with a pofl-chaife at the little gate that
opens from the lawn into the road, where I have pro-
mifed to meet him.
Ros. Then depend upon it, I'll bear you com¬
pany. 729
Luc. We ihall flip out when the family are afleep,
and 1 have prepared Hodge already. Well, I hope
we ihall be happy.
Ros. Never doubt it.
Act II.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
AIR,
In hmefimild there meet a fond pmr,
U^utor'd hy fqflñon or art ;
Whofe w'tßies are ivarm andfiacere,
Whofe words are th' exc^s of the heart :
If ought of fuhßantial delight.
On this ßde the ßars can he found,
'Tis fare when that couple unite, 740
And Cupid hy Hymen is crown'd.
SCENE XIII.
Rossetta, Lucinda, Hawthorn.
Haw. Lucy, where are you ?
Luc. Your pleafure, fir.
Ros. Mr. Hawthorn, your ferrant.
Haw, What my little water-wagtail !—The very
couple I wiih'd to meet : come hither both of ytni.
Ros. Now, Sir, what would you fay to both of us ?
Haw. Why, let me look at you a little—have you
got on your bell goMrás, and your bell faces ? If not,
go and trick youilelres out direélly, for I'll tell you a
fecret—there will be a young batchelor in the houfe,
within thefe three hours, that may fall to the Ihare
of one of you, if you look Iharp—but whether raiC-
trefs or maid——
6o
LOVE IN A VILLAGE,
Act II.
Ros. Ay, marry, this is fomething ; but how do
you know whether either raiftreis or maid will think
him worth acceptance ?
Hatv. Follow me, follow me ; I warrant you.
Luc. I can aflure you, Mr. Hawthorn, I am very
difficult to pleafe.
Ros. And fo am I, Sir.
Haw. Indeed !
Well come, let us hear what the f-wain muß pojjefs
Who may hope at your feet to implore with fuccefs ?
Ros. He muß beßrß of all
AIR.
Straight, comely, and tall :
Luc. Neither aukward.
Ros. Nor foolijh,
Luc. Nor apifh.
Ros. Nor muliß.
Nor yet ßsould his fortune be fndll.
Haw. What think'ß of a captain ?
Luc. ^11 blußer and wounds !
Haw. What think'ß of a 'fquire ?
Ros. To be left for his hounds.
■\ The youth that is form'd to my mind,
Luc. Muß be gentle, obliging and kind ;
> Of all things in nature lome me ;
Ros. Harne fenfe both to fpeak and to fee—
Tet fometimes he ftlent and blind.
Act in. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 6i
Haw. -J *Fore George a mqfl rare matrimonial recàpt ¡
Ros. > Obferve it, ye fair, in the choice of a mate ;
Liuc. J Remember, 'tis wedlock determines your fate
ACT III. SCENE I.
A parlour in Justice Woodcock'j houfe. Enter Sir
William Me ado-ws, followed by Hawthorn.
Sir William.
ell, this is excellent, this is mighty good, this
is mighty merry, faith ; ha ! ha ! ha ! was ever the
like heard of? that my boy, Tom, ihould run away
from me, for fear of being forced to marry a girl he
never faw ? that ihe Ihould fcamper from her father,
for fear of being forced to marry him ; aijd that they
ihould run into one another's arms this way in dif-
guife, by mere accident ; againib their confents, and
without knowing it, as a body may fay ! May I never
do an ill turn, mailer Hawthorn, if it is not one of
the oddeil adventures partly-— 11
Haw. Why, Sir William, it is a romance; a no¬
vel ; a pleafanter hiilory by half, than the loves of
Dorailus and Faunia ; we iliall have ballads made of
it within thefe two months, fetting forth, how a young;
'fquire became a ferving man of low degree ; and it
will be iluck up with Margaret's Gholl and the Spa-
nifh Lady, againil the walls of every cottage in the
country. 19
6» LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act IH.
Sir WiU. But what pltafes me beft of all, mailer
Hawdiorn, is the ingeauitjr of the girl. May I never
do an ill turn, when 1 was called out of the roOm, and
the fervant fald Ihe wanted to fpeak to me, if I knew
what to make on't : but when die httle gi{^y took
me afide, and told me her name, and how matters
ftood, I was <|uite aftooiihed, as a body may fay ;
and could not believe it partly; 'till her young friend
that ihe is with here, aflured me of the truth on't :
Indeed, at lail, 1 began to recolleft her face, títou^
I have not fet eyes on her before, Gnce Ihe was the
height of a full-grown grey-hound. 31
Hatv. Well, Sir William, your fon as yet knows
nothing of what has happeiied, nor of your being
Come hither ; and, if you'll follow ray couniêl, we'll
have fome fport with him.—He and his miilre& were
to meet in the garden diis evening by appointment,
file's gone to drefi hetfelf in all her akn ; will you let
me direél your proceedings in this affair ? 58
Sir IVilL With all my heart,- mailer Hawthorn,
with all my heart, do what you will with me, fay
what you pleafe for me ; I am fo overjoyed, and lb
happy—And may I never do an ill turn, but I am very
glad to fee you too ; ay, and partly as much pleafed
at that as any tlñng elfe, for we have been merry to¬
gether before now, when we were fome years younger ;
well, and how has the world gone with you, mailer
Hawthorn, fince we faw one another 1^ ?
Haiv. Why, pretty well. Sir William, I have no
reafon to complain : every one has a mixture of four
with his fweets : but, in the main, I believe, I have
done in a degree as tolerably as my neighboun. 51
Act III,
liOVE IN A VaXAGE.
AIR.
The tvorld is a tveïl fufniß^d tables
Where gueßs are promifc'mßy fet ;
We all fare as 'metí as •mdre able.
And fcramble for what 'me can get.
My Jimile holds to a tittle.
Some gorge, 'mhile fome fcarce hatte a tcfle ;
But if I'm content 'with a little.
Enough is as good as a feaß. ¡g
SCENE II.
■Sir William Meadows, Hawthorn, Rossetta.
Ros. Sir Williain, I beg pardon for detaining you,
but I have had ib much difficulty in adjufting my bof'
rowed plumes.—
Sir Will. May I never do an ill turn but they fit
you to a T, and you look very well, fo you do :
Cocks-bones, how your father will chuckle when he
comes to hear this !—Her father, mafter Hawthorn,
is as worthy a man as Kves by bread, and has been al^
moil out of his fenfes for the lofs of ber—But tell
me, hudy, has not this been all a fdieme, a piece of
conjuration between you and my fon ? Faith, 1 am
half perfuaded it has, it looks fo like hocus-pocus as
a body may fay. 72
Ros. Upon my honour. Sir William, what has hap¬
pened, has been the mere effeft of chance ; I came
hither .unknown to your fon, and he unknown to me :
64 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act III,
I never in the leaft fufpefted that Thomas the gar¬
dener was other than his appearance fpoke him ; and
leaft of all, that he was a perfon with whom I had fo
clofe a connedlion. Mr. Hawthorn can teftify the
aftonilhment I was in when he firft informed me of
it ; but I thought it was my duty to come to an im¬
mediate explanation with you. 82
Sir Will. Is not ihe a neat wench, mafter Haw¬
thorn ? May I never do an ill turn but ihe is—But
you little plaguy devil, how came this love affair be¬
tween 'you ?
Ros. I have told you the whole truth very ingenu-
oufly, Sir ; fince your fon and and I have been fellow-
fervants, as I may call it, in this houfe, I have had
more than reafon to fufpefl he had taken a liking to
me ; and I will own with equal franknefs, had I not
looked upon him as a perfon fo much below me, I
fliould have had no objeftion to receiving his court-
ihip. 93
Hum. Well faid, by the lord Harry, all above board,
fair and open.
Ros. Pet haps I may be cenfured by forae for this
candid declaration ; but I love to fpeak my fenti-
ments ; and I affure you, Sir William, in my opinion,
I Ihould prefer a gardener with your fon's good qua¬
lities, to a knight of the ihire without them. 100
AIR.
"Tis not ivealth, it is not birth.
Can value to the foul convey ;
Minds pojfefs fuperior worth.
Which chance nor gives, nor takes away.
Act III.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Lile the fun true Merit Jhenvs ;
By nature warm, by nature bright ¡
With inbredßames he nobly glows.
Nor needs the aid of borrow'd light.
Haw. Well, but, Sir, we lofe time—^is not this
about the hour appointed to meet in the garden ?
Ros. Pretty near it. ill
Haw. Oons then, what do we ftay for ? Come, my
old friend, come along, and by the way we will con-
fult how to manage your interview.
Sir Will. Ay, but I muft fpeak a word or two to
my man about the horfes firft.
SCENE III.
Rossetta, Hodge.
Ros. Well—^What's the buiinefs ?
Hodge. Madam—Mercy on us, I crave pardon !
Ros. Why, Hodge, don't you know me ? 1x9
Hodge. Mrs. Rofletta !
Ros. Ay.
Hodge. Know you ! ecod I don't know whether I
do or not : never ftir, if I did not think it was fome
lady belonging to the Arrange gentlefolks : why, you
be'nt dizen'd this way to go to the llatute dance pre.
fently, be you ?
66 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act. HI.
Ros. Have patience and you'll fee :—but is there
any thing amifs that you came in fo abruptly ?
Hodge. Amifs ! why there's ruination.
Ros. How ?—where ? 130
Hodge, Why, with Mifs Lucinda : her aunt has
catch'd ihe and the gentleman above flairs, and over¬
heard all their love difcourfe.
Ros. You don't fay fo !
Hodge. Ecod, I had like to liave pop'd in araong
them this inllant; but, by good luck, I heard Mrs.
Deborah's voice, and run down again, as fail as ever
my legs could carry me.
Ros. Is your mailer in the houfe ?
Hodge. What, his worlhip ! no, no, he is gone into
the fields to talk with the reapers and people. 141
Ros. Poor Lucinda, I wifli I could go up to her,
but I am fo engaged with my own affairs
Hodge. Millrefs -Roffetta.
Ros. Well.
Hodge. Odds bobs, I mult have one Imack of your
fweet lips.
Ros. Oh Hand off, you know I never allow liberties.
Hodge. Nay, bult why fo coy, there's reafon in
mailing of eggs ; I would not deny you liich a
thing. 151
Ros. That's kind : ha, ha, ha—But what will be¬
come of Lucinda ? Sir William waits for me, I mull
be gone. Fricndlhip, a moment by your leave ; yet
as our fuffeiings have been mutual, fo fliali our joys ;
I already lofo the remembrance of all former pains
and anxieties.
Act III.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
AIR.
the traveller hetaghteä.
And led thro' •mary nuays,
The lamp of day new lighted, ■ 16o
With joy the dawn furveys.
The rißng prqfpeQs viewing.
Each look is forward cqß ;
He fmiies, his courfe purfuiug.
Nor thinks of what is paß.
scene IH.
Hoi>G£, Mrs. D£bo£Ah Woodcock, LucistoA.
Hodge. Hiil, ftay ! don't I hear a nôiiè ?
Luc. f within J Well, but dear, dear aonfr——
Mrs. Deè. (within) You need not Ijeak to me,
for it does not fignify.
Hodge. Adwawns, they are coniiBg here! ecod I'll
get out of the way—Murrain take it, this door is
bolted now—So, fo. 172
Mrs. Dei). Get along, get along; (Driving in Lu¬
cinda before her) you are a icandal to the name of
Woodcock ; but I was refolred to find out, for I have
fufpeiled you a great while, though your father, fflly
man, will have you. fiich a poor innocent.
Luc. Wlxat fiiall I do 1
Mrs. Deb. I was determined to difcover what yow
and your pretended mufic-mafter were about, and lay
68 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. ACT III.
in wait on purpofe : I believe he thought to efcape
me, by flipping into the clofet when I knocked at the
door ; but I was even with him, for now I have him
under lock and key, and pleafe the fates there he fhalf
remain till your father comes in : I will convince him
of his error, whether he will or not.
Luc. You won't be fo cruel, I am fure you won't :
I thought I had made you ray friend by telling you
the truth. 189
Mrs. Deb. Telling me the truth, quotha! did I not
over-hear your fcheme of running away to-night,
thro' the partition ? did not I find the very bundles
pack'd up in the room with you ready for going off !
No, brazenface, I found out the truth by my own fa-
gacity, tho' your father fays I am a fool, but now
we'll be judged who is the greateft.—^And you, Mr.
Rafcal, my brother lhall know what an honeft fer¬
rant he has got.
Hodge. Madam I
Mrs. Del. You were to have been aiding and at
filling them in their efcape, and have been the go-
between, it feems, the letter-carrier I Í02
Hodge. Who, me, madam !
Mrs. Del. Yes, you, firrah.
Hodge. Mifs Lucinda, did I ever carry a letter for
you ? I'll make my affidavy before his worihip—
Mrs. Deb. Go, go, you are a villain, hold your
tongue.
Luc. I own, aunt, I have been very faulty in this
affair ; I don't pretend to excufe myfelf ; but we are
all fubjedl to frailties ; confider that, and Judge of
Act III. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 69
me by yourfelf ; you were once young, and Inexperi¬
enced as I am.
AIR.
If ever a fond inclination
Rofe in your bofom to rob you of reß,
Reßeä <U)ith a little compqßion.
On the foft pangs, which prevaild in my breaß.
Oh where, where would you ßy me ?
Can you deny me thus torn and dßrß ?
Think, when my lover was by me, 220
Wou'd I, how cou'd I, refufe his requeß ?
Kneeling before you, let me implore you ;
Look on meßghing, crying, dying ;
Ah ! is there no language can move ?
If I have been too complying.
Hard was the conßiß 'twixt duty and love.
Mrs. Deb. This is mighty pretty romantic llufF! but
you learn it out of your play-books and novels. Girls
in my time had other employments, we worked at
our needles, and kept ourfelves from idle thoughts :
before I was your age, I had finiihed with my own
fingers a complete fet of chairs, and a fire-fcreen in
tent-ftitch ; four counterpanes in Marfeilles quilting ; '
and the creed and the ten commandments, in the hair
of our family : it was fram'd and glaz'd, and hung
over the parlour chimney-piece, and your poor dear
grandfather was prouder of it than of e'er a piAure
in his houfe. I never looked into a book, but when
I laid my prayers, except it was the Complete Houfe-
7» LOVE IN A VILLAGE, Act ík
wifei. or the great Ëunily reeelpt book : whereaa ytrn
are always at your ftudies 1 Ah, I nem knew a wo¬
man come to good, that was fond of reading,
Luc. Well, pray, madam, let me prevail on you to
give me the key to let Mr. Euftace out, and I pro-
mife, I never will proceed a Äep farther in this bufi-
nefs, without your advice and approhatioix.
Mrs. Deb. Have not I told you already my refclu-
tion ?—^Where are my clogs and my bonnet I I'll go
out to my brother in the fields ; I'm a fbol, yon know,
child, now le:'s fee what the wits will think of them-
felves—Don't hold me— 251
Luc. I'm not goingj—I have thought of a way to
be even with you, ib you may do as you pleafe.
SCENE V.
Hodge.
Well, I thought it would come to this, I'll be fhot
if I didn't—So here's a fine job—But what can they
do to me—They can't lend me to jail for carrymg a
letter, feeing there was no treafon in it ; and how was
I obligated to know my mafter did not allow of their
meetings :—The werft they can do, is to turn me off,
and I am fure tlie place is no fuch great purchafe—
indeed, I ihould be foiry to leave Mrs. RoiTetta, fee¬
ing as how matters are fo near being brought to an
end betwixt us ; but Ihe and I may keep company all
as one j and I find Madge has been ipeaking with
GaiFer Broadwheels, the waggoner, about her carriage
Act M. LOVE SM A VILLAGE. 71
to London : £> tba« I have got sid ef (be» aod: I
am füre 1 have realbn to be main glad of k» for Ibe
led me a weari&me life—B)ac that's the wa7 of them
all. 262
AIR.
A plague on thofe^ wenches, they make fuch a pother.
When once they have lefn a man have his will í
They^re always á whining fot fomething or other,
And cry he's unkind in his carriage.
What tho'f he /peaks them ne'er fo fairly.
Still they keep teaming, teazing on :
Tou cannot perfuade 'em
"Tillpromife you've made 'em ; 270
And after they've got it.
They tell you—;—add rot it.
Their charañer's blajled, they're ruin'd, undone i
Then to he fate. Sir,
There is hit one e-ure. Sir,
And all their difcourfe is of marriage.
SCENE FI.
A Greenhoufe.
Enter Youn<3 Meadows.
T. Mea. I am glad I had the precaution to bring
this fuit of clothes in my butidlej though I hardly
know myfelf in them again, they appear fo ftrange,
and feel fo unwieldy. However, my gardener's
72 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act 111.
jacket goes on no more.—I wonder this girl does not
come {looking at his •watch']. perhaps ihe won't come
—Why then I'll go into the village, take a poft-
chaife and depart without any farther ceremony.
AIR.
How much fuperior beauty awes.
The coldefl bofoms ßnd ;
But with reftfllefs force it draws.
To fenfe and fweetnefs joirCd.
The cqßet, where, to outwardßew.
The workman's art is feen, 2 90
Is doubly valu'd, when we know
It holds a gem within.
Hark ! ftie comes.
SCENE VII.
Enter Sir William Meacows ani/Hawthorn.
T. Mea. Confufion ! my father ! What can this
mean ?
Sir Will. Tom, are not you a fad boy, Tom, to
bring me a hundred and forty miles here—May I ne¬
ver do an ill turn, but you deierve to have your head
broke ; and I have a good mind, partly—What, Cr-
rah, don't you think it worth your while to fpeak to
me ? 301
Act III. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 73
T. Mea, Forgive me. Sir ; I own I have been in
a fault.
Sir JVill, In a fault!. to run away from me becaufe
I was going to do .you good-^May I never do an ill
turn, Mr. Hawthorn, if 1 did not pick out as fine a
girl for him, partly, as any in England ? and the raí-
cal run away from me, and came here and turn'd
gardener. And pray what did you propofe to your-
felf, Tom ? I know you were always fond of Botany,
as they call it ; did you intend to keep the trade go¬
ing, and advertife fruit-trees and flowering fhrubs, to
be had at Meadows's nurfery ?
J/aw. No, Sir William, I apprehend the young
gentleman defigned to lay by the pofellion j for he
has quitted the habit already.
2^. Mea. I am fo aftoniihed to fee you here. Sir,
that 1 don't know what to fay ; but I aflure you, if
you had not come, I (hould have returned home
to you direfHy. Pray, Sir, how did you find me
out ? 321
Sir Will. No matter, Tom, no matter; it was part¬
ly by accident, as a body may fay ; but what does
.that fignify—tell mê, boy, how ftands your ft'omach
towards matrimony ; do you think you could digeft
a wiiis now ?
T. Mea. Pray, Sir, don't mention it : I fhali al¬
ways behave myfelf as a dutiful ibn ought : I will
never marry without your confent, and I hope you
won't force me to do it againfl: my own. 330
Sir Will. Is not this mighty provoking, mafter
Hawthorn ? Why, finah, did you ever fee tlie lady I
defigned for you ?
vol. i. D
74 LOVE IN A village. ACT III,
T. Mea. Sir, I don't doubt the lady'i merit;, but
at prefent, I am not dilpofed
//ato. Nay, but young gentleman, fair ánd foftly,
you ihould pay fome refpedt to your father in thii
matter.
Sir Will. Reípeíl:, mafter Hawthorn ! I tell yon he
ihall marry her, or I'll difinherit him ! there's once.,
Look you Tora, not to make any more words of the
matter, I have brought the lady here with me, and.
I'll fee you contrafted before we part ; or you lhali;
delve and plant cucumbers as long as you live;
T. Mea. Have you brought the lady here; Sir ? I
am forry for it.
Sir Will. Why ibrry ? what then you won't marry
her? we'll fee that ! Pray, mafter Hawthorn, con-
da£l the fair one in. Ay; Sirj you may fret, and
dance about, trot at the rate of fifteen miles an
hour, if you pleafe, but marry whip me, I'm re-
folv'd. 35 Í
SCENE Fill.
Sir William Meadows, Hawthorn, Young
Meadows, Rossetta.
Haw. Here is the lady. Sir William.
Sir Will. Come in, madam, but turn your face
from him—he would not marry you becaufe he had
not feen you : but I'll let him know my choice lhall
be his, and he ihall confent to marry you before he
Act TIL LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 7S
fees you, or not an acre of eftate—Pray, Sir, walk
this way. 359
T. Mea. Sir, I cannot help thinking your conduft a
little extraordinary ; but finte you urge me fo clofely,
I muft tell you my affeSiions are engaged.
Sir Will. How, Tom, how !
T. Mea. I was determined. Sir, to have got the
better of my inclination, and never have done a thing
which I knew would be difagreeable to you.
Sir Will. And, pray. Sir, who are your affeflions
engaged to ? Let me know that.
T. Mea. To aperfon. Sir, whofe rank and fortune
may be no recommendations to her : but whofe
charms and accompliihments entitle her to a monarch.
I am forty, Sir, it's impoffible for me to comply with
your commands, and I hope you will not be offondeci
if I quit your prefence.
Sir Will. Not I, not in the leaft : go about your
bull nefs.
IT. Mea. Sir, I obey.
Haw. Noiv, madam, is the time,
[_Ri^etta advances, Tomg Meadows turns round and
fees her.'\
AIR.
Ros. " When we fee a lover languifh,
" And his truth and honour prove,
" Ah ! how fweet to heal his ar.guiß, 380
" And repay him love for love."
Sir Will. Well, Tom, will you go away from me
now ?
D 2
76 LOVE IN A VILI.AGE. ACT HI.
Hdvj. Perhaps, Sir Williara, your fon does not like
the lady ; and if fo, pray don't put a force upon his
inclination.
T. Mea. You need not have taken this method, Sir,
to let me fee you are acquainted with my folly, what¬
ever my inclinations are.
Sir Will. Well, but Tom, fuppofe I give my corifcdt
to your marrying this young woman ? 391
T. Mea. Your con^nt, Sir?
" Ros. Come, Sir William, we have carried the jeit
" far enough ; 1 fee your fon is in a kind of embar-
" raifment, and I don't wonder at it; but this letter,
" which I received from him a few days before I left
my father's houfe, will, I apprehend, expound the
" riddle. He cannot be furprifed that I ran away
" from a gentleman who exprelTed fo much diilike
" to me ; and what has happened, lince chance has
" brought us together in mafquerade, there is no oc-
" callón for me to inform him of."
" T. Mea." What is all this ? Pray don't make a
jeft of me.
Sir Will. May I never do an ill turn, Tom, if it is
not truth ; this is my friend's daughter.
T. Mea. Sir !
Ros. Even fo ; 'tis very true indeed. In Ihort,
you have not been a more, whimfical gentleman than
I have a gentlewoman ; but you fee we are deligned
for one another 'tis plain. zpi i
Y. Mea. I know not. Madam, what I either hear or
fee ; a thoufand thinga are crowding on my imagina¬
tion ; while, like one juft awakened from a dream,
I doubt which is reality, which delulion.
Act III. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 7-
Sir IVilL Well then, Tom, come into the air a bit,
and recover yourfelf.
T. Mea. Nay, dear Sir, have a little patience ; do
you give her to me !
Str Will. Give her to you 1 ay, that I do, and my
blefling into the bargain. 421
T. Mea. Then, Sir, I am the happiefl: man in the
world ; 1 enquire no farther ; here I fix. the utmoft
limits of my hopes and happinefs.
AIR.
All I nuiß in her obtaining,
Fortune can no more impart :
Let my eyes, my thoughts explaining.
Speak the feelings of my heart,
foy and pleafure never ceafmg.
Love nuith length of years increqfing. 430
Thus my heart and hand furrender.
Here my faith and truth I pight ;
Corflantfill, and kind, and tender.
May ourßames burn ever bright.
Haw. Give you joy, Sir ; and you, fair lady
And, under favour, I'll falute you too, if there's no
fear of jealonfy.
T. Mea. And may I believe this ?—Pr'ythee tell
me, dear Rofletta. 439
Ros. Step into the houfe and I'll tell you every
thing—I muft intreat the good offices of Sir William
and Mr. Hawthorn, immediately ; for I am in the
utmoft uneafinefs about my poor friend Lucinda.
Y. Mea.
Ros.
Y. Mea.
Ros.
Together.
fl LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act. III.
Mavj. Why, what's the matter ?
Ros. I don't know, but I have reaibn to fear I left
her juft now in very difagreeable circumftances ;
however, I hope, if there's any mifchief fallen out
between her father and her lover
Hatu. The mufic mailer ! I thought fo. 449
Sir WilL What, is there a lover in the calé ? May
I never do an ill turn, but 1 am glad, fo I am ; for
we'll make a double wedding ; and, by way of cele¬
brating it, take a trip to London, to Ihew the brides
fo.me of the pleafures of the town. And, mailer
Hawthorn, you Ihall be of the party—Come, children,
go before us.
Haiv. Thank you. Sir William ; I'll go into the
houfe with you, and to church to fee the young folks
married} but as to London, 1 beg to be excufed.
AIR.
If ever Pm catcPd in thofe regions of fmoke, 460
fhatfeai if eonfußon and noife.
May I ne'er know the Jhveets of a ßumler unlroie.
Nor the pleafure the country enjoys.
Nay mere, let them take me, fo puniß myßn.
Where, gaping, the Cockneys th^ fleece.
Clap me up with their motflers, cry, maßers walk in.
Andflew me for two-pence a piece.
Act lU. LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
SCENE IX.
Juß'ice Wood.cock'í Hall.
Enter Jußke VIqodcocví, Mrs. Deb. Woodcock,
Lucinda, Eustace, Hodge.
Mrs. Heb. Why, brother, do you think I can't
hear, or íée, or ufe of my fenies ? I tell you,
1 left that fellow locked up in her clofet ; and, while
1 haye been with you, they hare broke open-the door,
and got him out again. 47a
y. Wwd. Well, you hear what they fay.
Mrs. Deb. I care not what they fay ; it's you en¬
courage them in their impudence—Hark'e, hufly,
will yon face me 4owa that 1 did not lock the fellow
up?
Luc. Really, aunt, I don't know what you mean ;
when you talk intelligibly, I'll anfwer you.
Euß. Serioufly, madam, this is carrying the jeft a
little too far.
Mrs. Deb. What then, I did not catch you together
in her chamber, nor over-hear your defign of going
off to-night, nor find the bundles packed juji—
Etß. Ha, ha, ha.
Luc. Why aunt, you rave.
Mrs. Deb. ¡Brother, as I am a Quiffian woman,
flje confeffbd the whole affair to me from firfttolaft ;
and in this very place was down upon her marrow¬
bones for an hont together, to heg 1 would con¬
ceal it from you.
8q I.OVE IN A VILLAGE. Act III.
Hodge. Oh Lord ! Oh Lord !
Mrs. Del. What, iirrah, would you brazen me
too i Take that, \boxes h'm.~\
Hodge. I wiih you would keep your , hands to yonr-
felf ; you ftrike me, becaufe you have been telling
his worihip ftories.
J. Wood. Why, fifter, you are tipfy !
Mrs. Del. I tipfy, brother !—I—that never touch
a drop of any thing ftrong from year's end to year's
end ; but now and then a little annifeed water, when
I have got the colic.
Luc. Well, aunt, you have been complaining of
the ftomach-ach all day ; and may have taken too
powerful a dofe of your cordial.*
J. Wood. Come, come, I fee well enough how it is;
this is a lye of her own invention, to make herfelf
appear wife : but, you fimpleton, did you not know
I rauft find you out ?
SCENE X.
Enter Sir William Meadows, Hawthork, Ros-
setta, Young Meadows.
T. Mea. Biefs me. Sir! look who is yonder.
Sir Will. Cockibones, Jack, honeft Jack, are you
there i
Euß. Plague on't, this rencounter is unlucky
Sir Wiyiara, your fervant.
Act m. LOVE IN A VILLAGE. ai
Sir Will. Your fervant again, and again, heartily
your fervant ; may I never do an ill turn, but I am
glad to meet you.
Wood, Pray, Sir William, are you acquainted
with this perfon ? 519
Sir Will. What, with Jack Euftace ! why he's
my kinfman ; his mother and I was coufin-germans
once removed, and Jack's a very worthy young fel¬
low, may 1 never do an ill turn if I tell a word of a
lye.
J. Wood. Well, but Sir William, let me tell you,
you know nothing of the matter ; this man is a mu-
(ic-mafter ; a thrummer of wire, and a fcraper of
cat-gut, and teaches my daughter to fing.
Sir Will. What Jack Euftace a mufic-mafter ! no,
no, I know him better. 530
Eufl. 'Sdeath, why ihould I attempt to carry on
this abfurd farce any longer ;—^What that gentleman
tells you is very true. Sir ; 1 am no mufic-mafter in¬
deed.
y. Wood, You are not, you own it then ?
Euß. Nay, more, Sir, I am, as this lady has repre-
fented me \_Pointing to Mrs.Deborah'],yo\xr daughter's
lover ; whom, with her own conient, I did intend to
have carried off tliis night ; but now that Sir William
Meadows is here, to tell you who, and what I am, I
throw myfelf upon your generofity, from which I ex-
peit greater advantages than I could reap from any
impofition on your ùnfulpicious' nature.
Mrs. Deb. Well, brother, what have you to fay
for yourfelf now ? You have made a precious day's
work of it ! Had my advice been taken ! Oh 1 am
D3
82 LOVE IN A VILI.AOE. Act 1«.
afhamed of you, but you are a -weak man, and it
can't be help'd ; however, you fhould let wifer heads
direft you.
Luc. Dear papa, pardon me. yyo
Sir Will. Ay, do. Sir, forgive her ; my COufin
Jack will make her a good htrfband, I'll anfwer for
it.-
Ros. Stand out of the way, a»d let me fpeak two or
three words to his worihip. Come, my dear Sir, tho'
you refiife all the world, I am fure you can deny me
nothing : love is a venial fault—You know what I
mean. Be recoaciled to your daughter, I conjure
you, by the memory of our paît aflfèftrons- ^What,
not a word ! 560
AIR.
Go, naughty man, I can'f ahiäe you ;
Âre then your vows fo Joon forgot ?
Ah ! noku I fee if I had try'd you.
What would have been my hopeful lot.
But here I char^ you—Mahe them ht^py ,•
Elf s the fond pair, and arown their bRß :
Cme be a dear good natur'dpappy.
And III reward you with a ii/s.
Mrs. Deb. Conte, tum out of the honfe, -««d be
Ûànkfid my brother does not hang you, Sar he oould
do h, heh a juftioe «f |<eace ;>^unn not ef <dK Itoofè,
i fay-i ' ' ■ ' 572
^CT M. UOVE IN A VILLAGE. «5
y. /Vfod. Who %vie. you authority to turn hkn out
of (the jioufe—he Aiall Aay whote he is.
Mrs. Dei. He AaoH ina&ry my niece.
y. Wof)4. Shan't he ? ihut PiH fhew you the dif-
^seoce now;, î ifÂy, be ifhall maarry her, and what will
ypuüdoahoutit?
.Mrs, Deb. And you will giye him your ellate too,
will you ? 5.80
y. Wm4. yes, Ï will.
Mrs. Deb. Why I'm £ire fee's a vagabond.
y.Wmi. 1 like him tfee better, {would havsfeimn
vAgahoind.
Mrs. Deb. Brother, brother Í
Haw. Come, come, Madam, all's very weH, and I
iee my nd.ghbour is what Í always -thought him, -a
man of fenfe and prudence.
fiir WiU. May I never do an ill turn, but I fay fo
too. yço
y. Wood. Here, young fellow, take my daughter,
and blefs you both together ; bat hark you, no mo-
" ney till I die ; obferve that.
Euß. Sir, in giving me your daughter, you bellow
upon me more than the whole world would he with¬
out her.
Ros. Dear Lucinda, if words could convey the
tranfports of my heart upon this occafion——
Luc. Words are the tools of hjrpocrites, the pre¬
tenders to friendlhip ; only let us refolve to preferve
our efteem for each other. 601
T. Mea. Dear Jack, I little thought welhould ever
meet in fuch odd circumftances—but here has been
the ftrangeft bufineis between this lady and me
84 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. Act 111.
Hodge, What then, Mrs. Rofletta, are you turned
falfe-hearted after all ; will you marry Thomas the
gardener ; and did I forfake Madge for this ?
Ros. Oh lord ! Hodge, I beg your pardon ; I pro-
teft I forgot ; but I muft reconcile you and Madge,
I think, and give you a wedding-dinner to make you
amends.
Hodge. N—ah.
Haw. Adds me. Sir, here are fome of your neigh¬
bours come to vifit you, and I fuppofe to make up
the company of your ftatute-ball; yonder's mufic
too T fee ; lhall we enjoy ourfelves ? If fo, give me
your hand.
y. Wood. Why, here's my hand, and we will en¬
joy ourfelves ; Heaven blefs you both, children, I
fay—Sifter Deborah, you are a fool.
Mrs. Del. You are a fool, brother; and mark my
words But I'll give myfelf no more trouble about
you.
Haw. Fiddlers ftrike up.
AIR.
Hence with cares, complaints, andfrowning^
Wdcome jollity and joy,;
Eolry grief in pleafure drowning.
Mirth this happy night employ :
Let's to friendßip do our duty.
Laugh and ftng fome good oldflrain ;
Drink a health to love and beauty
May they long in triumph reign..
A
TABLE OF THE SONGS,
With the Names of the feveral Composers.
N. B. Thofe marked thus * were compofed on pur-
pofe for this Opera.
A New Overture by Mr. AbeL
^CT I.
Hope, thou nurfe of young delire, Mr. Weldon
Whence can you inherit Abos
My heart's my own, my will is free Arne
When once love's fubtle poifon gains Arne
* Oh had I been by Fate decreed Howard
Gentle youth, ah tell me why Arne
* Still in hopes to get the better Arne
There was a jolly miller once
Let gay ones and great Baildon
The honeft heart whofe thoughts are free Felling
TABLE OF THE SONGS.
Well, well, fay no more Lady Grogan
Cupid, god of foft perfuafion Giardini
How happy were my days till now Arne
A medley
yiCT II.
We women Tike weak Indians trade Paradies
Think my faireft, how delay Arne
* Believe me, dear aunt Arne
When 1 follow'd a lafs that was froward and Ihy
Ijst tikes axtd iltbertmes reâgn'd Handel
How bleft the maid wbofethofom Gallupi
In vain I every art aflay Ame
Begone, I agree Arne
Oh htjw "ftrfl Î in 'language weak. Cary
Young I am, and fore afraid Gallupi
Cons, neighbour, ne'er bluih Arne
My DaHy was abe faardfl tííLng Handel
Was ever poor fellow Agus
Ceafe, gay feducers, pride to take Arne
Since Hodge proves ungratefiil Arne
In love Ihoiild theax aneet la fond pair Beuaaird
* W<ell come let us hear
AOT III.
"IHie world is a well fumiih'd tabSe
It is not wealth, it is mst fewth
*The traveller benighted
If -ever a fond inclination
Pingue o'thefe Wiehes,Sfcc.
Apue
Giardini
Avne
Geminiaini
St. PiOkid'iS £iay
TABLE OF THE SONGS.
* How much fuperior beauty awes Howard
When we fee a lover languiih Arne
All I wiih in her obtaining Arne
If ever I'm catch'd in thofe regions Boyce
* Go, naughty man, I can't abide you Arne
Hence with cares Boyce
THE
MAID OF THE MILL.
A
COMIC OPERA.
BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.
ADAPTED FOR
THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION,
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.
REGULATED FROM THE PROMPT-BOOK,
By Permijpm of tbe Managers.
" The Lines diilinguilhed by inverted CommaB, are omitted in the Reprefcntation
DUBLIN ;
PRINTED BT GRAISBERRT AND CAMPBELL,
FOR WILLIAM JONES, NO. 86, DAME-STREET.
MDCC XCl,
TO
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
WILLIAM,
DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.
May it pleafe your Royal Higbnefe,
When Iprefumed to foücit the honour of laying the fuh-
fiquent trifle at your Royal Highneß's feet, it was not
without a thorough confcioufnefs of the little value of the
offering I was going to make ; hut I conjidered, mean as
it was, it would ferve as a tfHmeny of my devotion s and
to a Prince ha^y in his love of the arts, nothing epuld he
unacceptable, which bore the remot^ analogy to them.
How far the Comic Opera, under proper regulations,
has a right to be aclnowledgedfor a junior ^spring vf
the Drama, and as fach become candidate for a Jhare of
public encouragement, I Jhcdl not pretend to determine ;
but if it ean be rendered an ogreeaMe amufement, the Ein.
gTtfh Theatre has never fcruphd to adopt what was ca-
pable ofplecffng (here s and though as a work of genius,
it is by no means tohe fetia cnmpeütign with good Tra¬
gedies and Comedies, it may, I apprehend, be permitted as
ass nccqfioncd relief to them, mthçut hi^gi^ àtker nur
tifie or undetfimdingifUa ^eßton.
IV
DEDICATION.
/ need not inform your Royal Highnefs, that in France,
tuhere theßage has been cultivated nuith more care, and
*Juccefs, than in any other country, this fpecies of enter¬
tainment is received with very great applaufe ; nor ts it
thought an injury to Corneille, and Moliere, that the pieces
of Anfeaume and Favart, meet with fuccefs.
It is true, among the French, Comic Operas have
very often the advantage of being extremely well writ¬
ten ; of which. On ne s'avife jamais de ttíut, Le Roy
et le Fermier, and fome others, are an irflance ; nor
would the befl compofition of the greateß meßer, make
a very contemptible poetn pafs on an audience : I w'ß)
I could effert with truth, that in this refpeii we fall
nothing behind our neighbours, and that what I here
prefenf to your Royal Highnefs, might lay claim to
fome degree of merit, even in the writing : but though
I cannot do this, permit me to fay, I have attempted
to render it a little intereßing, and not wholly undivert-
ing, as far as the mußc, my principal care, would give
me leave.
But I humbly beg your Royal Highnefs^s pardon ;
in applying to the connoifeur, I forget that I am at
the fame time addreßing a Great Prince: indeed.
• This aflèrtîon can never be admitted—He who prefers the
tedious harangue of French Dramas to the bufíneís and pafllon
of our own, will never write better than Bickerftaff.
THE EDITOR.
DEDICATION.
V
there is a fubjeñ on which I could dwell with the trueß
pleafure ; but I am too well inßruSed in your Royal
Highnefs^s charaSer, to dare to offend you with a lan¬
guage which forms and cußoms too often impofe upon
princes, a neceffity of hearing} I mean their own
praife; to thofe who are moß deferring, ever leefl
welcome.
I therefore, fubfcribe myfelf.
With the profoundeß refpeH,
May it pleafe your Royal Highnefsi
Tour Royal Highnefs's,
Mqß obedient,
Moß devoted, and
Moß humble fervant,
THE AUTHOR.
ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.
Of this man little is known, and that little, unhap¬
pily, is not good. He is a native of the kingdom
of Ireland, and, we believe, went out with Lord
Chesterfield as a private Secretary, when his
Lordihip was Lord Lieutenant.
We find him alio an Officer of Marines, but he
left the fervice with imputed infamy from praâices
at which humanity ihudders, and decency hides the
head.
It hurts us to purfue the narrative—an irreclaima¬
ble depravation of appetite rendered him an exile
from his country t in feme foreign fink of debau-
diery and wretchednefs, he perhaps even yet lingers,
a ftriking monument of the abfurdity of that maxim,
which teaches, that an author's life may be bell
known in his Works.
The writings of Bickerstaff are uniformly
marked with much purity and fimplicity.—Had
he Rved as he wrote this little book were perfeit—
ISAAC BICKERSTAFF. vii
tHérê would not then have been one Kgé whicfr
we could wiß.io öLCrr.
Bràihatio l^i^dndiíbiis afe in nitmb^ 19.
Lencoth&ey ■ J7S6
Tbomets and Salfy^ • 1760
^ Love in.a VillagBy - 176a
• Maidofthe Mitly - 1765
Í)apbne àhâ Amníbr^ - 1765
Plain Dealer^ - - 1766
Lvoe in the City^ - 1767
Lionel and Cldrija^ - 1768
The Ahfent P/îan, - -
• The Padlock^ - ■
The Hypocrite^ - —.
The Epheßan Matron^ - 1769
Dr. Laß in his Charioty • 1766
The Captive, - - — ■ -
A Bth'GolfoT Fàthére, - X*l"T^
Ds IVelHU fio Worfi, - 1770
The Recruiting Setjtant, —•
HeWouUifHe Conld, 1^71
Sultana, - (not printed.)
The pieces diílinguiíhed by Allerisks are all that now diíliñgullh
this Author.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Like Pamela, is one of thofe delüílons which fre¬
quently deftroy the proper fubordination of fociety.
The village beauty, whofe firaplicity and innocence
are her native charms, fmitten with the reveries of
rank and iplendor, becomes affeiled and retired, diA
daining her lltuation and every one about her. So
mucl; for the tendency of fuch pieces.
Dramatic exhibition has ever its force in propor¬
tion to the unacquaintance of the Ipeñator with life-
its vratfsmblance is more certain and ftriking to the
artlefs rustic, than the cultivated inhabitants of a Ca¬
pital.—1 know no furer fteps to corrupt the primitive
ilmplicity of a village remote from the capital, than to
introduce a Theatrical company—Romance among
unfumifhed heads makes dreadful havock indeed.
The literary merit of this piece (if it have any) is
like that of the Novel from which it fprung. For
laughter it has no food—Sentiment, iniipid fentiment,
gives it what colouring it has.—As a dramatic exhibi¬
tion, the plealure produced muft be from its Music.
Either as confidering its Dialogue or its Air, we
think it'much inferior to the Author's Love in a
Village.
PREFACE.
There is fcarce a language in Europe, in which there
is not a play taken from our romance of Pamela ; in
Italian and French particularly, feveral writers of the
firft eminence have chofen it for the fuhjedt of different
dramas.
The little piece now ventured into the world, owes
its origin to the fame fource : not only the general
fubjeft is drawn from Pamela, but almoft. every cir-
cumftance in it. The reader will almoft immediately
recolleft the courtfhip of Parfon Williams—the
fquire's jealoufy and behaviour in confequence of it ;
and the difRciilty he had to prevail with himfelf to mar¬
ry the girl, notwithftanding his paffion for her—the
miller is a clofe copy of Goodman Andrews—Ralph
is imagined, from the wild fon which he is mentioned
to have had---Theodo{ia, from the young lady of qua¬
lity, with whom Mr. B. through his lifter's perfuafion,
is faid to have been in treaty before his marriage with
Pamela—even the gipfies are borrowed from a trifling
incident in the latter part of the work.
In profecuting this plan, which he has varied from
the original, as far as be thought convenient, the author
has made fimpHcity his principal aim. His frenes, on
account of the muilc, which could not be perfedt with¬
out fuch a mixture, necelfarily conCft of ferious and
buffoon. He knows groffnefs and infipidity lay in his
way; whether he has had art enough to avoid Humbling
upon them, the candid public are left to determine.
B
DRAMATIS PERSO If IB.
BRURY-LANÊ.
I.OIID AlMWORtli
SirH^rry Sycamore
Mervi]^
Fajeeield
Giles
Ralph
Lapt Sycamorí
Tjíeqdosia
Patty
Fanny
im fi-v.
Mm.
Mr. Kelly.
Mr. WaldtoHi.
Mr. Willi^mes.
Mr. Aickin.
Mr. DignuiPi
Mr. Suett.
Want».
A4ps. Hopkins.
Mrs. Forflçr.
Mrs. Crouch.
Mifs Romanzini.
COFENT-GARDÊN.
Lord Aímwortr
Mervin
Fairfielo
Giles
Sic Harry S YCAsioRk
Ralph
Mm.
Mr. Johnftone.
Mr. Duffey.
Mr. Hail.
Ml. Bannifter.
Ms. E4win,
Mr. Blanchard.
Patty
Theodospa
Lady Svcamorb
Fanny
Wmem
Mrs. Billingtoh.
Mrs. Mountain.
Mrs. Webb.
Mrs. Martyr.
THE
MAir> OP THE MILL.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Ä rural pHfpeñ, ucith a mUl at 'work. Severalpeople
etiiployed aSbttt ; on one JjUe a houfet, Patty reading,
in the nmndotu ; tín the-other a batruy. •where Fan-ny
ßts tnefiding a net) Giles appears at a diflance in the
mill ; Fairfie ld and RalIjh talnng ßaeis from ä
tart^
CHORUS.
FkEE froth fqrroiúr, free froth ßrifet,
0 hovo biß the miller's life !
Chearful •working, through tlse day:%
Sdä he laughs andfings aiwyç.
Ñought can vex hithy
Nought perplex him,.
While there's grjfl to make him gaf
B 2
12
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Act I.
DUET.
Let the greca enjoy the hleßngs
By indulgent fortune fent :
tVhat can vxalth, can grandeur (ffer ig
More than plenty and content.
Fat. Well done, well donî ; 'tis a fure fign work
goes on merrily when folks fing at it. Stop the mill
there; and doll hear, fon Ralph, hoill yon facks of
flour upon this cart, lad, and drive it up to lord Aim-
worth's ; coming from London lall night with ftrange
company, no doubt there are calls enough for it by
this time.
Ral. Ay feyther; whether of riot, there's no doubt
but you'll find enow for a body to do. 20
Fai: What doll mutter ? Is't not a ftrange plague
that thou can'ft never go about any thing with a good
will ; murrain take it, what's come o'er the boy ? So
then thou wilt not fet a hand to what I have defired
thee !
Ral. Why don't you ipeak to fufter Pat to do
fomething then ? I thought when ihe came homé to its
after my old lady's death, flie was to have been of
fome u'fe in the houfe-; but infteäd of that; ihe fits
there all day, reading outlandifh books, drefied dike
a fine madumafel, and the never a word you fays to
Ihe. 32
Fai. Sirrah, don't (peak fo difrelpeftfully of thy
filler ; thou wilt never have the tithe of her delerts.
Bal. Why I'll read and write with her for what
Ihe dares; and as for playing on the hapficols, I thinks
Act I. THE MAID OF THE MILL. ij
her rich good mother might have learn'd her feme-
thing more properer, feeing (he did not remember to
leave her a legacy at laft.
Fai. That's none of thy bufinefs, Crrah. 40
Ral. A farmer's wife painting piftures, and play¬
ing on the hapficols ; why I'll be hang'd nöw, for all
as old as ihe is, if ihe knows any more about milking
a cow, than I do of fewing a petticoat.
Fai. Ralph, thou haft been drinking this morning.
Ral. Well, if fo be as I have, .it's nothing out of
your pocket, nor mine neither.
Fai. Who has been giving thee liquor, ßrrah ?
Rah Why it was wind—a gentleman guve me.
Fai, A gentleman ! ■ ¡0
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 dare to fay
ftie'd fetch as good as forty pound at ever a fair in all
England.
Fai. A fig's end for what Ihe'd fetch ; mind thy
bufinefs, or by the lord Harry
Ral. Why I won't do another hand's turn to-day
now, fo that's flat.
Fai. Thou wilt not 60
Ral. Why no I wont ; lb what argufies- your put¬
ting yourfelf in a pallion, feyther ! I've promifed 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.
Fai. Well, fon Ralph, run thy gait ; but remem¬
ber 1 tell thee, thou wilt repent this untowardnefs.
14 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act 1.
Ral. Why, Jwiw fhall I repent it ?• Mayhap you'll
tnrii iBte«ut -of yptu-fea^vice ; a .içatch j with all hearts
—I cod I don't care three hrafs pins. 50
AIR.
i/'thafs all¡)ou iwmt, vuht^he.phigtte miliitß>rry,
'Twere iäteriy half to Agißaaes-in a quarry ;
For myßuure I'm, via^yaf. tuhal is gothft ;
S'ßeßl her^s fach a tFaoket^ftah fc!^Ang.andisoiIing,
Fou'rt n&Btr. costtent^ iui m hen folks are- a toAngy
And drudging like harfes from mormsig Hill night,
T-ou think, I'm qfnaidy but fhe ^fffrcncs. to ßew you ¡
Fuji yonder's yourfrsovel ; your Jacks .too Lthconqyou ;
Hessceforst^d^ke fcu-e-of your mattersjusho ^uill}
They're nueUtme toJhyueforyour if^ages luhç nefd dssty
Tol lol.dçro^loi., I hfp%Jutchaf djrny frefd/my 8t
Audeqmnherysfterfriall yuorhat the mill.
SeE-NE 11.
Fairfield, Paxty.
Fai. Dear heart, dear heart ! I proteft this nngra-
cioits .boy puts me qiiite Befide nTyfël'f.. Patty, my dear
come down into the yard a K-ttk, and keep me com¬
pany—and you, thieves, vagabonds, gipTtes, out here,
'tis you who debauch my- fbn.
Act. t.
the matt) of the mill.
's
AIR.
Pat. In ¡ove to pine and langnlß^
Tet hioto your pq^ori vain ¡
To. harbour heart-felt angufhf 9®
Tet fear to tell your pain.
What poouert mrúen^eg,
Severer ills inveatitsgf
Can ßiarpen pings Sie theß ¡
Where days and t^bts tormentingf
Held nut a momettl's esfe !
Fat. Well, Patty, MaRer Goodman, my lord's
Reward, has been with me juft now, and I find we arc
like to have great doings ; his lordihi^ has brou^t
down Sir Harfy Sycamore and his family, and there
is more company expeñed in a few days. loi
Pat. I know Sir Harry very wtell ; he is by marriage
a dîftaniî relation of my lord's.
Fai. Pray what fort of a young body is the daugh¬
ter there? I think: ihe ufod to be with you at the caille,
three or four fummdrs kgo, when my young lord was
out upon his travels.
Pat. Oh ! very often; foe was a great favourite of
my lady's : pray fether is foe comfe doWn'? 109
Fed. Why you know the reportlaft night, about my
lord's going to be married; by what I cat! learn foe is ;
and there is likely to be a nearer relationfoip between
the families, ere long. It fcems, his lordfoip Was not
over willing for the match, but the friends on both
l6 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act I.
fides in London prefled it íb hard : then there is a
fwinging fortuné : mafter Goodman tells me a matter
of twenty or thirty thoufand pounds. 117
Pat. Ifit was a million, father, it would not bemore
than my lord Aimworth deferves ; I fuppofe the wed¬
ding will be celebrated here at the manfion-houfe.
Fat. So it is thought, as foon as things can be pro¬
perly prepared And now, Patty, if I could but fee
thee a little merry—Come, blefs thee, pluck up thy
Ipirits—To be fure thou haft fuftained, in the death
of thy lady, a heavy lofs ; (he was a parent to thee,
nay, and better, inafmuch as fiie took thee when thou
wert but a babe, and gave thee an education which thy
natural parents could not aftbrd to do.
Pat. Ah ! dear father, don't mention what, perhaps,
has been my greateft misfortune. 130
Fai. Nay then, Patty, w.hat's become of all thy
fenfe, that people talk fo much about ? But I have
fomething to fay to thee which I would have thee con-
fider ferioufly. 1 believe I need not tell thee, my
child, that a young maiden, after ihe is marriageable,
efpecially if flie has any thing about her to draw
people's notice, is liable to ill tongues, and a many
crofs accidents ; fo that the fooner ihe's out of harm's
way the better.
Pat. Undoubtedly, father, there are people enough
who watch every opportunity to gratify their own
malice; but when a young'woman's conduit is^un-
blameable 142
Fai. 'Why, Patty, there may be fomething in that ;
but you know flander will leave fpots, where malice
finds none : I fay then, a young woman's heft fafe-
Act I. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 17
guard is a good huiband. Now there is our neigh¬
bour, Farmer Giles ; he is a fober, honeft, induftrious
young fellow, and one of the wealthieft in thefe parts ;
he is greatly taken with thee ; and it is not the firft
time 1 have told thee I ihould be glad to have him for
afon-in-law. lyi
Pat. And I have told you as often, father, I would
fubmit myfelf entirely to your direâion ; whatever
you think proper for me, is fo.
Fat. Why that's fpoken like a dutiful, fenfiblegirl;
get thee in, then, and leave me to manage it
Perhaps our neighbour Giles is not a gentleman ; but
what are the greateft part of our country gentlemen
good for ? 159
Pat. Very true, father. The fentiments, indeed,
have frequently little correipondence with the condi¬
tion ; and it is according to them alone we ought to
regulate our efteem.
AIR.
What are outwardforms andJhews,
"To an honeß heart compaPd ?
Oft the rußte, wanting thofe.
Has the nobler portion Jhar'd.
Oft tve fee the homely flotver
Bearing at the hedge's ftde
Virtues of more fov'reign power i yo
Than the garden's gayeß pride.
B3
i8 THE MAID. OF THE I>IILL. Act I.
SCENE III.
Fairfield, Giles.
GtU¡. Well, mailer Fairfield, you.and Miis iPat
have had a long diiboajrie together ; did you . tell her
that I was come down ?
Fat. No, in truth, friend Giles ; bat I mentioned
our affair at a diftance ; and I think there b no fear.
Ciks. That's right—and when fliall us—You do
know 1 have told you my mind often and often.
Fax, Farmer, give us thy hand ; nobody .«toubts
thy good will to me and my girl ; and yon raay.^ake
my word, I would rather give her to thee than an¬
other ; for I am main certain thou wilt ^ake. her a
good hufband. .183
Gi/es. Thanks to your good opinion,, mafter Fair¬
field ; if fuch be my hap, I hope there will be no caufe
of complaint.
Fat. Andji promife thee my daughter will make
thee a choice wife. But thou kpoVil, friend Giles,
that I, and all belongs to me, have great obligations
to lord Airpworth's family ; Patty, in particular,
would be one of the moil ungrateful wretches this
day breathing ifJbesV»» to dp the fmalleft thing con¬
trary to their coníéat and approbation. 193
Gi/es. Nay, nay, 'tis well enough knowp to all the
country, fhe, was -the old lady's darling.
FaJ Well, mafter Giles, I'll affure thee (lie is not
one whit lefs-obliged to my lord himfelf. When his
Act I. THE MAID OF THE MILI.. 19
mother was taJken offfo fuddenlyjand his^afiairs called
him up to London, if Patty would have remained at the
caille, Ihe might have had the command 6F all ; oir if
ike would have gone any where elfe, he woiil'd have
paid for her fixing, let the coft be what it would. 202
Giles. Why for that manner, folks did not Ipare to
fay, that my lord had a ibrt of ä Gieaking kindnefs
for her himlèif : and I 'remembeir, âf one time, it was
rife all about the ndghhouihobd, thai ihe was aftually
to be our lady.
Fat. Pho, pho 1 a pack of womain's tales.
Giles. ' Nay, to be hire tíiey*!! iky any th ing. 209
Fai. My lord's a man of a better way of thinking,
friend Giles—this is neither here bbr there to our
bufinefs Have you been at thècaflle'yet ? 212
Giles. Who I ! Blefs yoifr bean I did not hear a
fyllable of his lordfliip's beit^ conse down, 'till your
lad told me.
Fai. No ! why then go up to my lord, let him
know you have a mind tó "make a nKttch with my
daughter ; hear what he has to iky to it ; and after¬
wards we will try if we can't fettle matters. 219
Giles. Go up to my lord ! I cod if that be all, I'll
do it with the biggeft pleafure in life.—But where's
Mifs Pat ? Might one not ax her how (he do ?
Fai. Never fpare it ; (he's within there.
Giles. I fees her—odd rabbit it, this hatch is locked
no-vi- Mifs Pat—Mils Patty—She naakes beUeve
not to hear me.
Fai. Well, well, never mind ; thou'lt come and
eat a morfel of dinner with us.
30 THE MAID OF THE MILL, ACT I.
Giles. Nay, but juft to have a bit of a joke with her
at prefent—Mifs Pat, I fay won't you open the
door Î 231
AIR.
ffari ! Itis I your own true lover.
After walking three long miles.
One kind look at leqfl difcover.
Come and/peak a word to Giles.
Tou alone my heart I fix on :
Ah, you Utile cunning vixen 1
J can fee your roguiß fmiles.
Addßids ! my mind is fo pffefl.
Till we're fped, I fian't have refl ¡ 240
Only fay the thing's a bargain.
Here an you like it.
Ready to Jlrike it,
Therds at once an end of arguing :
I'm het's,fhds mine ¡
Thus we feal, and thus we fign.
SCENE IF.
Fairfield, Patty.
Fai. Patty, child, why would'ft not thou open the
door for our neighbour Giles ?
Pat. Really, father, I did not know what was the
matter. 250
Fai. Well, another time ; he'll be here again pre-
fently. He's gone up to the caille, Patty j thou
Act U the MAID OF THE MILL. 2l
know'ft it would not be right for us to do any thing
without giving his lordfliip intelligence, fo I have fent
the farmer to let him know that he is willing, and we
are willing ; and with his lordihip's approbation-
Par, Oh dear father—^what are "you going to fay ?
Fai. Nay child, I would not have ftirr'd a ftep for
fifty pounds, without advertifing his lordihip before¬
hand. 260
Pat. But furely, furely, you have not done this
rafti, this precipitate thing.
Fat. How ralh, how is it ralh, Patty ? I don't un-
deriland thee.
Pat. Oh, you have diftrefied me beyond imagina¬
tion—^but why would you not give me notice, {peak
to me firft?
Fai. Why han't I fpoken to thee an hundred times ?
No, Patty, 'tis thou that would'ft diitrefs me, and
thou'It break my heart. 270
Pat. Dear father !
Fai. All I delire is to fee thee well fettled; and now
that I am likely to do fo, thou art not contented ; I
am fare the farmer is as lightly a clever lad as any
in the country ; and is he not as good as we ?
Pai. 'Tis very true, father ; I am to blame ; pray
forgive me.
Fai. Forgive thee! Lord help thee, my child, I am
not angry with thee ; but quiet thyfelf, Patty, and
thou'It fee all this will turn out for the beft. 280
22
TJHE MAID OF THE MILL.
Act L
scene v.
Patty.
What will become of me ?—^my lord will certainly
imagine this is done with my'confent—Well, is he
not hlmfelf going to be married to a lady, fiiitabie to
him in rank, fultable to him In fortune, as this farmer
is to me ; and under what pretence can I refufe the
huibaiKl my father has found for me ! Shall I iky
that I have dared to raife my inclinations above my
condition, and prefumed to love, where my duty
taught me only gratitude and refpe^ ? Alas ! Who
could live in the houfe with lord Aimworth, fee him,
converfe with him, and not love him ! I have this
confoiation, however, my folly is yet undifcover'd to
any ; elfe, how ihould 1 be ridiculed and deipifed ;
nay, would not my lord himfelf de%ife me, efpecially,
if he knew that I have more than once coiiâlnied his
natural aifability and politenefs into fentiments as un¬
worthy of hini, as mine are bold and extravagant.
Unexampled vanity ! did I poffefs any thing capable
of attraiSing fuch a notice, to what purptde could a
man of his diftinftion caft his eyes ort a girli poor,
meanly bom, and indebted for every thJng to the ill-
placed bounty of his family ? 302
AIR.
Ah I whyßjoujd fate, pnrfuing
A wretched thing like me.
Heap ruin thus on ruin.
And add to mifery ?
Act I. THE. MAID OF THE. MILL. 23
The griefs I languyh'd under.
In fecr-et lei me fiare ;
But this new Jlroke of thunder.
Is more than I can bear. 310
SCENE VI.
Changes to a Chamber in Lord Aimworth'í Äiw/J.
Sir Harry Sycamore, Theodosia.
Si Har, Well, but Theodofia, child, you are quite
unreafonable.
The. Pardon me, papa, it is not I am unreafonable:
when I gavç way to my inclinations for, Mr. Mervin,
he did not feem lefs agreeable to,you and my mama
than he was aceptable to me. It is, therefore, you
have been unreafonable, in lirft encouraging his,ad-
drefles, and afterwards forbidding him your houfe,
in order to bring me (|owp herç, to force me on a
gentleman .320
S. Har. Force you, Doffy, what do you mean ! ,By
the la, I would not force you on the Czar of Mufcovy.
The. And yet, papa, what elfe can you call it ? for
tho' lord Aimworth is extrexnely attentive and oblig¬
ing, I affure you he is by ho means one of the moit
ardent of lovers.
S. Har. Ardent, ah ! there it is ; you girk never
think there is any love, without kilEng and hugging ;
bjit you fliould confider, child, my lord Aimworth is
a polite man, and h%s., been abroad in France pnd
Italy, where thefe thing?, ar-e not the faihion ; I re-
24 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act I.
member when I was on my travels, among the ma-
daraes and fignoras, we never fainted more than the
tip of the ear. 334
Tie. Really, papa, you have a very ftrange opinion
of my delicacy ; I had no fuch ftuff in my thoughts.
S. Har. Well come, my poor Dolfy, I fee you are
chagrin'd, but you know it is not ray fault ; on the con¬
trary, I aifure you, I had always a great regard for
young Mervin, and ihould have been very glad
The. How then, papa, could you join in forcing me
to write him that ftrange letter, never to fee me
more ; or how indeed could I comply with your com¬
mands ? what muft he think of me ? 344
S. Har. Ay, but hold, Dofly, your mama convinced
me that he was not fo proper a fon-in-law for us as
LiOrd Aimworth.
The. Convinced you ! Ah, my dear papa, you were
not convinced.
S. Har. What don't I know when I am convinced?
The. Why no, papa ; becaufe your good-nature
and eafinefs of temper is fuch, that you pay more re-
ipefl: to the judgment of mama, and lefs to your own,
than you ought to do. 354
S. Har. Well, but Doify, don't you fee how your
mama loves me ; if my finger does but ache, (he's like
a bewitched woman ; and, if I was to die, I don't be¬
lieve file would outlive the burying of me : nay flie
has told me as much herfelf.
The. Her fondnefs indeed is very extraordinary.
S. Har. Befides, could you give up the prolpeél of
being a countefs, and miftrefs of this fine place ?
The. Yes, truly could I. 563
act i.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
«5
AIR,
With the man that I love, ovas I deßin*d to dwell.
On a mountain, a moor, in a cot, in a cell.
Retreats the moß barren, maß defert, would he
More pleqßng than courts or a palace to me.
Let the vain and the venal, in wedlock afplre
To what folly eßeems, and the vulgar admire ;
I yield them the blifs, where their wiflsts are placed, ^"JO
Inferßble creatures ! 'tis all they can tcße.
SCENE VIL
Sir Harry, Theodosia, Lady Sycamore«
L. Syc. Sir Harry, where are you ?
S. Har. Here, my lamb.
L. Syc. I am juft come from looking over his lord-
ihip's family trinkets. Well, Mifs Sycamore, you
are a happy creature, to have diamonds,equipage, title,
all the bleilings of life pour'd thus upon you at once.
The. Bleilings, madam ! Do you think then I am
fuch a wretch as to place my felicity in the pofleiEon
of any fuch trumpery. 38Í0
L. Syc. Upon my word, Mifs, you have a very diC-
dainful manner of expreffing yourfelf ; I believe
there are very few young women of falhion, who
would think any facrifice they could make too much for
them,—Did you ever hear the like of her, Sir Harry?
2Ä THE MAID OF THE Act I.
S. Har, Why, my dear, I have juft been talking to
her in the fame ftrain, but whatever Ihe has got in
her head 388
L. Syc. Oh,, it is "yiu Mervin, her gentleman of
Buckleribury,—:Fye,,Mifï, marrya. cit! Where is
your pride, your vanity ; have you nothing of theper-
fon of diftindlion about you ?
S. Har, Well, but my lady, you know I am a piece
of a cit myfelf, as J may fay, for my great-grandfather
was a dry-falter.
The. And yet, madam, you condefcended to marry
my papa. 397
L. Syc. Well, if I did mils, I had but five thoufand
pounds to my portion, and Sir Harry knows I was
pail eight and thirty, before 1 would Hilen to him.
S. Har. Nay, Pofly, that's true, your mama own'd
eight and thirty, before we were married : but by the
la, my dear, yon were a lovely angel ; and by candle¬
light nobody would have taken vou for above five and
twenty. 405
Z,. Syc. Sir Harry, you remember the lall time I
was at my lord duke's.
S, Har. Yes,my love,itwastheverydayyourlittle
bitch Minxey pupt.
L. Syc. And pray what did the whole family lay ;
my lord John, and my lord Thomas, and my lady Du-
cliefs in particular ? Couiin, lays her Grace to me—
for ihe always called me couiin— 413
The. Well, but madam, to cut this matter Ihort at
once, my father has a great regard for Mr. Mervin,
and would cpnfent to our union with ^1 his heart.
L. Syc. Do you fay fo. Sir Harry î
Act I. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 97
S. Har. Who, I, love !
L. Syc. Then jlJ ipy care and prudence are come
to nothing, 420
S, Har. Well, but Hay my lady—.Dofly, you are
always, making mrfchief.
The. Ah ! my dear fweet
Z,. Syc. Do mils, that's right, coax
The, JÍO,.madam, I.am not capable of any fuch
mçaimpfs.
L. Syc. 'Tis very clvilrfif you.to contradiiS me how¬
ever,
S. Ear. Dh ! what's that—hands off DoiTy, don't
come near me, 430
AIR.
Why how now mifs pert.
Do you. think to divert
My anger by fawning ctndßroking ?
Would you make me a fool
Tour play-thing, your tool ?
Was ever young minx fo provoking ?
Get out of myßght,
'Twould he Jerving you right.
To lay a found dofe of the lafh on }
ContradiQ your mama, 440
I've a mind by, the la !
- But I won't put tnyfelf in a ptfjlon.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Act I.
SCENE FIJI,
Sir Harry, Lady Sycamore, Lord Aimworth,
Giles.
L. Aim, Come farmer, you may come in, there are
none here but friends.—Sir Harry, your fervant.
S. Har, My lord, I Jiifs your lordihip's hands—I
hope he did not overhear us fquabbling—" 1 have
" been chattering here with my wife and daughter,
" my lord We have been examining your lord-
" Ihip's piftures. 449
L. Aim. " I flatter myfelf, then her ladylhip found
" fomething to entertain her ; there are a few of
"them counted tolerable." ^Well now, mafter
Giles what is it you have got to fay to me ? If I can
do you any fervice, this company will give you leave
to (peak.
Gi/fx. I thank your lordihip, I has not got a great
deal to fay ; I do come to your lordihip about a little
buflnefs, if you'll pleafe to give me the hearing. 458
E. Aim. Certainly, only let me know what it is.
Giles. Why an pleafe you my lord, being left alone,
as I may fay, feyther dead, and all the bufinefs upon
my own hands, I do think of fettling and taking a
wife, and am come to ax your honour's confent.
L. Aim. My confent, fanner ! if that be neceflary,
you have it with ail my heart—I hope you have taken
care to make a prudent choice.
Giles. Why I do hope fo, my lord.
Act I. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 29
L, Aim. Well,and who is the happy fair one? Doeâ
Ihe live in my houfe ? 4^9
Giles. No, my lord, Ihe does riot live in your houfe,
but ftie's a parfon of your acquaintance»
L. Aim. Of my acquaintance 1
Giles. No offence, I hope your honour.
L. Aim. None in the leafi : but how is Ihe an ac«
quaintance of mine ?
Giles. Your lordlhip do know Miller Fairfield ?
L.Aim. Well
Giles. And Patty Fairfield, his daughter, my loid ?
A. Aim. Ay is it her you think of marrying ?
Giles. Why, if fo be as your lordfhip has no objec¬
tion ; to he fure we will do nothitig without your eon-
fent and approbation. 482
L. Aim. Upon my word, farmer, yOu have made an
excellent choice—It is a god-daughter of mymother's,'
niadam, who was bred up under her care, and I pro-
teft I do not know a more amiable young woman.
But are you fure, farmer, that Patty herfelf is "incKn-
able to this match.
Giles. O yes, my lord I am fartain of that, 489
L. Aim. Perhaps théri ihe defiredyou to come and
aili my confent ?
Giles. Why as far as this here, my lord ; to be fure,
the miller did not care to puWifli the banns, without
making your lordfhip acquainted—But I hope your
honour's not angry with 1.
L. Aim. A ngry farmer ! why fhould you think fo ?—
what interefl: have I in it'to be angry ?
S. Har. And fo, honeft farmer, you are |oing to
be married to little Patty Fairfield ? She's an old ac-
30 THE MAID OF THÉ MILL. Ac«r I.
quâintance of mille j how long have yoii and flie been
fweethearts ? 501
Giles. Not a long while, an pleafe your Vvoilhip.
S.Har. Well', her father's a good wànri fellow'; I
fuppofe you take catle that (he brings fomethrng to
taakethe pot boil?
L. Sye. What does that contem you, Sir Háity J
how often muft I tell you of meddltng in other péOií
pie's affairs ?
S. Har. My lord, a penny for your thoughts. 509
L-. Aim. I beg your pardon, Sir Harry ; upon my
Vrord, I did not think where I was. y i i
GHis. Well then, your honour; 111' make bold to
be taking my leave ; I may fay you give corifeiit for
Mifs Patty and I to go on.
L. Aim. Undoubtedly, farmer, if fhe approves of
it : but are you not afraid' that her education has' ren¬
dered her a little unfuitable for a wifé for you ?
L. Syc. Oh my lord', if the girl's handy
S\ Har. Oh, ay—wlÄn a girl's handy-: 519
Giles. Handy! Why,faving refpeiï,there's nothing"
comes anaifs to her j flic's cute at every varfal kind of
thing.
ÀIR.
OdcTs my life, Jearch Engkmd' ovef ;
An yxm match her m herßathtr.
Pu he howid to JPy the naiioh-;
And he ßwe as ktsell / bve her\
Ac i I. TÍÍE MAID OF THE MILL, 31
Do hut feel my heart a heating.
Still her pretty name rep'ediing 'i
Here's the luork 'th always off
Pilty, patiy, pat, pit, pat. 530,
Whenß>e maies the mußc tinile.
What oh y earth can fweeler be P
Then her little eyes fo twinkle,
'Pis a feaß to hear and fee.
SCENE IX.
LokD Aimworth, Sir Harry, Lady Sycamore;
S. Har. Öy dad this is a good rrierry felloWj is not
lie in love, with his 'pîtty patty—And fo itiy lord yoii
have given your confent that he ihall many your mo¬
ther's old houfekeeper. Ah, well, I can fee
L. Aim-. Nobody doubts. Sir Harryi that you are
very clear-lighted. 540
S. Har. Yes, yes, let me alone, I know what's
what ; I was a young fellow once myfelf ; and I ihould
have been glad of ä tenant, to take à pretty girl off
my hands now and then, aS well as another.
L. Aim. I proteft mydéàrfriend,rdon't underítand
you.
L. Syt. Nor nobody elfe—^Sir Harry you are going
at fome beaftlinefs now. 348
S. Har. Who I, my lady ^ Not I, as I hope to livé
and breathe ; 'tis nothing to us you know, what my
lord does before he's married ; when I was a bachelor,
3» THÈ MAID OF THE MILL. Act Í.
I was a devil among the wenches, myfelf ; apd yet I
vow to George, my lord, fince I knew my lady Syca¬
more, and we ihall be man and wife eighteen years,
if we live till next Gandlemas-day, I never had to
do
L. Syc. Sir Harry, come out of the room, I delire,
S. Har. Why, what's the matter, my lady, I did
not fay any harm ? 559
L, Syck I fee what you are driving at, you want to
make me . faint.
«S. Har. I want to make you faint, my lady 1
L. Bye. Yes you do—and if you don't come out this
inftant I ihall fall down in the chamber—I beg, my
lord, you won't Ipeak to him.—Will you come out,
SirHariyr.
S. Har. Nay, but my lady !
L. Syc. No, I will have you out. j68
SCENE X.
Lord Aimworth.
This worthy Baronet, and his lady, are certainly a
very whimfical couple ; however, their daughter is
perfedlly amiable in every refpeft : and yet I am forry
I have brought her'down here ; for can I in honour
marry her, while my affeitions are engaged to another?
"io what does the pride of condition and the cenfure
of the world force me ! Mull: I then renounce the
only perlón that can make me happy ; becaufe, be-
caufe what ? becaufe Ihe's a miller's daughter ? Vain
Acr Iv THE MAID OF THE MILL. jî
pride, and unjuft cenfure ! has five not all the graces
that education can give her lex ; improved by a genius
feldom found among the higheft ? has Ihe not mo-
defty, fweetnefs of temper, and beauty of perfon, ca¬
pable of adorning a rank the moft exalted ? But it is
too late to think of thefe things now ; my hand is
prcanifed, my honour engaged ; and if it was not fo,
ihe has engaged herfelf ; the farmer is a perfon to
her mind, and I have authoiized their union by my
approbation. 587
AIR.
The tnaâ4ttan thut^ tü timet, <we fee.
With feeming reafon hieß ;
His looks, his words, his thoughts are free^
And/peak a mind at reß.
Butßort the calms of eafe and fenfe.
And ah I uncertain too ;
While that idea lives from whence
Atßrß his fren%y grew.
SCENE XI.
Changes to the profpeS ef the null.
Enter Ralph, with Mervin, in a tiding drefs,
followed by Fanny.
Ean. Ah, pray your honour, try if you have not
fomething to fpare for poor Fanny the gipfey.
C
34 THE MAID ÖF THE MIL-L. ACT I.
Ral. I tell you, Fan, <he gentleman has no change
about him.; why the plague will you be fo trouble-
fome ? 600
Fan. Lord What is it to you, if'his honour has a
mind to give me a trifle ? Do pray, getflSleman, put
your hand in your pocket,
ßler. lam almoft diftraited iUngratefull'heodofia;
tb change fo fuddenly, and write me fuch a letter !
However, I amTefolved to have my difiniflion feceto
face ; this letter may be forced from her "fay her mo¬
ther, who I know was never cordially my friend ; 1
could not get a fight of her "hi London, but here they
will be lefs on their guard ; and lee her I will, "by one
means or other. 6ii
Fan. Then your honour wiU not cKtend yoar cha¬
rity ?
AIR.
I am young, and I äfn'Jhtendlefs,
jínd poor, alafs ! nFUhal ;
Sure my fórranos nu'dl be endlêfs ;
In mcùn for help I call.
Have fame pity in your nature.
To relieve a nurelched creature.
Though the gift be ne*er fofmall. 620
May you, poffejßng evefy hleffmg.
Still inherit Sir, all.y eu merit Sir,
yind never inonu nohat it is to nuant ¡
Sweet heaven, your wotjhip all happinefs grant.
Act i.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
35
SCENE XII.
Râlfh, Mervin.
Ral. Now IMl go and take that money from her
and I have good mind to lick her, fo I have.
Mer. Pho, pr'ythee ftay where you are.
■Ral. Nay, but I hate to fee a toad fo deviliih
greedy. 629
Mer. Well come, ihe has not got a great deal, and
I have thought how ihe may do me a favour in her
turn.
R^, Ay, but you may put that out of your head,
for I can tell you ihe won't.
Mer. How lb !
Ral. How fo, why ihe's as cuimiog as the Devil.
Mer, O (he is—I fancy I underHand you. Well,
in that cafe, friend Ralph ^Your name's Ralph, I
think ? 639
Ral. Yes, fir, at your fisrvice, for want of a better.
Mer. I fay then, friend Ralph, in that cafe, we will
remit the Ikvor you think of, till the lady is in a more
complying humour, and try if (lie cannot ferve me at
prefent in fome other capacity There are a good
many gipfies hereabout, are there not ?
Ral. Softly-^I have , a whole gang of them here in
our barn ; I have kept them about the place thefe
three months, and all on account of (he.
Mer. Really. 649
Ral. Yea ^but for your life don't fay a word of
it to any Ghriftian 1 am in love with her. 651
C 2
36 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act I.
Mer. Indeed!
Ral. Feyther is as mad with fne 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 fohle hifluehce over your miftrefs ;
don't you think you could prevail upon her, and her
companions, to fupply me with one of their habits,
and let me go up with them to-day to my lord Aim-
worth's. 66i
Ral. Why do you want to go a mumming ? We
never do that here but in the Chriftmas holidays.
Mer. No matter : manage this for me, and manage
it with fecrefy; and 1 promife you lhall not go un¬
rewarded.
Ral. Oh 1 aS for that fir, I dôn't look for any
thing, I can eafily 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, becaufe 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 before you and have the dog faft-
ened, for I know his kennel. 673
Mer. That will do very well-^By means of this
difguife I ihall probably get a fight of her ; and I
leave the reft to love and fortune.
AIR.
Why quits the merchant^ ließ •with eafcf
The pleafures of his native feat^
To tempt the dangers of the feas.
And crimes more perilous than thefe ¡ $80
Mi^ freezing cold^ or fcorching heat.
Act I. THE MAID OF THE MIEL. 37
He knows the har^ips, knows the paint
The length of way, but thinks it fmall ¡
The fweets of what he hopes to gain.
Undaunted, make him combat all.
SCEfJE XIII.
Patty, Ralph, Giles, Fanny.
Giles. So his lordihip was as willing as the flowers
in May and as I was coming along, who fhou'd I
meet but your father and he bid me run in all
hafte and tell you for we were fure you would be
deadly glad. 69a
Pat. I know not what bufinels you had to go to my
lord's at all, farmer.
Giles. Nay, I only did as I was deCfed Mafter
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 ihe ought ; and take off thofe cloaths, and
put on what's more becoming her ftation ; you know
my father fpoke to you of that this morning too.
Pat. Brother, I (hall obey my fether. 700»
Lye fill my heart ; oh ! fatalfiroke.
That kills at once my hopes and me.
Giles. Mfs Pat 1
Pat. What ?
Giles. Hay, I only fpoke :
RaJ. Take courage, mon,fhe doss hut joke.
Come, Sufer, fomewhat kinder he.
j8 THE MAID OF THE M1LI>. Act I.
Fan. Thii it a thmg the maß (ßdeß.
Seme felis ate fe plagtàly modeß ¡
C Were <we in the ecfty 710
Rai. Fan. "j To ¿e in their place,
^ We'd carry it of with a different face.
Giles. Thus I take her by the lily hand,
So foft and white.
Ral. ■ ■ Why now that's right ;
jlnd kifs her too, mon, neverßand,
IWhat words can explem
My pleafure—my pain?
It prejes, it rifes.
My heart it furp/fes, 720
I can't keep it down, tho' I'd never fe fdn.
Fart. So here the play ends.
The bvers are friends t
Ral. Hvß!
Fan. Tußl
Giles. Nah!
Pat. PJha I
All. What torment's exceeding, whett joys are above,
7he pains and the pkafures that weàt o^ott love.
AítC, TlîE MAID OF TIIE MILL, 3^
ÂCTII. SCmE /.
^ marble portico, ornamented withßatves, which opent
frotnLordh^\uvio%TYdihoufei Iwachcàrs nearthe
front.
Enter Lord Aimworth reading.
In how contemptible a light would the fituation I am
now in ihew me to moil of the fine men of the pfe-
iaft age ? In love with a counl;ry girl ; rivalled by a
poor fellow« one of my meaneit tenants, and uneafy
at it ! If I had a mind to her, I know they wqnW'teli
me, I ought to have taken care to make myielf eafy
loog ago, when I had her in ray power. But I have
the teftimony of my own heart in my favour ; and I
fhink, was it to rlo again, I Ihouldl a¿l as I have done.
Let's fee, what we have here ? perhaps a book may
eompofe my thou^s j \readi an4 throws, the boohawaf\
it's to no purpofe, I can't read, I can't think, I can't
do any thing. 13
AIR.
Mi. ! horn vainly mortals treoftre
tf happineß and plectfure^
Hard attd doubtful to ohteùn ¡
By whatßandards falfe we meafure i
Still purfuing
WayA to ruvh
Stthipg iüß.% andjttdif^ Plain. 2«»
4®
THE MAID OF THE MILI.. Act 11.
SCENE IL
Lord Aimworth, Patty.
Eat. Now comes the trial : no, ray fentence is al¬
ready pronounc'd, and I will meet my fate with pru¬
dence and refolution.
L. Aim. Who's there ?
Pat. My lord !
L. Aim. Patty Fairfield Î
Pat. I humbly beg pardon, my lord, for preffing
fo abruptly into your prefence ; but I was told I
might walk this way j and I am come by my father's
commands to thank your lordihip for all your fa¬
vours. 31
L, Aim. Favours, Patty ! what favours ? I have
done you none : but why diis metamorphofis ? I pro-
teft, if you had not fpoke, I ihould not have
known you ; I never faw you wear fuch clothes
theiè in my mother's life-time.
Pat. No, my lord, it was her ladyihip's pleafure I
ihould wear better, and therefore I obey'd ; but it is
now my duty to drefs in a manner more fuitable to
my ftation, and future proípeíts in life. 40
L. Aim. I am afraid, Patty, you are too humble—
come, fit down—nay, I will have it fo.—What is it I
have been told to-day, Patty ! It feems you are going
to be married.
Pat. Yes, my lord.
L. Aim. Well, and don't you think you could have
made a better choice than farmer Giles ? I ihould
Act n. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 41
imagine your perfon, your accompliihraents, mighl
have intitled you to look higher. 49
Pai. Your lordihip is pleafed to over-rate my little
merit ; the education 1 received in your family does
not intitle me to forget my origin ; and the fermer is
my equal.
Z.. In wbatrelpeil ? The degrees of rank and
fortune,, my dear Patty, are arbitrary diftinftions, un¬
worthy the regard of thofe who confider juftly ; the
true ftandard of equality is feated in the mind : thofe
who think nobly are noble. 58
Paf. The farmer, my lord,, is a very honeft man.
Z,. Aim. So he may ; I don't fuppofe he would
break into a houfe, or commit a robbery on the high¬
way : what do you tell me of his honefty for ?
Pat. I did not mean to offend your lordihip.
Ij. Aim. Offend ! I am not offended, Patty ; not at
all offended' But is there any great merit in a man's
being honefl ?
Pat. I don't fey there is, my lord-
L. Aim. The farmer is an ill-bred, illiterate booby;,
and what happinefs can you propofe to yourfelf in
fuch a fbciety ? Then, as to his perfon, I am fure
—But perhaps, Patty, you like him ; and if fo, I am
doing a wrong thing. yz
Pat. Upon ray word, my lord
L. Aim. Nay, I fee you do : he has had the good
fortune to pleafe you ; and in that cafe, you are cer¬
tainly in the right to follow your inclinations.—I mull
tell you one thing, Patty, however—I hope you won't
think it unfriendly of mcr But I am determined
C3
49 the maid of the mill. Act H.
farmer Giles fiiall not ftay a raomenit on my eflate,
after next quarter-day. 80
Pat. I hope, my lord, he has not incaned your
difi^eafnre
L. yitm. That's of no ßgnifrcation.—Could I find
as many good qualities in him as you do, perhaps——
But 'tis enough, he's a fellow I don't like ; and as you
have a regard for him, I would have you advife him
to provide himfelf.
Pat. My lord, I am very unfbrtanate. 88
L. Aim. She loves him, 'tis plain Come, Patty,
don't cry ; I would not wiDingíy do any thing to
make you uneafy.—Have you feen Mifs Sycartiore
yet ?—I fuppofe you know fhe and I are going to be
married.
Pat, So 1 hear, my lord. Heaven make you
both happy !
L. Aim. Thank you, Patty ; I hope we lhall be
happy.
Pat. Upon my knees, upon my knees I pray it :
may every earthly bHfs attend yon ! may your days
prove an uninterrupted coiirfe of delightful tranquil¬
lity ; and your mutual friendfliip, confidence and love,
end but with your lives ! 102
L. Aim. Rife, Patty, rife ; fay no more—I fuppde
you'll wait upon Mifs Sycamore before you go away—
at prefent I have a little bufinefs As I faid, Patty,
don't alHiift yourfelf: I have been fomewhat hafty
with regard to the farmer ; but fince I fee how deep¬
ly you are interefted in his affairs, I may poffibly
¿ter my defigns with regard to bira You know—
Act U. THE MAIP OF THE MILE. 43
You know> Patty, your marriage witb him is no con¬
cern of mine—I oniy ipeak ■■ ■'■ ' 111
AIR.
My pt^on in vain I attempt to ^ffémhle /
Th' endeavour to hide it, hut makes it appear :
Enraptured I ga%e, when I touch her I tremble,
Jlnd fpeal to and hear her, with falt'ring and feçir.
By how many cruel ideas tormented !
My blood's in a ferment ; it freezes, it burns :
7his moment I wiß, what the next is repented ;
While love, rage, andjealoufy, rack me by turns, j'l 9
SCENE III.
Patty, Giles.
Giles. MifsPat—Odd rabbit it, I thought his honour
was here ; and I with I may die if my heart did not
jump into my mouthr—Come, eome down in all hafto,
there's fuch rig below as you nCYcr knew in your born
days.
" Bai. Rig !
" Giles. Ay, and fun"—^There's as good as forty of
the tenants, men and maidens, have got upon the lawn
before the caiUe, with pipers and garlands.; juR for
all the world as tho'f it was May-day ; and the qua¬
lity's looking at them out of the Windows^—r'Tis as
true as any thing ; on account of my lord's coming
44 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act II.
home with his new lady—" Look here, I have brought
" a ftring of flowers along with me." 133
Pat. Well, and what then ?
Giles. Why I was thinking, if fo be as you would
come down, as we might take a dance together : little
Sal, farmer Harrow's daughter, of the Green, would,
fain have had me for a partner ; but I faid as how I'd
go for one I liked better, one that I'd make a partner
for life. 140
Pat. Did you fay fo ?
Giles. Yes, and ftie was llruck all of a heap ihe
had not a word to throw to a dog—^for Sal and I kept
company once for a little bit.
Pat. Farmer, 1 am going to fay fomething to you,
and I defire you will liilen to it attentively. It feems
you think of our being married together.
Giles. Think ! why I think of nothing elfe ; it's all
over the place mun, as how you are to be my Ipoufe ;
and you would not believe what game folks make of
me. 151
Pat. Shall I talk to you like a friend, farmer
You and I were never defigned for one another; and
I am morally certain we ihould not be happy.
Giles. Oh! as for that matter, I never has no words
with nobody.
Pat. Shall I fpeak plainer to you then—I don't
like you.
Giles. No !
Pat. On the contrary, you are difagreeable to
me— X 61
Giles. Am I !
Act II. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 45
Pat. Yes, of all things : I deal with you llncerély»
Gles. Why, I thought, Mifs Pat, the affair betweeo
you and I was all fix'd and fettled.
Pat. Well, let this undeceive you—Be affured we
' lhall never be man and wife. No offer fhall perfuade,
no command force me.—You know my mind, make
your advantage of it.
AIR.
Was Ifare a life to lead, ryo
Wretched as the •oileßßave.
Every hardßip tvould / brave ;
Rudeß toil, fevereß need ;
Ere yield my handfa coolly.
To the man who never, truly.
Could my heart in keeping have..
Wealth with others fuccefs will infure you^
Where your wit and your perfon may pleaß f
Take to them your love, I conjure you.
And in mercy fit me at eafi. r80'
SCENE IV.
Giles.
Here's a turn ! I don't know what to make of it
ihe's gone mad, that's for fartin ; wit and learning,
have crack'd her brain Poor foul, poor foul
It is oñen the cafe of thofe who have too much of
them.—Lord, Lord, how forry I be—But hold, flie
46 THE MAID OF THE MILE. ACT II.
fays I baint to her mind—mayn't all this be the eiFe£t
of mûdifh coynefs, to do like die gentlewomen, be-
caufe ihe was bred among them ? And I have heard
fay, they will be upon their vixen tricks, till they go
into the very church with a man. Icod there's no¬
thing more likelier ; for it U the cry of one and all,
that (he's the moral of a lady in every thing : and our
farmer's daughters, for the matter of that, tho'f they
have nothing to boaft of but a fcrap of red ribbon
about their hats, will have as many turnings and wind¬
ings as a hare, before one can lay a fall hold of them.
There can no harm come of fpeaking with mailer
Fairfield, however.—Odd rabbit it, how plaguy tart
ihe was—I am half vext with myfelf now that I let
her go off fo. 200
AIR.
When a mend, in way of marriage^
Firß is courted by a man.
Let 'un do the heß he can.
She's fo Jhamefac'd in her carriage,
'Lis with pain the fuit*s began.
Lho'f mayhap Jhe likes him mainly.
Stillßeßsäms it coy and cold ;
Fearing to confefs it plainly,
Lß the folks ßould think her bold.
But the parfoH comes in fght, 2 lo
Gives the word to bill and cao 1
'Lu a dßferenißory quite.
And jhe qmckly buckles too.
Act II.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
47
SCENE r.
Changes to a view of Lord Aimworth'j houfe, and Im¬
provements; a feat under a tree, and part of the garden
wall, with a ChinefepaviFton over it ; feveral eountry
people appear dancing, others loohing on ; among whom
are, Mervin, difysifed, Ralph, Fanny, and a
number of gipfes. After the dancers go off, Theo-
DosiA Patty enter through a gate fuppofed to
have a coaneBion with the principal building.
The. Well then, my dear Patty, you will run away
from us ; but why in fuch a hurry, I have a thoufand
things to fay to you ?
Pat, I fliall do myfelf the honour to pay my duty
to you fome other time, madam; at prefent I really
find myfelf a little indifpofed. 219
The. Nay, I would by no means lay you under any
^EÍlraint. But methinks the entertainment we have
juft been taking part of, ihould have put you into
better ipirits : I am not in an over-merry mood my¬
felf, yet, I fwear, I could not look on the diverfion of
thofe honeft folks, without feeling a certain gaieté de
cœur. 226
Pat. Why, indeed, madam, it had one circum-
ftance attending it, which is often wanting to more
polite amufements ; that of feeming to give undit
fembled fatisfaftion to thofe who were engaged in it.
The. Oh, infinite, infinite 1 to fee the chearful,
healthy looking creatures, toil with fuch a good will !
4» THE MAID OE THE MILL. Act II.
To me there were more genuine charms in their auk-
ward flumping and jumping about, their rude mea-
fures, and homefpun finery, than in all the drefs,
fplendor, and fludied graces, of a birth-night ball¬
room. 237
Pat. *Tis a very uncommon declaration to be made
by a fine lady, madam ; but certainly, however the
artful delicacies of high life may dazzle and furprize,
nature has particular attrailions, even in a cottage,
her mofl unadorned flate, which feldom fail to affeét
us, the' we can fcarce give a reafon for it.
The. But you know, Patty, I was always a difi'
trafted admirer of the country ; no damfel in romance
was ever fonder of groves and purling flreams ; had
I been born in the days of Arcadia, with my prefent
propenfity, inflead of being a fine lady, as you call
me, I ftiould certainly have kept a flock of iheep.
Pat. Well, madam, you have the fages, poets, and
philofophers, of all ages, to countenance your way
of thinking. 252
The. And you, my little philofophical friend, dont
you think me in the right too ?
Pat. Yes, indeed, madam, perfedHy.
AIR.
Truß me, would you tqße true pleafure.
Without mixture, without meajure.
No whereßicdl you find the treafure
Sure as in the fyhan fcenet.
Act II. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 49
Bleflt ivho, no falfi glare requiring, z6o
Nature's rural ftveets admiring,
Can, from groffer joys retiring.
Seek the fimple andferene.
SCENE VI.
Theodosia, Mervin, Fanny.
Mer. Yonder ihe is feated ; and, to my wiíh» Jnoft
fortunately alone. Accoft her as I defired.
The. Heigh !
Fan. Heaven blefs you, my fweet lady—^blefs your
honour's beautif® vifage, and fend you a good huf-
band, and a great many of them.
The. A very comfortable wilh upon my word; who
are you, child ? 271
Fan. A poor gipfey, an' pleafe you, that goes about
begging from charitable gentlemen and ladies—If you
have ere a coal or a bit of whiting in your pocket, I'll
write you the firft letter of your fweetheart's name ;
how many huibands you will have ; and how many
children, my lady : or, if you'll let me look at your
line of life, I'll tell you whether it will be long or^
Ihort, happy or miferable.
The. Oh ! as for that, I know it already.—^you
cannot tell me any good fortune, and therefore I'll
hear none. Go about your bufmefs. 282
Mer. Stay, madam, ftay¿ \_Pretending to lift a paper
from the ground.you have dropt fomething—Fan, call
the young gentlewoman back.
50 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act U.
Fan. Lady, you have loft—^
The. Pho, pho, I have loft nothing.
Mer. Yes, that paperj lady ; you dropt it as you got
up from the chair.—Fan, give it to her honour. 289
The. A letter with my addreis ! [Takes the paper and
reads.'] " Dear Theodolia! Though the light of me
" was fo difagreeable to you, that you charged me
" never to approach you more, 1 hope my hand-wri-
" ting can have nothing to frighten or difguft you. I
" am not far off ; and the perlón who delivers you
" this, can give you intelligence." Come hither,
child : do you know any thing of the gentlenm that
wrote this ?
Fan. My lady 299
The. Make hafte run this momentj bring me to him,
bring him to me ; fay Í wait with impatience ; tell
him I will go, fly any where
Mer. My life, my charmer !
The. Oh, Heavens' -Mr. Mervin!
SCENF VH.
Theodosia, Mervin, Sir Harry, Latfy Syca¬
more, Fanny, Gipsies.
L. Syc. Sir Harry, don't walk fo faft, we are not
running for a wager.
S. Har. Hough, hough, hough.
L. Syc. Hey day, you, have got a cough} I ihall
have you laid upon my hands prefently» 309
Act. II. THE MAID Of THE MILL. Si
S. UaK. No, no, my lady, k's only the old aâFair.
L. Syc. Come here, and let me tye this haodher*
chief about your neck ; you hare put yourfelf into a
muck fweat already, f Ties m hastdkerehi^abouthisneekJ^
Have you taken your Bardana this morning ? 1 war¬
rant you not now, though you have been complaining
of twitches two or three times ; and you know thé
gouty ieafoa is coni¿o|> on. Why will you be So ne^
gleiäful of your health. Sir Harry ? I ptotefi I am
forced to watch you like an infant. 319
S. Har. My lavey takes care of me, and I am oh-
Uged to her.
L. Syc. Well, but you ought to mind me then, fince
you are fatisfied I never fpeak but for your good.—
I thought. Mils Sycamore^ ytrawereto have follow¬
ed your papa, and me into the^rden.—How ñas did
you go with that wench i
The. They are gipfies, madam, tbey.iay. Indeed
I don't know whait they are.
, L. Syc. I wiih mifs, you would learn to give a ra-
tkmal anfwer o
S. Har. Eh! what's that ? gipfies I Hare we gip¬
fies here ! Vagrants, thaa pretend to a knowledge of
future events ; diviners, fQ«tiiiBe<-télilêts }
Fem. Yes, your woríbip, we'll tell your fortune, or
her ladylhip's, for a crum of bread, or a little broken
viâuals : what you throw to your dogs, an pleaie you.
S.Har. Broken viéluals, huíTey! How do yott
think we ihould have broken viéluals ?—If we are at
home, indeed, perhaps you might get fome fuch thing
from the cook : but here we are only on a vifit to a
sa THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act II.
friend's houfe, and have nothing to do with the
kitchen at alt. 34.2
L. Syc. And do you think, Sir Harry, it is necef-
fary to give the creature an account.
S. Har. No, love, no 5 but what can you lay to
obftinate people ? Get you gone, bold face.—I
once knew a merchant's wife in the cky, my lady,
who had her fortune told by fome of thofe gipfies.
They faid flie ihould die at fuch a time ; and I war¬
rant, as fure as the day came, the poor gentlewoman
aftually died with the conceit. Come, Doffy,
your mama and I are going to take a walk. My
lady, will you have hold of my arm ? 353
L. Syc. No, Sir Harry, I choofe to go by myfelf.
Mer. Now, love, affift me—\ß'uming to ihegi¡ftes.'\
Follow and take all your cues from me- Nay, but
good lady and gentleman, you won't go without te-
nlembering the poor gipfies.
5. Har. Hey ! here is all the gang after us.
Gip. Pray, your noble honour. 360
L. Syc. Come back into the garden; we ihall be
covered with vermin.
Gip. Out of the bowels of your commiferarion.
L. Syc. They prefs upon us more and more ; yet
that girl has no mind to leave them : 1 (hall fwoon
away.
S. Har. Don't be frighten'd, my lady ; let me ad¬
vance.
Act n.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
53
AIR.
Tou •otle pack of vagabonds, vohai do you mean ?
I'll maul you rafcalians, 3 '7 Ö
Te tatter-demedlions——
If one of you come nvithin reach of my cane.
Such curfed ajfurance,
"Tis pctß all endurance^
Nay, nay, pray come away.
They're lyars and thieves.
And he that believes
Their fooiyh précédions.
Will find them but fidions,
A bubble that always decéives, 386
SCENE Fill.
Mervin, Theodosià, Fanny, Gipsies.
Fan. Oh ! mercy, dear—The gentleman is fo bold,
'tis well if he does not bring us into trouble. Who
knows but this may be a jultice of peace ! and fee,
he's following them into the garden !
ifi Gip. Well, 'tis all your feeking. Fan.
Fan. We ihall have warrants to take us up, I'll be
hang'd elfe. We had better run away, the ferrants
will come out with Ricks to lick us.
5» THE MAID OT THE Mi;,L. Act II.
Mer, Curfed ill fortune—\_Here Mervin returns
•with gipjtes.1—She's gone, and, perhaps, I ihall not
have another opportunity—And you, ye blundering
blockhead, I won't give you a halfpenny— Why did
you not clap too the garden door, when I called to
ycu, before the young lady got in ? The key was on
the outiide, which Would have given me fome tirte
for an explanation. 39Ö
2d Gip. An pleafe your honour I was dubus.
Mer. Dubus! plague choak ye However, it is
fome fatisfaftion that I have been able to let her fee
me, and know where I am \Turning to thegipßes, nvho
go 0^] Go, get you gone, all of you, about your
bufinefs. 402
The. Difappeared, fled ! \Theoiofa ajspears in the
panilion.'\—Oh, how unlucky this is!—'Could he not
have patience to wait a moment ?
Mer. I know not what to refolve ort.
The. Hem !
Men I'll go back to the garden-door.
The. Mr. Mervin !
Mer. What do I fee !—"Tis Ihe, 'tis (he herfelf !—
Oh, Theodofia ! -Shall 1 climb the wall and come
up to you ? 412
The. No ; Ipeak foftly: Sir Harry and my Lady
fit below at the end of the walk—How much am t
obliged to you for taking this trouble.
Mer. When their happinefs is at ftake, what is it
men will not attempt ?—Say but you love me.
The. ■ What proof would you have me give you ?—I
know but of one : if you pleafe I am willing to go off
with you. 420
Act II. THE MAID OF THE MILL. SS
Men Are you !—^Would to Heaven I had brought
a carriage !
The. How did you corhe?—^-Have you not horfes ?
Mer, Ño ; there's another misfortune.—To avoid
fulpicion, there being but one little "public-houfe in
the village, 1 difpatched my ferrant with them, about
an hour ago, to wait för me at a town twelve miles
diftant, whither I pretended to go ; but alighting a
mile off, I equipt myiel^ and came back as you fee :
neither can We, nearer than this town, get a poft-
chaife. 451
The. You fay you have made a confidant of the
miller's fon :—^return to your place of rendezvous :—
my father has been alked this moment, by Lord Aim-
worth, who is in the garden, to take a walk with him
down to the mill ; they will go before dinner ; and it
ihall be hard if I cannot contrive to be one of the
company.
Mer. And what then-^—— 4.39
The, Why, in the mean time, you may devife fome
method to carry me from hence ; and I'll take care
you ihall have an opportunity of communicating it to
me.
Mer. Well, but dear Theodofia
AIR.
The. Hifly hyi ! I hear my mother caH
Pr'ythee he gone ;
We'll meet anon :
Gateh this, and this——
Blouu me a kifs
In pledge of promts'd truth, that's all.
s6 THE MAID OF THE MUX. Act II.
Farewell !——and yet a moment Jlay /
Something heßde I had to fay :
Well, 'tis forgot \
No matter lohat
Love grant us grace ¡
The mill's the place ;
She calls again, I muß away.
SCENE IX.
Mervin, Fanny.
Fan. Fleafe your honour, you were lb Icind as to
lay you would remember my fellow-travellers for
their trouble; and they think 1 have gotten the
money. 461
Mer. Oh, here ; give them this—[^Gives her money.^
And for you> my dear little pilot, you have brought
me fo cleverly through my bufinefs, that I muft
Fan. Oh, Lord 1—your honour—¡^Mervin kiffes
¿ir.] Pray don't rkifs me again.
Mer, Again, and again.'——There's a thought
come into my head.—Theodofia will certainly have
no objeñion to putting on the drefs of a lifter of mine.
—So, and fo only we inay efcape to-night.—This
girl, for a little money, will provide us with necef-
faries. 472
Fan. Dear gracious ! I wairant you, now, I am as
red as my petticoat; why "would you royfter and touzle
Act II. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 57
one fo?—If Ralph was to fee you, he'd be as jealous
as the vengeance.
Mer. Hang Ralph ! Never mind him.—There's a
guinea for thee»
Fan. What, a golden guinea ? 479
Mer. Yes; and if thou arta good girl, and do as I
defirethee, thou fliah have twenty.
Fan. Ay, but not all .gold.
Mer. As good as that is.
Fan. Shall I though, if I does as you bids me ?
Mer. You fliall.
Fan. Precious heart! He's a fweet gentleman !—
I cod I have a great mind
Mer. What art thou thinking about ?
Fan. Thinking, your honour ?—Ha, ha, ha !
Mer. Indeed, fo merry. 490
Fan. 1 don't know what I am thinking about, not
I—Ha, ha, ha !—Twenty guineas !
Mer. I tell thee thou ihalt have them.
Fan. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha !
Mer. By Heaven I am ferious.
Fan. Ha, ha, hal—Why then I'll do whatever
your honour pleafes.
Mer. Stay here a little, to fee that all keeps quiet :
you'll find me prefently at the mill, where we'll talk
farther. çoo
D
s8 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act II.
AIR.
TeSf Vw decreed, thou maid divine !
I muß, I mill pqffefs thee :
Oh, nvhat delight mithin my arms to prefs thee !
To kifs and call thee mine !
Let me this only blifs enjoy ;
That nder can mofle, that ne'er can cloy ••
Âll other pleafures I reßgn.
Whyß>ould me dally
Standßiilli Jhally :
Let fortune fmile or fromn ? ¡10
Love mill attend tu ¡
Love will h friend us ;
And all our mißes cromn.
SCENE X.
Fanny, Ralph.
Fan. What a dear kind foul he is—Here comes
Ralph—I can tell him, unlefs he makes me his law¬
ful wife, as he has often faid he would, the devil a
word more fliall he {peak to me.
Ral. So, Fan, where's the gentleman ?
Fan. How Ihould I know where he is ; what do
yon alk me for ? ¡20
Ral. There's no harm in putting a civil queftion,
be there? Why you look as crofs and ill-natured——
Act II. THE MAID OF THE MIEL. 59
Fan. Well, mayhap 1 do—and mayhap I have
where-withal for it.
RaU Why, has the gentleman offered any thing un¬
civil ? £cod, I'd try a bout as foon as look at him.
Fan. He offer—no—he's a gentleman every inch
of him ; but you are fenfible, Ralph, you have been
promiiing me, a great while, this, and that, and
t'other ; and, when all comes to all, I don't fee but
you are like the reft of them. 531
Ral. Why, what is it I have promifed ?
Fan. To marry me in the church, you have, a
hundred times.
Ral. Well, and mayhap I will, if you'll have pa¬
tience.
Fan. Patience! me no patience; you may do it now
if you pleafe.
Ral. Well, but fuppofe I don't pleafe ? I tell you.
Fan, you're a fool, and want to quarrel with your
bread and butter; I have had anger enow from fey-
ther already upon your account, and you want me to
come by more. As I laid, if you have patience,
mayhap things may fall out, and mayhap not.
Fan. With all my heart, then ; and now I know
your mind, you may go hang yourfelf.
Ral. Ay, ay.
Fan. Yes, you may—who cares for you ?
Ral. Well, and who cares for you, an you go to
that ? 550
Fan. A menial feller—Go mind your mill and your
drudgery; I don't think you worthy to wipe my
fhoes—feller.
D 2
6o THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act 11.
Ral. Nay, but Fan, kefep a civil tongue in your
head : odds flefli ! I would fain know what fly bites
all of a fudden now.
Fan. Marry come up, the beft gentlemen's fons iri
the Country have made me proíFers ; and if one is a
mifs, be a mifs to a gentleman, I fay, that will give
6ne fine clothes, and take one to fee Iheihow, and put
money in one's pocket. 561
Ral. Whu, whu—Úm a.ßap.'\ What's that
for ?
Fan. What do yöü "«irhillle fisrj then ? Do you
think I am a dog í
Ral. Never fhom me. Fan, if I have not a mind to
give you, with this fwitch in my hand here, as good
a lacing
Fan. Touch me, if you dare : touch me, and I'll
fwear my life againll youi 570
Ral. A murrain! with her damn'd little fift as hard
as flie could draw.
Fan. Well, it's good enough for you; I'm not ne-
ceflitated to take with the impudence of fuch a
low lived monkey as you are. A gentleman's my
friend, and I can have twenty guineas in my hand, all
as good as this is.
R¿J, Belike from this Londoner, eh ?
Fan. Yes, from him—fo you may take your pro-
mile of marriage ; 1 don't value it that—and
if you Ipeak to me, I'll flap your chops again. j8i
ACT n.
THE MAID OF THE MILD.
67
AIR.
Lord,ßr, you fern mighly uneafy ;
But I the refufaf can bear ¿
J warrant /fl¡all not run craay.
Nor die in aßt of defpair.
Jffo you fuppofe, yoidre mflaken ¡
For,ßr, for to let you to know,
Pm not fuch a maiden forfaken.
But I have twoßrings to my bow.
SCENE XI.
Ralph.
Indeed ! Now I'll be judg'd by any foul living in
the world, if ever there was a viler piece of treachery
than this here ; there is no fuch thing as a true friend
upon the face of the globe, and fo I have faid a hun¬
dred times ! A couple of bafe deceitful after all
my love and kindnefs fhewn ! Well, I'll be reveng¬
ed ; fee an 1 be'nt Marfter Marvint, that's his
name, an he do not (bam it : he has come here and.
difguifed unfelf ; whereof 'tis contrary to law fo to
do : beildes, I do partly know why he did it ; and
I'll fiih out the whole conjuration, and go up to
the caftle and tell every iyllable ; a (han't carry a
«a THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act H.
wench from me, were he twenty times the mon he is,
and twenty times to that again ; and moreover than fo,
the firft time I meet un, I'll knock un down, tho'f
'twas before my lord himfelf j and he may capias me
for it afterwards an he wull. 606
AIR.
Âs they count me fuch a ninny y
So to ¡et them rule the roqß ;
I'll bet any one a guinea
They have fcor'd nvithout their hoß.
But if I don't Jhew them in lieu of it, 611
yf tricl that's fairly -worth two of it.
Then let me pafs for a fool and an afs.
To be fare yonß'y cajoL-r
Thought the work as good as done.
When he found the littleßrolkr
Was fo eafy to be won.
But if I don'tßew him in lieu of it,
A trick that's fairly worth two of it.
Then let me faß for a fool or an afs. 620
SCENE XII.
Changes to a room in the mill ¡ two chairs, -wtth a table
and a tankard of beer.
Fairfield, Giles.
Fai. In fhort, farmer, I don't know what to fay to
thee, I have fpoken to her all I can ; but,l think
Act II. THE MAID OF THE MILL, 63
children were born to pull the grey hairs of their pa¬
rents to the grave with forrow.
Giles. Nay, mafter Fairfield, don't take on about it ;
belike Mifs Pat has another love : and if fo, in Hea¬
ven's name be't : what's one man's meat, as the fay¬
ing is, is another man's poifon ; and tho'f fome
might find me well enough to thejr fancy, fet in cafe
I don't fuit her's, why there's no harm done. 630
Fai. Well but, neighbour, I have put that to her ;
and the ftory is, Ihe has no inclination to marry any
one ; all ihe delires, is, to ftay at home and take care
of me.
Giles. Mafter Fairfield here's towards your
good health.
Fai. Thank thee, friend Giles—and here's towards
thine.—I promife thee, had things gone as we prc-
pofed, thou fhould'ft have had one half of what I was
worth, to the uttermoft fartliing. 640
Giles. Why to be fure, Mafter Fairfield, I am not
the lefs obligated to yoinr good-will ; but, as to that
matter, had I married, it Ihould not have been for the
lucre of gain ; but if 1 do like a girl, do you fee, I do
like her ; ay, and I'd take her, faving relpeäj if Ihe
had not a fécond petticoat.
Fai. Well faid—where love is, with a little induf-
try, what have a young couple to be afraid of ? And,
by the lord Harry, for all that's paft, I cannot help
thinking we (hall bring our matters to bear yet—
Young women you know, friend Giles 651
Giles. Why, that's what I have been thinking with
myfelf, Mafter Fairfield.
64 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III
Fat. Come, then, mend thy draught.—Dueetake
me if I let it drop fo-~But, in any cafe, don't you
go to make yourfelf uneafy.
Giles. Uneafy, Mafter Fairfield 5 what good would
that do ?—.For fartin, feeing how things were, I
Ihould have been very glad they had gone according¬
ly : but if they cliange, 'tis no fault of mine you
Itnow. 671
AIR.
Zooks ! luhyßiould Ißt down and grieve ?
No ceße fo hard, there mayn^t be had
Some med'cine to relieve.
Herds what maßers all dißßers :
With a cup of nut-brown beer.
Thus my drooping thoughts I cheer :
If one pretty darrfel fail me.
From anodier I may find
Return more Und} 680
IFhat a murrain then Jhould ail me i
All girls are not ef a mind.
He's a child that whimpers for a toy ¡
So here's to thee, honefi boy.
Act II.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
6S
SCENE XIIL
Fairfield, Lord Aimworth.
Fat, O the goodnefs, his lordftiip's honour—^you
are come into a litter'd place, my noble fir—the arm¬
chair will it pleafe your honour to repofe you on
this, till a better
L. Aim. Thank you, miller, there's no occafion for
either. 1 only want to (peak a few words to you,
and have company waiting for me without. 690
Fai. Without won't their honours favour my
poor hovel fo far
L. Aim. No, miller, let them ftay where they are.
—I find you are about marrying your daughter—I
know the great regard my mother had for her ; and
am falisfied, that nothing but her fudden death could
have prevented her leaving her a handfome provifion.
Fai. Dear, my lord, your noble mother, you, and
all your family, have heaped favours on favours on
my poor child. 700
L. Aim. Whatever has been done for her Ihe has
fully merited
Fai. Why, to be fure, my lord, fhe is a very good
girl.
L. Aim. Poor old man—^but thofe are tears of iatit
faétion. Here, Mailer Fairfield, to bring mat¬
ters to a fliort conclufion, here is a bill of a thoufand
pounds. Portion your daughter with what you
think convenient of it. 709
66 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act II.
Fai. A thoufand pound, my lord ! Pray excufe me ;
excufe me, worthy fir ; too much has been done al¬
ready, and we have no pretenfions
L. Aim. I infill upon your taking it. Put it up,
and fay no more.
Fai. Well, my lord, if it mull be fo : but indeed,
indeed
L. Aim. In this I only fulfil what I am fatisfied
would pleafe my mother. As to myfelf, I Ihall take
upon me all the expences of Patty's wedding, and
have already given orders about it. 720
Fai. Alas, fir, you are too good, too generous ;
but I fear we lhall not be able to profit of your kind
intentions, unlefs you will condefcend to Ipeak a lit¬
tle to Patty.
L. Aim. How ipeak 1
Fai. Why, my lord, I thought we had pretty well
ordered all things concerning this marriage ; but all
on a fudden the girl has taken it into her head not to
have the farmer, and declares Ihe will never marry
at all. But I know, my lord, Ihe'll pay great re-
fpeft to any thing you fay : and if you'll but lay your
commands on her to marry him, I'm fure ihe'll do it.
L. Aim. Who, I lay my commands on her ? 733
Fai. Yes, pray, my lord, do; I'll fend her in to
you.
L. Aim. " Mailer Fairfield! \_^Fairßeldgoes out and
" returns.]—^What can be the meaning of this?—Re-
" fufe to marry the farmer ! —How, why ?—My heart
" is thrown in an agitation ; while every ilep I take,
" ferves but to lead me into new perplexities.
Act II. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 67
Fat. " She's coming, my lord ; I laid you were
" here and I humbly beg you will tell her, you in¬
fill upon the match going forward ; tell her, you infill
upon it, my lord, and fpeak a little angrily to her.
SCFNF XIV.
Lord Aimworth, Patty.
L.A'm. I came hither, Patty, in confequence of our
converfation this morning, to render your change of
Hate as agreeable and happy as 1 could : but your fa¬
ther tells me, you have fallen out with the farmer ?
has any thing happened, lince I faw you lall, to alter
your good opinion of him ? yy i
Pat. No, my lord, I am in the fame opinion with
regard to the farmer now as I always was.
L. Aim. I thought, Patty, you loved him, you told
me
Pat. My lord !
L. Aim. Well, no matter—It feems I have been
millaken in that particular Poflibly your affedtions
are engaged elfewhere : let me but know the man that
can make you happy, and I fwear 760
Pat, Indeed, my lord, you take too muck trouble
upon my account.
L. Aim. Perhaps, Patty, you love fomebody fo
much beneath you, you are alhamed to own it ; hut
your elleem confers 'a value wherefoever it is placed.
I was too harfii witli you this morning : our inclinai-
68 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act II.
tions are not in our owh power ; they mailer the wifeft
of ua. 768
Pat. Pray, pray my lord,, talk not to me in this
ilile : conlider me as One deftined by birth and for¬
tune to the meaneil condition and offices ; who has
unhappily been apt to hnbibe íéa^nents contrary to
them ! Let me conquer a heart, where pride and va¬
nity have ufurped an improper rule ; and learn to
know myfelf, of whom I have been too long ignorant.
L. Aim. Perhaps, Patty, you love fome one fo much
above you, you are afraid to own it If fo, be his
rank what it will, he is to be envied : for the love of
a woman of virtue, beauty, and fendment, does ho¬
nour to a monarch. What means that dewncaft
look, thofe tears, thole blulhes i Dare you not con¬
fide in me?—Do you think, Patty, you have a friend
in the world would fympathize with you more fia-
cerely than I ? 784
Pat. What Ihall I anfwer ?—No, my lord,you have
eyer treated me with a kindnefe, a generôfity of which
none but minds like yours are capable : you have
been my inftruilor, my advifer, my proteflor; but,
my lord, you have been too good : when our fupe-
riors forget thé diftance between us, we are fctnie-
times led to forget it too : had you been lefs con-
defcending, perhaps 1 had been happier. 792
L. Aim. And have I, Patty, have I made you un¬
happy : I, who would facrifice my own felicity, to
fecuie your's ?
Pat. 1 beg, my lord, you will fuffier me to be gone :
çnly believe me fenfibk of all youf favours, though
unworthy of the finalleil.
Act II. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 69
L. ^m. How unworthy!—You metit every diiiig;
ray relpefl:, my efteem, niy friendflrip, and my love !
—Yes, I repeat, I avow it : your beauty, your mo-
defty, your underftanding, have made a conqueft of
my heart.—But what a world do we live in ! that,
while I own this ; while 1 own a paillon for you,
founded on the juíleít, the nobleíl bafis, Imuftatthe
fame time confefs, the fear of that world, its taunts,
its reproaches-»- 807
Pat. Ah, fir, think better of the creature you have
raifed, than to fuppofe I ever entertained a hope tend¬
ing to your diihonour : would that be a return for the
favours I have received ? Would that be a grateful
reverence for the memory of her Pity and pardon
the difturbance of a mind that fears to enquire too
minutely into its own fenfations. 1 am unfortu¬
nate, my lord, but not criminal.
L. Aim. Patty, we are both unfortunate : for my
own part, I know not what to fay to you, or what
to propofe to myfelf. 818
Pat. Then, my lord, 'tis mine to ait as I ought :
yet, while I am honoured with a place in your efteem,
imagine me not infenfible of fo high a diftinflion ; or
capable of lightly turning my thought towards another.
L.Aim. How cruel is my fituation !;—am here,
Patty, to command you to marry the man who has
given you fo much uneafincfs.
Pat. My lord, I am convinced it is for your credit
and my fafety, it ihould be fo : I hope I have not fo
ill profited by the leflbns of your noble mother, but î
íhall be able to do my duty, whenever I am called to
70 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act 11.
it ; this will be my firft fupport ; time and refledtion
will complete the work. 831
AIR.
Ceafe, oh ceafe, to overwhelm me,
With excefs of bounty rare 1
What am 1 ? What have I ? Tell me.
To deferveyour meanefl care?
'Gainß our fate in vain's refißanoe.
Let me then no grief difclofe ;
But refign'd, at humble dflance.
Offer vows for your repofe.
SCENE XV.
Lord Aimworth, Patty, Sir Harry Sycamore,
Theodosia, Giles.
S. Har. No jullice of peace, no bailiffs, no head-
borough 1 841
L. Aim. What's the matter. Sir Harry ?
S. Har. The matter, my lord—While I was exa¬
mining the conftruétion of the mill without, for I
have fbme fmall notion of mechanics, Mifs Sycamore,
had like to have been run away with by a gipfey
man.
The. Dear papa, how can you talk fo ? Did not I
tell you it was at my own delire the poor fellow went
to fhew me the canal. 850
Act ir. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 7«
S. Har. Hold your tongue, mifs. I don't know
any bufinefs you had to let him come near you at all :
we have ftayed fo long too ; your mama gave us but
half an hour, and ihe'll be frightened out of her wits
—flie'll think fome accident has happened to me.
L. Aim. I'll wait upon you when you pleafe.
S. Har. O ! but my lord, here's a poor fellow ; it
feems his miftrefs has conceived fome diíguít againít
him ; pray has her father fpoke to you to interpofe
your authority in his behalf? 86a
Giles. If his lordlhip's honour would be lb kind, I
would acknowledge the favour as far as in me lay,
S. Har. Let me (peak—[Takes Lord Aim-worth
a/ide'\ a word or two in your lordlhip's ear.
The. Well, I do like this gipfey fcheme pro-
digioufly, if we can but put it into execution as hap¬
pily as we have contrived it.—[here Patty etiters"] So,
my dear Patty, you fee I ara come to return your vifit
very foon ; but this is only a call enpajant—will you
be at home after dinner ? 8 70
Pat. Certainly, madam, whenever you condefcend
to honour me fo far : but it is what I cannot expeét.
The. O fye, why not
Giles. Yourfervant, Mifs Patty.
Pat. Farmer, your fervant.
S. Har. Here you goodman delver, I have done
your bufinefs ; my lord has fpoke, and your fortune's
made : a thoulknd pounds at prefent, and better
things to come ; his lordlhip fays he will be your
friend.
Giles. I do hope, then, Mifs Pat will make all up.
7» THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act 11.
S.Har. MifsPat, makeup! Hand out of the "way,
I'll make it up. 883
The quarrels of lovers, adds me! thefre ajfl;
Come hither, ye blockhead, come hither :
So now let us leave them together.
\j.hKm.Farewell, the»!
Pat. For ever !
Giles. / vow andproteß,
'Twas kind of his honour, 890
To gain thus upon her ;
We're fa much beholden it can't he expreß.
The. I feel fomething here,
'Twixt hoping and fear :
Hcfle, h^e, friendly night.
To Jhelter our flight
Pa^^*^' ^ thoufand dißraBions are rending my breafl.
Pat. 0 mercy,
Giles. Oh dear!
S. Har. Why mifs, will you mind when you're fpoie to,
or not ?
Muß I fland in waiting,
While you're here a prating ?
^ ev'ry felicity fall to your lot.
Giles. She curtfles !—Look there.
What a Jhape, what an air !—
ail Flow happy, how wretched! how tir'd am I!
Tour lordjhip's obedient; your fervant; good bye.
Act III.
THE MAID OF THE MILD.
Í3
JÍCT III. SCENE I.
The portico to Lord AimworthV Hovfe.
Enter Lord Aimworth, Sir Harry, Lady Syca«
more.
Lady Sycamore.
A Wretch ! a vile, inconfiderate wretch ! coming
of fuch a race as mine j and having an example like
me before her !
L. Aim. I beg, madam, you will not dilquiet your-
felf : you are told here, that a gentleman lately at-
rived ftoni London has been about the place to-day ;
that he has difguifed himfelf like a gipfey, came
hither, and had ibme converiation with your daugh¬
ter ; you are even told, that there is a defign formed
for their going off together ; but polTibly there may be
fome mifPake in all this. 11
S. H or. Ay, but my lord, the lad tells us the gen¬
tleman's name ; we have feen the gipfies ; and we
know flie has. had a hankering
L. Syc. Sir Harry, my dear, why will you put in
your word, when you hear others fpeaking—I proteft,
my lord, I'm in fuch confufion, I know not what to
fay : I can hardly fupport myfelf.
L. Aim. This gentleman, it feems, is at a little inn
at the bottom of the hill. 20
74 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
S. Har. I wiih it was poffible to have a file of muf-
queteers, my lord ; I could head them myfelf, being
in the militia : and we would go and feize him di-
reftly.
L. Aim. Softly, my dear fir; let us proceed with a
little lefs violence in this matter, I befeech you. We
ihould firft fee the young lady Where is Mifs Sy¬
camore, madam ?
L. Syc. Really, my lord, I don't know ; I faw her
go into the garden about a quarter of an hour ago,
from our chamber window. 31
S. Har. Into the garden f perhaps ihe has got an
inkling of our being informed of this affair, and is
gone to throw herfclf into the pond. Deipair, my
lord, makes girls do terrible things. 'Twas but the
Wednefday before we left London, that I faw, taken
out of Rofamond's pond, in Saint James's Park, as
likely a young woman as ever you would defire to fet
your eyes on, in a new callimanco petticoat, and a pair
of filver buckles in her fhoes. 40
L. Aim. I hope there is no danger of any fuch fa¬
tal accident happening at prefent ; but will you oblige
me. Sir Harry ?
S. Har. Surely, my lord
L. Aim. Will you commit the whole direélion of
this ajffair to my prudence ?
S. Har. My dear, you hear what his lordihip fays.
L. Syc. Indeed, my lord, I am fo much aiham'd, I
don't know what to anfwer; the fault of my daugh¬
ter.— 50
L. Aim. Don't mention it, madam ; the fault has
been mine, who have been innocently the occafiop of
Act III. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 7S
a young lady's tranfgreffing a point of duty and de¬
corum, which, otherwife, (he would never have vio¬
lated. But if you, and Sir Harry, will walk in and
repofe yourfelves, I hope to fettle every thing to the
general fatisfaélion.
L. Syc. Come in. Sir Harry. \_Exit.
L. Am. I am fure, my good friend, had I known
that I was doing a violence to Mifs Sycamore's incli¬
nations, in the happinels Ipropofed to myfelf 61
S. Har. My lord, 'tis all a cafe My grandfather,
by tlie mother's fide, was a very fenfible man—he
was eledled knight of the (hire in five fucceflive par¬
liaments ; and died high íheriíF of his county—a man
of fine parts, fine talents, and one of the moil curio-
feil docker of horfes in all England (but that he did
only now and then for his amufement) And he
ufed to fay, my lord, that the female fex were good
for nothing but to bring forth children, and breed
diilurbance. 71
L. Aim. The ladies were very little obliged to
your anceftor. Sir Harry : but for my part, I have a
more favourable opinion
S. Har. You are in the wrong, my lord : with
fubmillion, you are really in the wrong.
AIR.
To fpeak my mind of nuoman hind.
In one word 'tis this ;
By nature they're deftgned.
To fay and do amifs. 80
76 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
Be they maids, he they •wives,
ATtke they plague our lives :
Wanton, headlong, cunning, vain j
Born to cheat, and give men pain,
Their ßudy day and right.
Is mifchief, their delight :
And if vue JhouM prevent.
At one door their intent í
They quickly turn about.
And find another out, 90
SCENE II.
" Z,or¿/AiMWORTH,"£n/írFairfield, " Ralph."
" Ral. Ikar goodnefs, my lord, I doubts I have
" done fome wrong here j I hope your honour will
" forgive me; to be fartin, if I had known
" L. Aim. You have done nothing but what's very
" right, my lad ; don't make yourfelf uneafy."—How
now, mafter Fairfield, what brings you here ?
Fai. I am come, my lord, to thank you for your
bounty to me and my daughter this morning, and
moft humbly to intreat your lordihip to receive it at
our hands again. 100
L. Aim. Ay—why, what's the matter ^
Fai. I don't know, my lord ; it feems your gene-
rofity to my poor girl has been noifed about the
AfcT HT. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 77
neighbourhood ; and fome evil-minded people hatS
pnt it into the young man's head, that waS to marry
her) that you would never have made her a prefent
fo much above her deferts and expeitätions, if it had
not been upon fome naughty account : now, my lordj
I am a poor man, 'tis true, and a mean one; but I
and my father, and my father's father, have lived te¬
nants upon your lordfliip's eftate, where we have al¬
ways been known for honeft men ; and it ftiaîl never
be faid, that Fairfield, the milier, became rich in his
old days by the wages of his child's lhamei
L. Aim. What then, Mafter Fairfield, do you be¬
lieve
Fat. No, my lord, no, Heaven forbid : but when I
confider the fum, it is too much for us ; " it is in-
" deed, my lord," and enough to make bad folks
talk : befides, my poor girl is greatly alter'd ; flie
us'd to be the life of every place fhe came into ; but
fince her being at home, I have féeU nothing from
her butfadnefs and watery eyes. 123
L. Aim. The farmer then refufes to marry Patty,
notwithftanding their late reconciliation.
Fai. Yes, my lord, he does indeed ; and has made
a wicked noife, and ufed us in a very bafe manner :
I did not think farmer Giles would have been fo
ready to believe fuch a thing of us. 129
L. Aim. Well, Mafter Fairfield, I will not prefs on
you a donation, the rejeition of which does you ib
much credit ; you may take my word, however, that
your fears upon this occafion are entirely groundlefs":
but this is not enough, as I have been the means of
lofing your daughter one huiband, it is but juft I
Ii THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
ftould get her another ; and, Cnce the farmer is fo
fcrupulous, there is a young man in the houfe here,
whom I have fome influence over, and I dare fay he
will be lefs fqueamiih. 139
Fat. To be fure, my lord, you have, in all honeft
ways, a right to difpofe of me and mine, as you think
proper.
L.Aim. Go then immediately, and bring Patty
hither ; I lhall not be eafy till I have given you en¬
tire fatisfaftion. But, ftay and take a letter, which I
am ftepping into my ftudy to write : I'll order a
chaife to be got ready, that you may go back and for¬
ward with greater expedition.
AIR.
Let me fly ' ■ hence tyrant fqßjton.
Teach to fervile minds your latu ; 130
Curb in them each generous pqffion,
Ev'ry motion keep in awe.
Shall I, in thy trammels going,
^it the idol of my heart ?
While it heats, all fervent, glowing !
With my life I'll fooner part.
Act III.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
79
SCEi^E III.
Fanny folloiving Ralph.
Fan, Ralph, Ralph !
Ral. What do you want with me, eh ?
Fan. Lord, I never knowed fuch a man as you
are, fince I com'd into the world ; a body can't (peak
to you, but you falls ftrait ways into a paffion : I
followed you up from the houfe, only you run fo,
there was no fuch a thing as overtaking you, and I
have been waiting there at the back door ever fo
long. 165
Ral. Well, and now you may go and wait at the fore
door, if you like it ; but I forewarn you and your
gang not to keep lurking about our mill any longer ;
for if you do, I'll fend the conftable after you, and
have you, every mother's ikin, clapt into the county
gaol, you are fuch a pack of thievés, one can't hang
fo much as a rag to dry for you ; it was but the other
day that a couple of them came into our kitchen to
beg a handful of dirty flour to .make them cakes, and
before the wench could turn about, they had whipped
off three brafs candlefticks, and a pot-lid.
Fan. Well, fure it was not I.
Ral. Then you know that old rafcal, that you call
father ; the laft time I catch'd him laying fnares for
the hares, I told him I'd inform the game-keeper,
and I'll expofe all 181
Fan. Ah, dear Ralph, don't be angry with me.
8o THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act 111.
Ral. Yes I will be angry with you^—what do you
come nigh me for ?—You (han't touch me—There's
the ildrt of my coat, and if you do but lay a finger on
it, my lord's bailiff is here in the court, and I'll call
him and give you to him.
Fan. If you'll forgive me, I'll go down on my
knëes. 189
Ral. I teU you I won't.—Ño, no, follow your gen¬
tleman ; or go live upon your old 'fare, crows and
polecats, and (beep that die of the rot ; pick the
dead fowl oif the dung-hills, and fquench your thirft
at the next ditch, 'tis the fitted liquor to wafh down
fkch dainties—(kulking about from barn to barn, and
lying upon wet draw, on commons, and in green
lanes—go and be whipt from pariih to parifh, as you
ufed to be.
Fan. How can you talk fo unkind ? 199
Ral. And fee whether you will get what will keep
you as did, by telling of fortunes, and coming'with
pillows under your apron, among Ihe ynung farmers
wives, to make believe you are a breeding, with " the
Lord Almighty blefs you, fwcet midrefs, you cannot
tell how foon it may be your own cafe." You know
I am acquainted with all your tricks—afid how you
turn up the whites of your eyes, pretending yon were
druck blind by thunder and lightning.
Fan. Pray don't be angry, Ralph.
Red. Yes but I will tho' ; fpread your cobwebs to
catch flies, I am an old waJp, and don't value them a
button. 213
Act ni. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 8r
AIR.
When you meet a tender creature.
Neat in limb, and fair in feature.
Full of kindnefs and good nature.
Prove as kind again to fhe ;
Happy mortal ! to pojffs her.
In your hofam, warm, andprefs her.
Morning, noon, and night, carefs her.
And he fond, as fond eon he, 220
But if one you meet thaCs fraward.
Saucy, jilting, and untoward.
Should you aS the whining coward,
' Tis to mend her ne'er the whit :
Nathit^g's tough enough to hind her ;
Then agog, when once you find her.
Let her go, and never nind her ;
Heart alive, you're fairly quit. 228
SCENE IV.
Fanny.
" I wifli I had a draught of water. I don't know
" what's come over me ; I have no more ftrength
" than a babe ; a ftraw would fling me down."
—He has a heart as hard as any parifli-officer ; I
don't doubt now but he would itand by and fee me
himfelf ; and we (hall all be whipt, and all through my
means.—^The devil run away with the gentleman, and
his twenty guineas too, for leading me aftray : if I had
£
8í THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
known Ralph would h^ve taken it fo, I would have
hanged myfelf before I would have faid a word—^but
I thought he had no more gall than a pigeon.
AIR.
0! what aßmpleton was I, Z40
To make my bed at fueh a rate !
Now lay thee down, vain fool and cry.
Thy true love feeks another mate.
No tears, alack.
Will cdl him back.
No tender words his heart dlure }
I could bite
My tongue thro' fpite
Some plague bewitch'd me, thai's for fure.
SCENE V.
Changes to a Room in the Miller's Houfe.
Enter Gile s, followed by Patty andTuEODosiji.
" AIR.
" Giles, Women's tongues are like mil-clappers, 2J0
'* And from thence they learn the knack,
" Of for-ever-fouttding clack
Act. m. THE MAID OF THE MILL. H
Giks. Why, what the plague's the matter with you,
what do you fcold at me for ? I am fure I did not fay
an uncivil word, as I do know of : I'll be judged by
the young lady if I did.
Pat. 'Tis very well, farmer ; all I deCre is, that
you will leave the houfe : you fee my father is not at
home at prefent ; when he is, if you have any thing
to fay, you know where to come. 260
Giles. Enough faid, I don't want to ftay in the
houfe, not I ; and I don't much care if I had never
come into it.
The. For iharae, farmer, down on your knees and
beg Mifs Fairfield's pardon for the outrage you have
been guilty of.
Giles. Beg pardon, mifs, for what?—Icod that's
well enough ; why I am my own matter, be'nt I ?—
If I have ho mind to marry, there's no harm in that,
I hope : 'tis only changing hands.—This morning
ihe would not have me; and now I won't have
ihe. 273
Pat. Have you I—Heavens and earth ! do you
think then 'tis the miffing of you that gives me con¬
cern ?—No : I would prefer a ttate of beggary a
thoufand times beyond any thing I could enjoy with
you ; and be aflured, if ever I was feemingly confent-
ing to fuch a facrifice, nothing ffiould have compelled
me to it, but the cruelty of my fituation.
Giles. Oh, as for that, I believes you ; but you fee
the gudgeon would not bite as I told you a bit agone
you know : we farmers never love to reap what we
don't fow. 283
E2
84 THE MAID OE THE MILI-. ACT III.
J'ai. You brutiíhfeUow» how dare yoa talk——
Gilts, So, now ihe's in her tantrums again, and aU
for.no manner of y earthly thing.
Pat. But be alTured my lord will punifli you fe-
Tcrely fcH- daring to make free with his name.
Giles. Who made free with it ; did 1 evö: mention
tny lord ? 'Tis a curfed lie.
J'heo. Blefs me ! farmer ! 29 t
Giles. Why it is, mifi—and I'll make her prove
her words—Then what does ihe mean by being
puniihed ? I am not afraid of nobody, nor beholding
to nobody, that I know of ; while I pays my rent, my
mosey,. I believe, is as good as another's : egad, if it
goes there, I think there be thofe defervc to be pu¬
niihed more than I.
PcO. Was ever unfortunate creatore puriiied as I
am, by diftrefles and vexations ! 300
Tbt. My dear Patty—See, farmer, yon have thrown
her into tear«—Pray be comforted.
AIR.
Patty. Oh leave we, m fity ! Thefalflmod Ifiom ¡
For ßattder the bofom untainted defies :
But rudenefs and mfult are not to he horne,
ThF ^Pd 'mretfhes avPve fetfieto defpifie.
Of avwaan defencelefs, how cruel the fate !
Pafs ever fé eautiouSf fo blamekfs her way,
Nature, and envy, htrk eiways in wait.
And innocence falls to their fury a prey. 310
Act Iii.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
85
SCENE FI.
Mervin, Theodosia.
The. You are a pretty gentleman, are not you, to
fuíFer a lady to be at a rendezvous before you ?
Mer. Difficulties, my dear, and dangers None
of the company had two fuits of apparel ; fo 1 was
obliged to purchafe a rag of one, and a tatter from aiio-
ther, at the expence of ten times the fum they would
fetch at the paper-mill.
The. Well, where are they ? 318
Mer. Here, in this bundle—and tho' I fay it, a
very decent habiliment, if you have art enough to
ftiek the parts together : I've been watching till the
coaft was clear to bring them to you.
The. Let me fee I'll flip into' this dófet and
equip rayfeif-—*^A1I here is in fuch confufiOn, there
will no notice be taken«
Mer. Do fo ; I'll take care nobody foall interrupt
you in the progrefs of your métamórphoíis f ßie goes
i«]—and if yOu are not tedious, we may wlk off
without being feen by atjy one. 329
The. Ha! ha! ha! ^What a concourfe of atoms
are here ? tho', as I live, they are a great deal better
than I expefted.
Mer. Well, pray make hafte ; and don't imagine
yourfelf at your toilette'now, where mode prefcribes
two hours, for what reafon would fcarce allow three
minutes.
8« THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
The. Have patience ; the outward garment is on al¬
ready ; and I'll aíTure you a very good fluff, only a
little the woife for the mending. 339
Mer. Imagine it embroidery, and coniider it is your
wedding-fuit.—;—Come, how far are you got ?
The. Stay, you don't coniider there's fome con¬
trivance neceffary. Here goes the apron flounced
and furbelow'd with a witnefs—Alas ! alas ! it has no
ftrings ! what (hall I do ? Come, no matter, a couple
of pins will ferve And now the cap oh, mer¬
cy ! here's a hole in the crown of it large enough to
thruft my head through.
Mer. That you'll hide with your ftraw-hat ; or, if
you ihould not-^ What, not ready yet ? 350
The. Only one minute more—Yes, now the work's
acccmpliih'd.
AIR.
IVho'll luy good luck, <who'U buy, nuho'll buy
The g'tpfey's favours ? Here am /.'
Through the village,'through the ioivn,
IVhat charming fav'ry fcraps ive'll earn I
Cleanßratu ßall he our beds of doavn,
yind our tuithdrawing-room a bam.
Toung and old, and grave, and gay.
The mifer and the prodigal ; 36c
Cit, courtier, hamkin, come aavay ;
/ 'warrant we'll content you all.
Acrlll. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 87
SCENE FIT.
Mervin, Theodosia, Fairfield, Giles.
Mer. Plague, here's fomebody coming.
Fal, As to the paft, farmer, 'tis paft ; I bear no
malice for any thing,thou haft faid.
Giles. Why, Mafter Fairfield, you do know 1 had
a great regard for Mifs Patty ; but when I came to
confider all in all, I finds as how it is not advifeable
to change my condition yet awhile. 369
Fai. Friend Giles, thou art in the right ; marriage
is a ferions point, and can't be confidered too warily.
—Ha, who have we here !—Shall I never keep my
houfe clear of thefe vermin ? Look to the goods
there, and give me a horfe-whip—by the Lord Har¬
ry, I'll make an example—Come here. Lady Light-
fingers, let me fee what thou haft ftolen.
Mer. Hold, miller, hold !
Fai. O gracious goodnefs ! fure I know this face—
Mifs young Madam Sycamore Mercy heart,
here's a diiguife ! 380
"The. Difcover'd!
Mer. Miller, let me Ipeak to you.
The. What ill fortune i,^ this !
Giles. Ill fortune Mifs ! I think there be
nothing but crofles and misfortunes of one kind or
other.'
Fai. Money to me, fir 1 not for the world ; yon
want no friends but what you have already—Lack-a-.
day, lack-a-day—fee how luckily I came in: I be-,
88 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
lieve you are the gentleman to whom I am charged to
give this, on the part of my lord Aimworth Blefs,
you, dear Sir, go up to his honour, with my young
lady—There is a chaife waiting at the door to carry
you 1 and my daughter will take another way.
SCENE VIIL
Mervin, Theodosia, Giles.
Mef. Pr'ythee read this letter, " and tell me what
** you think of k."
Tht. Heavens, 'tis a letter from lord Aimworth !
—We are betrayed.
■ Mer. By what means I know not. 399
The. I am fo frighted and flurried, that I have
fearce ftrength enough to read it.
" SIR,
" It is with the greateft concern I find, that I
" have been unhappily the occafion of giving fome
" uneafinefs to you and Mifs Sycamore ; be afliired,
" had I been apprized of your prior pretenfions, and
••^thc young lady's dil^ofition in your favour, I
'* fhould have been the laft perfon to interrupt your
" felicity. I beg, fir, you will do me the favour to
" come up to my houfe, where I have already fo far
" fettled matters, as to be able to affure you, that
" every thing will go entirely to your fatisfailion."
Act m. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 89
Mer, Well! what do you think of it! Shall
we go to the caille ?
« Well!
« rhe. Well !
" Mer. What do you think of it ?
" The. Nay, what do you think of it ?
" Mer. Egad, I can't very well tell However,
" on the whole, I believe it would be wrong of us to
" proceed any further in our defign of running away,
" even if the thing was praélicable. 422
" The. I am entirely of your opinion. I fvveai' this
" lord Aimworth is a charming man : I fancy 'tis
" lucky for you I had not been long enough acquaint-
" ed with him to find out all his good qualities—
" But how the deuce came he to hear
" Mer. No matter ; after this, there can be nothing
" to apprehend. ^What do you fay, fhall we go
" up to the caftle ?" 430
The. By all means ! and in this very trim; to (how
what we were capable of doing, if my father and mo¬
ther had not come to reafon " But, perhaps,
" the diíHculties being removed, may lefien yompen-
" chant ; you men are fueh unaccountable mortals.-—
" Do you love me well enough to marry me, without
" making a frolic of it ?
" Mer. Do I love you !
" The. Ay, and to what degree ?
" Mer, Why do you alk me ?—— 440
E3
90 THE MAID OF THE MILL. ACT III.
AIR.
" Who upon the oozy beech,
" Can count the numerous fands that lie ;
" Or dtflinñly reclon each
" Tranfparent orb thatßuds theßy ?
" As their multitude betray,
" Andfrußrate all attempts to tell :
" So 'tis impoßible to ßiy
" How. much I love, I love fo well"
But hark you, Mervin, will you take after my father,
and be a very huiband now ?—Or don't you think
I ihall take after my mother, and be a commanding
wife ! 55 a
Mer. Oh, I'll truft you.
The. But you may pay for your confidence.
\Exeunt,
SCENE IX.
Giles.
So, there goes a couple ! Icod, I believe Old Nick
has got among the people in thefe parts. This is as
queer a thing as ever I heard of. Mafter Fair¬
field, and Mifs Patty, it ieems, are gone to the caftle
too ; where by what I larns from Ralph in the miH,
my lord has promifed to get her a huiband among the
Act III. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 9«
fervants. Now £ét in cafe the wind fets in that cor¬
ner, I have been thinking with myfelf who the plague
it can be : there are no unmarried men in the family,
that I do know of, excepting little Bob, the poftillion,
and matter Jonathan, the butler ; and he's a matter of
fixty or feventy 3rears old. I'll be ihot if it be'nt
little Bob. Icod, I'U take the way to the cattle,
as well as the rett ; for I'd fain fee how the nail do
drive. It is well I had wit enough to difcern things,
and a friend to advife with, or elfe (he would have
fallen to my lot. But I have got a furfeit of
going a courting, and burn me if I won't live a bache¬
lor ; for, when all comes to all, I fee nothing but
ill blood and quarrels among folk when they are mar¬
ried.
AIR.
I'hm hey for a froUekfome life /
I'll ramble where fkcfares are rife :
Sfr'tke up with theßte-hearteJ lajis ¡
And never think more (f a wife.
Plague on if, men are but affes, 580
To run after noife andßr'ft.
Had we been together huckl'd s
'Twould have preñad a fine affair ;
Doge would have bark'd at the cuckúd}
And hoys, pemtmg, cry'd ■ Look there.
9»
THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act 111.
SCENE X.
Changes to a grand Apartment in Lord Aim worth'/
Houje, opening to a view of the Garden.
Lord Aimworth, Fairfield, Patty, Ralph.
L. Aim, Thus, Malier Fairfield, I hope I have fully
fatisfied you with regard to the faliity of the impu¬
tation thrown upon your daughter and me
Fai. My lord, I am very well content ; pray do not
give yourfelf the trouble of faying any more. 590
Ral, No, my lord, you need not fay any more.
Fai. Hold your tongue, iirrah.
L. Aim. I am forry, Patty, you have had this mor¬
tification.
Pat. I am forry, my lord, you have been troubled
about it ; but really it was againft my confent.
Fai. Well, come children, we will not take up his
honour's time any longer ; let us be going towards
home Heaven profper your lordihip ; the pray'rs
of me and my family ihall always attend you. 600
L. Aim. Miller, come back Patty, flay
Fai. Has your lordihip any thing further to com¬
mand us ?
L. Aim. Why yes, Mailer Fairfield, 1 have a word
or two ilill to fay to you In fliort, though you are
fatisfied in this affair, I am not ; and you feem to for¬
get the promife I made you, that, lince I had been
the means of lofing your daughter one huiband, I
would find her another.
Fai. Your honour is to do as you pleafe. 6x0
Aci [H. THE MAID OF THE Mll.I,. 93
L. Aim, What fay you, Patty, will you accept of a
huiband of ray chuGng ?
Pat. My lord, I have no determination ; you are
the heft judge how I ought to ail ; whatever you
command 1 lhall obey.
L. Aim. Then, Patty, there is but one perfon I can
offer you and I wifh, for your fake, he was more
deferving Take me i
Pat. Sir !
L. Aim. From this moment our interefts are one,
as our hearts ; and no earthly power fhall ever divide
us. 622
Fai. " O the gracious I" Patty—my lord—Did I
hear right ! You, fir, you marry a child of mine 1
L.Aim. Yes, my honeft old man, in me you be¬
hold the huiband defigned for your daughter ; and
I am happy that, by ftanding in the place of fortune,
who has alone been wanting to her, 1 fhall be able to
fet her merit in a light, where its luitre will be ren¬
dered confpicuous. 630
Fai. But good, noble fir, pray confider ; don't go
to put upon a filly old man : my daughter is un¬
worthy Patty, child, why don't you fpeak i
Pat., What can I fay, father ! what anfwer to fuch
unlook'd-for, fuch unmerited, fuch unbounded ge-
nerofity 1
Ral. Down on your knees, and fall a crying.
Pat. Yes, fir, as my father fays, confider- -your
noble friends, your relations—It muft not, cannot
be.— 640
" L.Aim. It muft, and fhall Friends ! relations!
" from henceforth I have none, that will not acknow-
94 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Ac-r III.
" ledge you ; and I am lure, when they become ac-
" quainted with your perfeétions, thofe, whofe fuf-
" frage I moft efteem, will rather admire the juftice
of my choice, than wonder at its fingularity."
AIR.
L. Aim. Jl(^ life, my joy,, my Uefftng,
In thee, each grace pojfejfmg.
All muß my clmce approve ;
Patty. To you my dl is owing ¡
0 ! taie a heart o'eißowing
With gratitude and love.
Li. Aim,. T'hue mfaiding.
T'hue hehsldng.
Both. One to my fod fo dear :
Can there he fdeifttri greater I
Can there be büß tomfkater !
'T'is too much to bear.
SCÈNE XI.
Enter Sir Harry, Lady Sycamore, Theodobia,
Mervik.
S.Har. Well, we hare followed yOur lOrdlhip's
counfel, and made the beft of a bad market——So
i»y lord, pleafe to know our fon-in-law, that is to be.
L. Aim. You do me a great deal of honour—I wiih
yöu joy, iir, with all my heart.—Atid hOW, Sir Harry,
Act UI. THE MAID OF THE MILL. ÇS
give me leave to introduce to 3rou a new relatton of
mine——This, fir, is thoitly to be my wife.
S. Har. My lord !
L. Syc. Your lordihip'a wife !
L. Aim. Yes, madam.
L. Syc. And why fo, my lord ? 669
L. Aim. Why, fiiith, ma'am, becaufe I can't live
happy without her ^And I think ihe has too many
amiable, too many eftimable qualities to meet wkh a
worfe fate.
S. Har. Well, but yon are a peer of the realm; you
will have all the fleerers
L. Aim. I know very well the ridicule that may be
thrown on a lord's marrying a miller's daughter ; and
1 own, with bluihes, it has for fome time had too
great weight with me : but we fiiould marry to pleafe
ourfelves, not other people : and, on mature confi-
deration, I can fee no reproach juftly merited, by
raifing a deferving woman to a ftation ihe is capable
of adorning, let her birth be what it will.. 683
S. Har. Why 'tis very true, my lord. I once knew
a gentleman that, married his cook-maid : he was a
relation of my own—You remember fat Margery,
my lady ! She was a very good fort of a woman, indeed
ihe was, and made the beft fuet dumplings I ever
tailed.
L. Syc. Will you never learn. Sir Harry, to guard
your expi'eifions i Well, but give me leave, my
lord, to fay a word to you —There are other ill
confeqnences attending fuch an alliance. 693
L. Aim. One of them I fuppoiê is, that I, a peer,
ihould be obliged to call this good old miller father-
96 THE MAID Of THE MILL. Act Iii.
in-law. But ^wliere's the ihame in that Î He is as
good as any lord, in being a man ; and if we dare fup-
pofe a lord that is not an lioneil man, he is, in my
opinion, the more refpedtable charafter. Come, Maf-
ter Fairfield, give me your hand ; from henceforth
you have done with working ; we will pull down your
mill, and build you a houfe in the place of it ; and
the money 1 intended for the portion of your daugh¬
ter, ihall now be laid out in purchafing a commiflion
for your fon.
Ral. What, my lord, will you make me a captain ?
L. Aim. Ay, a colonel, if you deferve it.
Rd. Then I'll keep Fan. 708
SCENE XII.
Lord Aimworth, Sir Harry, Lady Sycamore,
Patty, Theodosia, Mervin, Fairfield,
Ralph, Giles.
Giles, Ods bobs, where am I running—I beg par¬
don for my audacity. 710
Rd. Hip, farmer ; come back, mon, come back—
Sure my lord's going to marry fifter himfelf ; fey-
ther's to have a fine houfe, and I'm to be a captain.
L. Aim. Ho, Mailer Giles, pray walk in ; here is
a lady who, I dare fwear, will be glad to fee you,
and give orders that you ihall always be made wel¬
come.
Rd. Yes, farmer, you'll always be welcome in the
kitchen. 719
Act III. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 97
L. Aim. What, have you nothing to fay to your old
acquaintance Come, pray let the farmer falute
you^ Nay, a kifs—I infill upon it.
S. Har. Ha, ha, ha—^hem !
L. Syc. Sir Harry, I am ready to fink at the raon-
llroufnefs of your behaviour.
L. Aim. Fye, Mailer Giles, don't look fo Iheepilh;
you and I were rivals, but not lefs friends at prefent.
You have afled in this afiair like an honeil Englilh-
man, who fcomed even the ihadow of his dilhonour,
and thou ihall fit rent-free for a twelvemonth.
S. Har. Come, ihan't we all falute With your
leave, my lord, I'll
L. Syc. Sir Harry !
AIR.
L. Aim. Tield who will to forms a martyr.
While unaw'd by idle Jhame,
Pride for happimfs I barter,
Heedkfs of the millions blame.
Thus with love my arms I quarter ;
Women gradd in nature's frame,
Ev'ry privilege, by charter.
Have a right from man to claim.
The. Eas'd of doubts and fears prefaging.
What new joys within me rife !
While mama, her frowns qffuaging,
Dares no longer tyrannisce,
ç8 THE MAID OF THE MILL. ACT III.
So longßormt and Umpeßs raging.
When the bluß'ring fury dûs.
Ah ! hoyu lovely, honu engaging,
ProfpeBs fair, asid cloudkfs fides !
S. Har. Dad hut this is nvond'rous pretty.
Singing each h reun-de4ay ;
And Pll mingle in the ditty,
Tho' I fcarce know what to fay.
Therds a daughter, br'fi and witty ¡
Herds a wife-j. can wifely fway :
Truß me, maßers, 'twere a pity.
Not to let them have their way.
Patty. My example is a rare one ;
But the caufe may be divin*d:
Women want not merit-~^dare one
Hope Sfcerning men to find.
0 ! may each accotnpliß'd fmr one.
Bright in perfon, fage in mind.
Viewing my good fortune, fhare one
Full as fpkndid, and as kind.
Giles. Laugh*d at, flighted, circumvented,
And expos* d for folks to fedt,
"Tis as tho*f a man repented
For his follies in a fheet.
But my wrongs go unrefented.
Since the fates hasve thougfst them meet i
This gs/od Company contented.
All my wifhes are complete..
LIONEL and CLAB.ISSA.
JUri'jLMS&JfS ÍW COL.OZ.BBOY.'
-Dublin Publiflfd byVí? Jones li'SSDamç Street.
DublinPubriflidl>7'W^JaiijesN?S6,Da3ius Street.
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS:
OR,
LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
A
COMIC OPERA.
BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.
ADAPTED FOR
THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION,
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRES-ROYAL
DRURY-LANE AND COVENT-GARDEN.
REGULATED FROM THE PROMPT-BOOK,
By Permijfion of the Managers.
' * The Linee diñinguiíherl by ineerted Comouu, are omitted in the Reprefentation."
DUBLIN :
PRINTED BT GRAISBERRY AND CAMPBELL,
FOR WILLIAM JONES, NO. 86, DAME-STREET.
M OCC XCI.
ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.
In our mention of this man, prefacing the Opera of
the Maid of the Mill, we were inadvertently led into
an error refpeâing his having been Secretary to the
Earl of Chefterfield, when Lord Lieutenant of the
Kingdom of Ireland.—'The faél is, BickerftafF was
then too young for fuch an employ. He was a page
to Lady Chefterfield, and, as is ufual in coûfè-
quence, received the prefent of a pair of Colours iù
the Regulars.
We have Ibme realon to fulpeft that the Biogra-
phia is miftaken in affirming Mr. BickerftafF to have
been in the marines. We believe he never ferved
but in the regulars, and that he attained no higher
rank than his Enfigncy.
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS;
OB,
LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
Authors are commonly deceived In eilimating
their own powers. This Opera, Bickerftaff deemed
his bell produdion. The ilage bills will Ihow that
the public think otherwife. Love in a Village is
performed ten times for once that this piece is aded.
Perhaps this preference may be attributed to mufich
alone—for fuch CharaSer xaA Writing as they exhibit,
feem tolerably uniform :—a ievere Critic might fay
uniformly intolerable.
JDFERTISEMENT.
Having for fome years, met with very great fuc-
cefs in my produitions of the mufical kind ; when I
wrote the following opera, it was with unufual care
and attention ; and it was the general opinion of all
my friends, fome of whom rank among the bell
judges, that of all my trifles, Lionel and Clarifia
was the moil pardonable : a decifion in its favour
which I was the prouder of, becaufe, to the belt of
my knowledge, through the whole, I had not borrow¬
ed an expreflion, a fentiment, or a charafler, from
any dramatic writer extant.
When Mr. Garrick thought of performing this
piece at Drury-lane theatre, he had a new finger to
bring out, and every thing poflible for her advan¬
tage was to be done ; this neceflarily occafioned fome
new fongs and airs to be introduced ; and other fing¬
ers, with voices of a different compafs from thofe who
originally afled the parts, occafioned ilill more ; by
which means the greateft part of the mufic unavoid¬
ably became new. This is the chief, and indeed the
only alteration made in the opera ; and even to that,
I ihould, in many places, have been forced, much
againft my will, had it not given a frelh opportunity to
vi
ADVERTISEMENT.
Mr, Dibdin to diiplay his admirable talents as a rau-
fical compofer. And I will be bold to fay, that his
airs, fermas and comic, in this opera, vrtU ^pear to
no difadvantagë by being-heard Ivlth tiiofe of fome of
the greateft mafters.
The SCHOOL FOR FATHERS is added to
the title, becaofe the plot is evidently double ; mid that
of Lionel and Clariifa alluded to but One part of it, as
the readers and fpedators will eaiily pereeive.
1. B.
DRAMATIS PERSONM.
DRURY-LANE.
Sir John Flowerdale
Colonel Oldboy
Lionel
Mr. Jessamy
Harman
■Jenkins
Clarissa
Lady MaRY Oldboy
Diana
Jenny
Mch,
Mr. Aickin.
Mr. Suett.
Mr. Kelly.
Mr. Dodd.
Mr. Dignum.
Mr. Sedgwick.
Wamen.
Mrs. Crouch.
Mrs. Hopkins.
Mifs RomanzinL
Mrs. Willfon.
COVENT-GARDEN.
Sir John Flowerdale
Colonel'Oldboy
Lionel
Mr. Jessamy
Harman
Jenkins
Men,
Mr. Hull.
Mr. Quick.
Mr. Johnllone.
Mrs. Achmet.
Mr. Duffey.
Mr. Bannifter.
Clarissa
Lady Mary Oldboy
Diana
Jenny ^
iVomen,
Mrs. Mountain.
Mrs. Webb.
Mrs. Ward.
Mrs.
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS 5
or,
LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
ACT I. SCENE r.
A Chamber in Colonel Oldboy'í Houfe: ColonelOi.X)-
boy m ítfcovered at breakfqß reading a news-paper ¡
at a little diflance from the tea-tableJits ;
and on the oppfite Diana, who altars playing
upon a harpfichord, A Girl attending.
AIR.
Ah how delightful the mornings
How fweet are the profpeSs it yields;
Summer luxuriant adorning
The gardens^ the groves, and thefelds.
Be grateful to the feafon.
Its pleafures let^s employ ;
Kind Nature gives, and Reafon
Permits us to enjoy.
B 2
10 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, ACT I.
Col. Well faid Dy, thank you Dy. This, mafter
Jenkins, is the way I make my daughter entertain me
erery morning at breakfidt. Come here, and kifs
me, you flut, come here, and kifs me, you baggage.
Dian. Lord, papa, you call one fuch names
Col. A 6ne girl, mailer Jenkins, a deviliih fine girl !
file has got my eye to a twinkle. There's 'fire for you
—ipirit !—I, defign to m&rry her to a Duke ; how
much money do you think a Duke would expc.¿l with
fdch a wench ^
Jen. Why, Colonel, with I thi&k there
is no occafion to go out of our own country here ; we
have never a Duke in it, I believe, but we have many
an honeil gentleman, who, ifi iny opinion, might de-
ferve the young lady. 23
Col. So, yoTi would have me marry Dy to a country
Tquite^ eh 1 How fay you to this, Dy ! wouM not you
rather be married to a Duke ?
Dian. So my huiband's a rake, papa, 1 don't care
what he is.
Col. A rake ! you damned confounded little bag¬
gage ; why you wou'd not wilh to marry a rake, wou'd
you ? So her huiband is a rake, Qie does not care
what he is 1 ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 32
J)'ian." Well, but liilen to me, papa—When you
go out with your gun, do you take any pleáfure in
fliooting the poor tame ducks, and chickens in your
yard ? No, the partridge, the pheafant, the woodcock
are the game ; there is feme fport in bringing them
down becaufe they are wild ; and it is juil the fame
with a huiband dr a lover. I would not waile powder
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 11
and ihot, to wound one of your ibber pretty beluiTed
gentlemen ; but to hit a libertine, extravagant, mad¬
cap fellow, to take him upon the wing— 42
Col. Do you hear her, mafter Jenkins f Ha, ha, ha !
yen. Well, bat, good Colonel, what do you fay to
my worthy and honourable patron here, Sir John
Flowerdale? He hasaneftate of eight thouiand pounds
a year, as well paid rents as any in the kingdom, and
but one only daughter to enjoy it; and yet he is wil¬
ling, you fee, to give this daughter to your Ibn, 49 :
Dion. Pray, Mr. Jenkins, how does Mifs Clariffa
and our univerhty friend Mr. Lionel ? That is the
only grave young man I ever liked, and the only
handfome one I ever was acquainted with, that did
not make love to me.
Col. Ay, mailer Jenkins, tSrho is this Lionel? 7hey
fay, he is a damn'd witty knowing fellow ; and egad
I think him well enough for one brought up in a col¬
lege. 58
yen. His father was a general officer, a partícuiar
friend of Sir John's, who, like many more brave men,
that live and die in defencßng their country, left little
elfe than honour behind him. Sir John fent this
young man, at his own expencé, to Oxford; whére,
while his fon lived, they were upon the fame footing :
and Imce our young gentleman's death, which you
know unfortunately happened about two yearä ago,
he has continued him there. During the vacation, he
is come to pay us a vilit, and Sir John intends that
he lhall ihortly take orders for a very confiderable
benefice in the gift of the family, the prefent incum¬
bent of which is an aged manu 71
IX SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, ACT I.
Dim. The laft time I was at your houfe, he was
teaching Mifs Clarifla mathematics and philofophy.
Lord, what a ftrange brain I have i If I was to (it
down to diftraft myfelf with fiich ftudies—
Col. Go, huffy, let fome of your brother's lafcals
inform their mailer that he has been long enough at
his toilet; here is a melTage from Sir John Flowerdale
>—You a brain for mathematics indeed! We (hall
have women wanting to head our regiments to-mor¬
row or next day. 81
D'tan. Well, papa, and fuppofe we did. I believe,
in a battle of the fexes, you men would hardly get
the better of us.
AIR.
To roh them of flrength, when wife Nature thought Jk
By women to ßiU do her duty,
Jnflead of a fword fhe endued them with wit.
And gave them a Jhield in thàr beauty,
Sound, found the trumpet, both fexes to arms
Our tyrants at once, and proteñors ! 90
We quickly Jhall fee whether courage or charms,
Jiecide for the Helens or HeBors.
Act I.
LIONEL AND CLARISSA,
SCENE IL
Colonel Ohozov, Jenkins.
Col. Well, mafter Jenkins ! don't you think now
that a Nobleman, a Duke, an Earl, or a Marquis,
might be content to ihare his title 1 fay, you un-
derftand me with a fweetener of thirty or forty
thoufand pounds, to pay off Mortgages ? Befides,
there's a proípeíl of my whole eftate ; for I dare
fwear her brother will never have any children. 99
Jen, I fliould be concerned at that, Colonel, when
there are two fuch fortunes to defcend to his heirs,
as your's and Sir John Flowerdale's.
Col. Why look you, mailer Jenkins, Sir John Flow-
crdale is an honeil gentleman; our families are nearly
related ; we have been neighbours time out of mind ;
and if he and I have an odd difpute now and then, it
is not for want of a cordial eileem at bottom. He is
going to marry his daughter to my fon ; (he is a
beautiful girl, an elegant girl, a fenfible girl, a wor¬
thy girl, and—a word in your ear—damn me if I a'n't
very forry for her. ill
yen. Sorry ! Colonel ?
Col. Ay between ourfelves, mailer Jenkins, my
fon won't do.
Jen. How do you mean ?
Col. I tell you, mailer Jenkins, he won't do—he is
not the thing, a prig—At fixteen years old, or there¬
abouts, he was a bold, iprightly boy, as you Ihould
14 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, ACT I.
fee in a thoufand; could drink his pint of port, or
his bottip of claret now he mixes all his wine with
water. 121
Jen. Oh! if that be his only fault. Colonel, he will
ne'er make the worfe huiband, I'll anfwer for it.
Col. You know my wife is a woman of quality
I was prevailed upon to fend him to be brought up
by her brother Lord Jeflamy, who had no children of
his own, and promifed to leave him an eftate be
has got the eftate indeed, but, the fellow has taken his
Lordihip's name for it. Now, matter Jenkins, I
would be glad to know, how the name of Jeflamy is
better than that of Oldboy. 131
Jen. Well ! but Colonel, it is allowed on all hands
that his Lordfhip has given your fon an excellent edu¬
cation.
Col. Piha I he fent him to the univerfity, and to
travel forfooth ; but what of that ; I was abroad, and
at the univerfity myfelf, and never a ru(h the better
for either. I quarrel'd with his Lordfhip about fix
years before his death, and fo had not an opportunity
of feeing how the youth went on ; if I had, matter
Jenkins, I would no more have fuffered him to be
made fiich a monkey of He has been in ray houíé
but three days, and it is all turned topfey-turvey by
him and his rafcally fervants then his chamber is
like a perfumer's Ihop, vmh wafh-balls, pattes, and
pomatum and do you know, he had the impudence
to tell me yetterday at my own table, that I did not
know how to behave myfelf ? 148
Jen, Pray, Colonel, how does my Lady Mary ?
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARÍSSA. J5
Col. What, ray wife ? Ii» the old way, mafter jfen-
kins; always complaining; ever foracthing the raatteC'
with her head, or her hack, or her legs but we
have had the devil to pay lately—(he and I did not
ipeak to one another for three weeks.
yen. How fo. Sir ?
Col. A little affair of jealoufy—you muff know, my
game-keeper's daughter has had a child, and the
plaguy baggage takes it into her head to lay it to me
—Upon my foul it is a fine fat chubby infant as ever
I fet my eyes on ; I have fent it to nurfe ; and be¬
tween you and me, I believe I fhall leave it a for¬
tune.
yen. Ah, Colonel, you will never give over.
Col. You know my Lady has a pretty vein of poetry ;
(he writ me an heroic epiffle upon it, where Ihe calls
me her dear falfe Damon ; fo I let her cry a little,
promifed to do fo no more, and now we are as good
friends as ever.
yen. Well, Colonel, I muff take my leave ; I have
delivered my meflàge,. and Sir John may expedí the
pleafure of your company to dinner. 170
Col. Ay, ay„ we'll ctMnei—pox o' ceremony among
friends. But won't you ftay to fee my fon ? I have
fent to him, and fuppofe he will be here as foon as
his valet-de-chambre will give him leave.
Jen. There is no occafion, good Sir : prefent my
humble refpefts, that's all.
Col. Well, but, zounds, Jenkins, you muff not go
till you drink fomething—let you and I have a bottle
of hock—
B3
i6 SCHOOL rOR FATHERS; OR, Atrxl.
Not for the world. Colonel ; I never touch
any thing ftrong in the morning. i8i
Col, Never touch any thing ftrong ! Why one bot¬
tle won't hurt you, man, this is old, and as mild as
milk.
Jen, Well, but, Colonel, pray excufe me.
AIR.
7o tell you the truth.
In the days of my youth.
As mirth and nature bid,
I lih'd a glafs.
And I lov^da lafs.
And I did as youniers dhd.
But now I am old.
With grief be it told,
I muß thofe freaks forbear ¡
Atßxty-three,
Twixt you and me,
A man grows worfe for wear.
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. rr
SCENE III.
JIfr. Je ssamy, Lady Mary Oudboy, and then Colonel
Oldboy.
Lady M. Shut the door, why don't you fliut the
door there ? Have you a mind I ihould catch my
death ? TJiis houfe is abfolutely the cave of .®olus ;
one had as good live on the eddy-ftone, or in a wind-.
mill. 201
Mr. yes. I thought they told your Ladyihip, that
there was a meflenger here from Sir John Flowerdale.
Col. Well, fir, and fo there was ; but he had not
patience to wait upon your curling-irons. Mr. Jen-,
kins was here. Sir John Flowerdale's fteward, who
has lived in the family thefe forty years.
Mr. Jes. And pray, Sir, might not Sir John Flow¬
erdale have come himfelf : if he had been acquainted
with the rules of good breeding, he would have known
that I ought to have been vifited.
Lady M. Upon my word. Colonel, this is a fole-
cifm.
Col. 'Sblood, my Lady, it's, none. Sir Jolm Flow¬
erdale came but .lall night from his filter's feat in the
Weft, and is a little out of order. But I fuppofe he
thinks he ought to appear before him with his daughter
in one hand, and his rent-roll in the other, and cry.
Sir, ptay do me the favour to accept them. 218
Lady M. Nay, but, Mr. Oldboy, permit me to fay—
iS SCHOOL FOR FATHERS j OR, Act. I.
Col. He need not give himfelf fo many aifeâedairs ;
I think it's very well if he gets fuch a girl for going
for ; (he's one of the handfomeft and richeft in this
country, and more than he deferves.
Mr. Jes. That's an exceeding fine china jar your
ladylhip has got in the next room ; I faw the fellow of
it the other day at Williams's, and will fend to my
agent to purchafe it : it is the true matchlefs old
blue and white. Lady Betty Barebones has a couple
that ihe gave an hundred guineas for, on board an
Indiaman ; but the reckons them at a hundred and
twenty-five, on account of half a dozen plates, four
Nankeen beakers, and a couple of (baking Mandarins,
that the cuftom-hottfe officers took from under her
petticoats. 234
Col. Did you ever hear the like of this ! He's chat¬
tering about old china, while I am talking to him of
a fine girl. I tell you what, Mr. JeiTamy, fince that's
the name you choofe to be called by, I have a good
mind to knock you down.
Mr. Jes. Knock me down ! Colonel I What do
you mean ? I muft tell you, Sir, this is a language to
which I have not been accnftomed; and, if you think
proper to continue to repeat it, I (hall be under a ne-
ceflity of quitting your houfe í
Col. Quitting my houfe ?
Mr. Jes. Yes, Sir, incontinently.
Col. Why, Sir, am not I your father. Sir, and have
I not a right to talk to you as I like? I will, firrah.
But, perhaps, I mayn't be your father, and I hope
not. 250
Act 1. LIONEI. AND CLARISSA. 1»
Lac^ M. Heavens and earth, Mr. Oldboy !
Cd. What's the matter. Madam ? 1 mean, Madain,
that he might have been changed at nuríé. Madam y
and I believe he was.
Mr. Jes. Huh! huh! huh!
Col. Do you laugh at me, you faucy jackanapes !
Lady M. Who's there ? fomebody bring me a chair.
Really, Mr. Oldboy, you throw my weakly frame
into fuch repeated convulfions—but I fee your aim ;
you want to lay me in my grave, and you will very
foon have that latisfadlion. 261
Col. I can't bear the fight of him.
Lady M. Open that window, give me air, or I
lhall faint.
Mr. Jes. Hold, hold, îet me tie a handkerchief
about my neck firft. This curfed iharp north wind
—Antoine, bring down my muff.
Col. Ay, do, and his great-coat.
Lady M. Marg'ret, fome harts-horn. My dear
Mr. Oldboy, why will you fly out in this way, when
you know how it ihocks my tender nerves ?
Col. 'Sblood, Madam, it's enough to make a man
mad.
Lady M. Hartfhom ! Hartlhorn !
Mr. Jes. Colonel !
Col. Do you hear the puppy ?
Mr. Jes. Will you give me leave to aflc you one
queftion ?
Col. 1 don't know whether I will or not. 279
Mr. Jes. I ftiould be glad to know, that's aH, what
fingle circuinftance in my conduit, carriage, or
figure you can poilibly find fault with—Perhaps I.
ao SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act I.
may be brought to reform—Pr'ythee let me hear
from your own mouth, then, ferioufly what it is you
do like, and what it is you do not like.
Col. Hum !
Mr. yes. Be ingenuous, Ipeak and ipare not.
Col. You would knowi
AIR.
Zounds, Sir I then I'll tell you nvithout any jeß.
The thing of all things, •which I hate and deteß ;
A coxeomb, a fop, 2QO
A dainty milk fop ;
Who, eßenc'd and dhcen'd from bottom to top.
Looks jtß like a dollfor a milliner'sßop.
A thing full ofprate.
And pride and conceit ;
All faßion, no •weight ;
Who Jhrugs, and takes fnuff.
And carries a muff"i
A minikin,
Finiking, ¡op
French po^wder-puff":
And no^w. Sir, I fancy, I've told you enough.
SCENE IF.
Lady Mary Oldboy, Mr. Jessamy.
Mr. Jes. What's the matter with the Colönel',
Madam j does your ladyfhip know I-
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
21
Lady M. Heigho ! don't be furprifed, my dear ; it
was the fame thing with my late dear brother. Lord
Jeflamy ; they never could agree ; that good na»
tured friendly foul, knowing the delicacy of my con-,
ftitution, has often faid, filler Mary, I pity you.
Not but your father has good qualities, and I allure
you I remember him a very fine gentleman himfelf.
In the year of the hard froft, one thoufand feven
hundred and thirty-nine, when he firll paid his ad-
drefles to me, he was called agreeable Jack Oldboy,
though I married him without the confent of your
noble grandfather. 316
Mr. yes. I tliink he ought to be proud of me : I
believe there's many a Duke, nay Prince, who would
elleem themfelves happy in having fuch a fon
Lady M. Yes, my dear ; but your filler was always
your father's favourite : he intends to give her a pro¬
digious fortune, and fets his heart upon leeing her a
woman of quality.
Mr. Jes. He Ihould wiih to fee her look a little like
a gentlewoman firll. When Ihe was in London lall
winter, I am told ihe was taken notice of by a few
men. But Ihe wants air, manner. 327
Lady M. And has not a bit of the genius of our fa¬
mily, and I never knew a woman of it, but herfelf^
without. I have tried her : about three years ago I
fet her to tranllate a little French fong i I found Ihe
had not even an idea of verfification ; and ihe put
down love and joy for rhyme—fo I gave her over.
Mr. Jes. Why, indeed, ihe appears to have more
of the Thaleltris than the Sappho about her.
ía SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act I,
LM¿y M. Well, my dear, I muft go anddrefs ray-
ièlf, though I protefl I am filter for my bed than my
coach. And condefcend to the Colonel a little—Do
my dear, if it be only to oblige your mamma. 539'
SCENE V.
Mr. Jes&Amy.
Let me confider ; I am going to vifit a country Ba¬
ronet here : who would fain prevail upon me to mar¬
ry his daughter : the old gentleman has heard of my
parts and underftanding ; Mifs of my figure and ad-
dreis. But, fuppofe I ihould not like her when I fee
her ? Why, pofitively, then I will not have her ; the
treaty^s at an end, and, fans compliment, we break
up the congreft. But, won't that be cruel, after ha¬
ving fuffered her to flatter herfelf with hopes, and
ihewing myfelf to her. She's a ftrange dowdy I dare
believe : however, flie brings provifion with her for
a fcparate maintenance. 351
Antoine, apprêtez la toilet. I am going to ipend
a curfed day ; that I perceive already ; I wiih it was
over, I dread it as much as a general eledlion.
AIR.
When a man of fajhton conJefcendt,
To herd among his country friends,
Th^ watch his loots, his motions :
One hoohy gapes, anotherfares,
^nd all he fays, does, eats, drinks, wars,
Muß fuit their nßic notions. 360
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. us
But as for this hrutyh old clotun here /
S'deatht why did I ever come down here /
7he favage will now never qmt me ;
Then a confort to take^
For my family's fahe,
I'm in aßne jeopardy, fpRt me t
SCENE VI.
Changes to a Study in í/r John Flowerdale V Houfe ;
two Chairs and a Talle, with Globes and Mathema¬
tical Inflruments. Clarissa enters, followed by
Jenny.
AIR.
Ciar, Immortal powers proteS me,
^Jiß, fupport, direB me :
Relieve a heart oppreß :
Ah ! why this palpitation ? 37O
Ceafe, bufy perturbation.
And let me, let me reß.
yen. My dear lady, what ails you ?
Ciar. Nothuig, Jenny, nothing.
Jen. Pardon rae. Madam, there is fomething ails
you indeed. L.ord 1 what fignifies all the grandeur
and riches in this world, if they can't procure one
content. I am fure it vexes me to the heart, fo it
does, to fee fuch a dear, fweet, worthy young Lady,
as yon are, pining ytnxtfelf to d^tb. 380
ftf SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act 1.
Ciar. Jenny, you are a good girl, and I am very
much obliged to you for feeling fo much on my ac¬
count ; but in a little time, I hope I lhall be eafier.
Jen. Why, now, here to day. Madam, for fartain
you ought to be merry to day, when there's a fine
gentleman coming to court you ; but, if you like any
one elfe better, I am fure, I wiih you had him, with
all my foul.
Ciar. Suppofe, Jenny, I was fo unfortunate, as to
like a man without my father's approbation ; would
you wiih me married to him ? 391
Jen. I wiih you married to any one. Madam, that
could make you happy.
Ciar. Heigho !
Jen. Madam ! Madam ! yonder's Sir John and
Mr. Lionel on the terrace ; I believe they are coming
up here. Poor, dear Mr. Lionel, he does not feem
to be in over great ipirits either. To be fure. Ma¬
dam, it's no bufinefs of mine ; but I believe, if the
truth was known, there are thofe in the houfe, who
would give more than ever I ihall be worth, or any
the likes of me, to prevent the marriage of a fartain
perfon that ihall be namelefs. 403
Ciar. What do you mean ? I don't underitand
you ?
Jen. I hope you are not angry. Madam ?
Ciar. Ah ! Jenny
Jen. Lauk! Madam, do you think, when Mr.
Lionel's a clergyman, he'll be obliged to cut oiF his
hair ? I'm fure it will be a thoufand pities, for it is the
Jweeteft colour, and looks the niceft put up in a cue
and your great pudding-lleeves ! Lord I they'll
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 45
quite fpoil his fhape, and the fall of his ihoulders.
Well 1 Madam, if I was a lady of large fortune, I'll
be hanged if Mr. Lionel ihould be a parfon, if I could
help it. 416
Ciar. I'm going into my drefling room—It feems
then Mr. Lionel is a great favourite of yours ; but
pray Jenny, have a care how you talk in tliis manner
to any one elfe.
Jen. Me talk ! Madam, I thought you knew me
better ; and, my dear Lady, keep up your fpirits.
I'm fure I have dreffed you to-day as nice as hands and
pins can make you.
AIR.
I'm hut a poor fermant, 'tis true. Ma'am ¡
But was / a lady like you. Ma'am,
In grief would I fit ? The dickens a bit ;
J7o, faith, I wouldfearch the world thro'. Ma'am,
Tofind what my liking could hit.
Set in cafe a young man, 430
In my fancy there ran ;
It might anger my friends and relations :
But if I had regard,
Itfhould go very hard.
Or I'dfollow my own inclinatiosu.
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR,
Act I.
SCÈNE FIT.
Är John Flowerdale, Lionel.
Sir John. Indeed, Lionel, I will not hear of it.
What ! to run from us all of a fudden, this way ;
and at fuch a time too ; the eve of my daughter's
wedding, as I may call it ; when your company»niuft
be doubly agreeable, as well as neceffary to us ? I am
fure you have no ftudies at prefent, that require your
attendance at Oxford: I muft, therefore, infill on
your putting fuch thoughts out of your head.
Lion. Upon my word. Sir, I have been fo long from
the univerfity, that it is time for me to think of re¬
turning. It is true, I have no abfolute ftudies ; but,
really. Sir, I Ihall be obliged to you, if you -will
give me leave to go. 448
. Sir John. Come, come, my dear Lionel, I have for
fome time obferved a more than ordinary gravity
growing upon you, and I am not to learn the reafon
of it : I know, to minds forious, and well inclined,
like yours, the facred funâtons yon are about to em¬
brace
Lion. Dear Sir, your goodnefs to me, of every kind,
is fo great, lb unmeiited 1 Your condefceofion, your
friendly attentions—m Ihort, Sir, I want words to
cxprefs my fenfe of obligations
Sir John. Fie, fie, no more of them. By my lall
letters, I find that my old friend, the reilor, Hill con¬
tinues in good health, confidering his advanced years.
You may imagine I am far from defiring the death of
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 27
fo worthy and picas a man ; yet, I muft own, at this
time, I could wiih you were in orders, as you might
then perform the ceremony of my daughter's mar¬
riage ; which would give me a fecret fatisfaâion.
Lion. No doidit. Sir, any o£ce in my power that
could be inflrumental to the happinefs of any in your
family, I ihould perform with pleaJjire. 469
Sir John, Why, really, Lionel, from the charaâer
of her intended hulbasd, I have no room to doubt,
but this match will make Clarifia perfeftly happy ;
to be fure, the alliance is the molt eligible, for both
families.
Lion. If the gentleman is lenfîble of his happinefs
in the alliance. Sir.
Sir John. The fondnefs of a father is always fut
peíled of partiality ; yet, I believe, I may venture to
fay, that few young women will be found more unex¬
ceptionable than my daughter : her perlón is agree¬
able, her temper fweet, her underllanding good ; and,
with the obligations Ihe has to your inftruilion
Lion. You do my endeavours too much honour. Sir :
I have been able to add nothing to Mifs Flowerdale's
accoraplilhments, but a little knowledge in matters of
fmall importance to a mind already fo well improved.
Sir John. I don't think foj a little knowledge, even
in thofe matters, is neceffary for a woman, in whom,
I am far from conlidering ignorance as a defireable
charaflerillic : when intelligence is not attended with
impertinent alFeñation, it teaches them to judge with
precilion, and gives them a degree of folidity necef¬
fary for the companion of a fenlible man. 493
a8 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act I.
Lion, Yonder's Mr, Jenkins : I fancy he's lóoking
for you, Sir.
Sir John. I fee him ; he's come back from Colonel
Oldboy's ; I have a few words to fay to hini j and
will return to you again in a minute.
SCENE Fill.
Lionel: afterwards Clarissa, and then Jenny,
who enters abruptly, and runs out again.
Lion. To be a burthen to one's felf, to wage con¬
tinual war with one's own pallions, forced to combat,
unable to overcome! But fee, ihe appears, whofe
prefence turns all my fufferings into tranQiort, and
makes even mifery itfelf delightful. 503
Perhaps, Madam, you are not at leifure now ;
otherwiie, if you thought proper, we would refume
the fubjedt we were upon yefterday.
Ciar. I am fure. Sir, I give you a great deal of
trouble.
Lion. Madam, you give me no trouble ; I Ihould
think every hour of my life happily employed in your
fervice ; and as this is probably the laft time I ftiall
have the fatisiadlion of attending you upon the fame
occalion
Ciar. Upon my word, Mr. Lionel, I think myfelf
extremely obliged to you ; and Ihall ever confider the
enjoyment oî your fiiendlhip——
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. «9
IJon, My frieodftiip, Madam, can be of little mo¬
ment to you ; but if the moft perfeä adoration, if the
warmeft wiflies for your felicity, though I ihould ne¬
ver be witnels of it : if thefe. Madam, can have-any
merit to continue in your remembrance, a man once
honoiired with a lhare of your efteem 522
Ciar. Hold, Sir—I think I hear fomebody.
Lion. If you pleafe. Madam, we'll turn over this
celeftial globe once more—Have you looked at the
book I left you yefterday ?
Ciar. Really, Sir, 1 have been fo much difturbed
in my thoughts for thele two or three days pail, that
I have not been able to look at any thing. 529
Lion. I am forry to hear that. Madam ; I hope
there was nothing particular to difturb you. The
care Sir John takes to diipofe of your hand in a man¬
ner fuitable to your birth and fortune.
Ciar. I don't know. Sir ;—I own I am difturbed ;
I own I am uneafy ; there is fomething weighs upon
my heart, which I would fain difclofe.
Lion. Upon your heart. Madam ! did you fay
your heart ?
Ciar. I—did Sir, 1 539
Jen. Madam ! Madam ! Hére's a coach and bx
driving up the avenue : It's Colonel Oldboy's family ;
and, I believe the gentleman is in it, that's coming to
court you.—Lord, I muft run and have a peep at him
out of the window.
Lion. Madam, I'll take my leave.
Ciar. Why fo. Sir ?—Blefs me, Mr. Lionel,
what's the matter !—You turn pale.
Lion. Madam!
jo SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; CR, Act I.
C/ar. Pray fpeak to me, Sir.—You trçmble—Tell
me the caufe of this fudden diange—How are you?—
Where's your diforder ? 551
Lion. Oh fortaae ! fortune ¡
AIR.
ion q/i me in vain,
Of nuhat iüt I coa^lain.
Where harbours the torment Ifnd ;
Jn my head and heart,
Jt invades ev'ry part,
And fubdves both my body and mind.
Each ^ort / try,
Ev'ry med'cine <^ly, 560
The pangs of my foul to appeqfe f
But doom'd to endure.
What I mean for a cure.
Turns poifem and feeds the difecfe.
—4-
SCENE IX.
Clarissa, Diana.
Dia«. My dear Clarifla—I'm glad I have found
you alone.—For Heaven's fake, don't let any one
Eireak in i^n us and give me leave to fit down
with yon a little t-^Z am in fuch a tremour, fuch à
panic
Act X. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 31
Ciar. Mercy on us, what has happened ? 569
Dian. You may remember I told you, that when
I was laft winter in London, I was followed by an
odious fellow, one Harman ; I can't fay but the
wretch pleafed me, though he is but a younger bro¬
ther, and not worth iixpence : And, in (hort, when
1 was leaving town, I promifod to correipond with
him.
Ciar. Do you think that was prudent ?
Dtan. Madnefs ! But this is not the worft, for
what do you think, the creature had the alTurance to
write to me about three weeks ago, defiring permit
fion to come down and Ipend the furamer at my
father's. ¡81
Ciar. At your father's t
D'lan. Ay, who never law him, knows nothing of
him, and would as foon confent to my marrying a
horfe jockey. He told me a long ftory of fome tale
he intended to invent to make my father receive him
as an indifforent perfon ; and fome gentlemen in Lon¬
don, he faid, would procure him a letter that ihould
give it a face ; and he longed to fee me fo, he faid,
he could not live without it ; and if he could be per¬
mitted but to ipend a week with me
Ciar. Well, and what anfwer did you make ?
Dian. Oh I abufed him, and refufed to liften to
any fuch thing—But—I vow I tremble while I tell
it you—^Juft before we left our houfe, the impudent
monfter arrived there, attended by a couple of for-
vants, and is now aélually coming here with my fa-
tlier.
Ciar. Upon my word, this is a dreadful thing.
C
i i SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act I.
Dian. Dreadful, my dear !—I happened to be at
the window as he came into the court, and I declare
I had fainted away.
Ciar. Isn't my Lady below ? 603
Dian. Yes, and I muft run down to her. You'll
have my brother here prefently too, he would fain
|iave come in the coach with my mother and me, but
my father infilled on his walking with him over the
fields.
Ciar. Well, Diana, with regard to your affair—I
think you mull find fome method of immediately in¬
forming this gentleman that you confider the outrage
he has committed againil you, in the moil heinous
light, and infill upon his going away direélly.
Dian. Why, I believe that will bé the bell way
but then he'll be begging my pardon and afldng to
Hay.
Ciar. Why then you muft tell him poi^tively you
won't confent to it ; and if he perfifts in fo extrava¬
gant a defign, tell him you'll never fee him again as
long as you live. 620
Dian. Muft I tell him fp ?
AIR.
Âb ! pr^ythee fpare me, deareß creature I
How can you prompt me to Jo much til-nature ?
Kneeling before me,
Shou'd I hear him implore me ;
Cou'd I accufe him,
Cou'd / refufe him.
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA, 33
the boon he Jhou^d ajk ?
Set not a lover the cruel tqß.
No, believe me, my dear.
Was he now ßandin^ here.
In fpite oj" my frights, and alarms,
I might rate him, might fcold him
But Jhoildjmißrive to hold him
.Andfink at Icß into his arms.
SCENE X.
Clarissa.
How eafy to direil: the conduit of others, how hard
to regulate our own ! I can give my friend advice,
while I am confcious of the fame indifcretions in my-
felf. Yet is it criminal to know the moil worthy,
moft amiable man in the world, and not to be infen-
fible to his merit ? But my father, the kindeft, heft
of fathers, will he approve the choice I have made ?
Nay, has he not made another choice for me ? And,
after all, how can I be fure that the man I love, loves
me again ? He never told me fo ; but his looks, his
aitions, his preient anxiety fufficiently declare what
his delicacy, his generofity, will not fuffer him to
utter.
C z
34
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR,
Act r.
AIR.
Te gloomy thoughts, ye fears perverje.
Like füllen vapours all difperfe,
Andjcatter in the wind ¡
Delufive phantoms, brood of night.
No more my fickly fancy) fright.
No more my reafon blind.
'Tis done ; Ifeel my foul released :
The vifionsßy, the mißs are chas'd.
Nor leave a cloud behind.
■BCENE XL
Changes to a Side View of Sir John FLOWEKDAi.E*f
Houfe, with Gates, and a profpeB of the Garden.
Harman enters with Colonel Oldboy.
Col. Well, and how does my old friend Dick Ran¬
tum do ? I have not feen him thefe twelve years : he
was an honeft worthy fellow as ever breathed ; I re¬
member he kept a girl in London, and was curfedly
plagued by his wife's relations. 660
liar. Sir Richard was always a man of Ipirit,
Colonel.
Col. But as to this buiinefs of yours, which he tells
me of in his letter—I don't lee much in it—An affair
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 35
with a citizen's daughter—^pinked her brother in a
duel—Is the fellow likely to die ?
Har. Why, Sir, we hopé not ; but as the matter is
dubious, and will probably make fome noife, I
thought it was better to be for a little time out of the
way; when hearing my cafe. Sir Richard Rantum
mentioned you ; he faid, he was fure you would per¬
mit me to remain at your houfe for a few days, and
offered me a recommendation.
Col. And there's likely to be a brat in the cafe—
And the girl's friends are in bufinefs—I'll tell you
what will be the confequence then—^They will be for
going to law with you for a maintenance—but no mat¬
ter, I'll take the affair in hand for you—make me
your folicitor ; and, if you are obliged to pay for a
fingle fpoonful of pap, I'll be content to father all the
children in the Foundling Hofpital. 681
Har. You are very kind. Sir.
Col. But hold—hark you—you fay there's money
to be had—fuppofe you were to marry the wench i
Har. Do you think, Sir, that would be fo right af¬
ter what has happened ? Befides, there's a ftronger
objedfion—To tell you the truth, I am honourably in
love in another place.
Col. Oh ! you are. 689
Har. Yes, Sir, but there are obilacles—H father
-—In fhort. Sir, the miftrefs of mj' heart lives in this
very county, which makes even my prefent fituation
a little irkfome.
Col. In this county ! Zounds ! Then I am fure I
am acquainted with her, and the firft letter of her
name is
36 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, Act I.
Har. Excufe me, Sir, I have fome particnlar rea-
fons
Col. But look who comes yonder—Ha ! ha ! ha !
My fon picking his ileps like a dancing-mailer.
Pr'ythee, Harman, go into the houfe, and let my
wife and daughter know we are come, while I go and
have fome fport with him : they will introduce you
to Sir John Flowerdale.
Har. Then, Sir, I'll take the liberty
Col. But d'ye hear, I muft have a little more dif'
courfe with you about this girl j perhaps ihe's a neigh-»
hour of mine, and I may be of iervice to you.
Har. Well, remember. Colonel, I lhall try your
friendihip. 710
AIR.
Indulgent poiu'rs, if ever
Tou marl'd a tender vow,
0 bend in kind compqßton.
And hear a lover now :
For titles, wealth, and honours.
While others crowd yourßirine ¡
1 sfk this only- bleßing,
Let her I love he mine.
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA,
SCENE XII.
ColonelOldboy, Mr. Jessaríy, añdfesetálSérvanU. •
Col. Why, Zounds ! one would think you had ne¬
ver put your feet to the ground before ; you make as
much work about walking a quarter of a mile, as if
you had gone a pilgrimage to Jerufalem. 722
Mr. Jes. Colonel, you have ufed me extremely ill,
to drag me through the dirty roads in this manner ;
you told me the way was all over a bowling-green ;
only fee what a condition I am in !
Col. Why, how did I know the roads were dirty ?
is that my fault? Belides, we miftook the way.
Zounds, man, your legs will be never the worfe when
they are bruihed a little. 730 ■
Mr. Jes. Antoine ! have you fent La Roque for
the Ihoes and ftockifigs ? Give me the glafs out of your
pocket—^not a duU of powder left in my hair, and the
friíTure as flat as the fore-top of an attorney's clerk
—^get your comb and pomatum ; you muft borrow
fome powder ; I fuppofe there's fuch a thing as a
drelling-room in the boufe ?
Col. Ay, and a cellar too, I hope, for I want a
glafs of wine curfedly—^but hold ! hold ! Frank,
where are you going ? Stay, and pay your devoirs
here, if you pleafe ; I fee there's foraebody coming
out to welcome us. 742
38
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR,
Act 1.
SCENE XIIL
Colonel Oldboy, Mr. Jessamy, Liokel, Diana,
clarissa.
Lion. Colonel, your moft obedient ; Sir John is
walking with my Lady in the garden, and has com-
miflioned me to recive you.
Col. Mr. Lionel, I am heartily glad to fee you
—come here, Frank—this is my fon. Sir.
Lion. Sir, I am exceeding proud to
Mr. Jes. Can't you get the powder then ? 749
Col. Mifs Clary, my little Mifs Clary—give me a
kifs, my dear—as handfome as an angel, by heavens—
Frank, why don't you come here? this is Mifs
Flowerdale.
Dian. Oh Heavens, Clarifia ! Juft as I faid, that
impudent devil is come here with my father.
Mr. Jes. Had'nt we better go into the houfe ?
AIR.
To le made in fuch a pickle !
Will you pleafe to lead the tvay. Sir P
Col. No, but if you pleafe, you may. Sir,
For precedence none vñll f ickle, '¡60
Dian. Brother, no politenefs ? Blefs me !
Will you not your hand leßonu. ?
Lead the Lady.
Ciar. Dorít diflrefs me }
Dear Diana let him go.
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 39
Mr. Jes. Ma'am permit me.
Col. — Smoke the Beau.
A. 2. Cruel muß /, can I hear ?
Oh adverfe ßars !
Oh fate feverei 77®
Befet, tormented.
Each hope prevented :
Col. None But the Brave deferve the fear.
Come Ma'am let me lead you :
Now, Sir, I precede you.
A. 5. Lovers muß ill ufage bear.
Oh adverfe ßars 1 oh fate fevere !
None but the brave deferve the fair.
ACT II. SCENE I,
A Hall in Sir John Flowerdale't Houfe, with the
View of a grand Stair-cafe, through an Arch. On
either ßde of the Stair-cafe below, two Doors, leading
from different Apartments.
Lionel enters, followed by Jenny.
Jenny.
Well, but Mr. Lionel, conGder, pray conGder
now ; how can you be fo prodigious undifcreet as you
are, walking about the hall here, while the gentle-
CS
49 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, Act II.
folks are within in the parlour ! Don't you think'
they'll wonder at your getting up fo foon after din¬
ner, and before any of the reft of the company ?
Lion. For Heaven's fake, Jenny, don't ipeak to
me : I neither know where I am, hor what I am do¬
ing ; I am the moft wretched and raiferable of man¬
kind. to
Jen. Poor dear ibul, I pity you. Yes, yes, I be¬
lieve you are miferable enough indeed ; and 1 aflure
you I have pitied you a great while, and fpoke many
a word in your favour, when you little thought you had
fuch a friend in a corner.
Lion. But, good Jenny, ilnce, by fome accident or
other, you have been able to drfcover what I would
willingly hide from all the world, 1 conjure you, as
you regard my intereft, as you value your Lady's
peace and honour, never let the moft diftaat hint of
it efcape you ; for it is a fecret of that importance—
Jen. And, perhaps, you think I can't keep a fe¬
cret. Ah ! Mr. Lionel, it muft be hear, fee, and fay
nothing in this world, or one has no bufinefs to live
is it ; befídes, who would not be in love with my
Lady ? There's never a man this day alive but might
be prtmd of it ; for flie is the handfomeft, fweeteft
temperdeft ! And I am fure, one of the beft mif-
trelfes,. ever poor girl had.
Lion. Oh Jenny ! She's an angel.
Jen. And fo ihe is, indeed—Do you know that /he
gave me her blue and filver fack to-day, and it is
every crum as good as new ; and, go things as they
will, don't you be fretting and vexing yourfelf, for I
am mortally fartsrin (he would llvercr fee a toad, than
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA, 41
this Jeflarny. Thongh I muft faj', to my thinking,
he's a very likely man ; and a finer pair of eye-brows,
asnd a more delicate nofe I never law on a face.
Lian, By Heavens I ihall run mad.
"Jen. And why fo ? It is not beauty that always
takes the fancy: moreover, to let you know, if it was,
I don't think him any more to compare to you, than
a thiftle is to a carnation : and fo's a fign ; for, mark
my words, my Lady loves you, as much as Ihe hates
him.
Lion. "What you tell me, Jenny, is a thing I neither
merit nor expeit : No, I am unhappy, and let me
continue fo ; my molt prefumptuous thoughts fhall
never carry me to a wilh that may affêél her quiet, or
pve her caufe to repent. 50
That's very honourable of you, I muft needs
fay ! but for all that, liking's liking, and one can't
help it ; and if it Ihould be my Lady's cale, it is no
fault of yours. I am furc, when Ihe called me ¡uto
her drelEngj-room, before ihe went down to dinner,
there ihe ftood with her eyes brim full of tears : and
fo 1 fell a crying for company—and then Ihe laid ihe
could not abide the chap in the parlour ; and at the
fame time, ihe bid me take an opportunity to fpeak
to you, and defire you to meet her in the garden this
evening after tea ; for ihe has fomething to fay to
you. 62
Lion. Jenny, I fee you are my friend ; for which I
thank you, though I know it is impoffible to do me
any fervice ; take this ring and-wear it for ray fake.
Jen. I am very much obliged to your honour ; I am
your friend indeed—but, I fay, you won't forget to
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act H,
be in the garden now ; and in the mean time keep as
little in the houfe as you can, for walls have eyes and
cars ; and I can tell you the fervants take notice of
your uneaiinefs, though I am always deiiring them to
mind their own buiinefs. 72
Lion. Pray have a care, Jenny, have a care, my dear
girl, a word may breed fufpicion.
Jen. Pflia ! have a care, yourfelf : it is you that
breeds fufpicion, iighing and pining about ; you look,
for all the world like a ghoft ; and, if you don't pluck
up your fpirits, you will be a ghoft foon ; letting
things get the better of you Though, to be fure,
when I thinks with myfelf, being crofs'd in love is a
terrible thing—There was a young man in the town
where I was born, made away with himfelf upon the
account of it. 83
Lion. Things (han't get the better of me, Jenny.
Jen. No more they don't ought. And once again
I fay, fortune is thrown in your diih, and you are not
to fling it out ; my lady's eftate will be better than
three bifhopricks, if Sir John could give them to you.
ThinK of that, Mr. Lionel, think of that.
Lion. Think of what ? go
AIR.
Oh talk not to me of the ovealth fie p(fiejfety
My hopes and my views to herfelf I confine ;
The fplendour of riches hut flightly imprejfes
A heart that is fraught with a paßon like mine.
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 43
By love, only love, ßould our fouls he cemented ¡
No infreß, no motive, but that viou'd I own ¡
With her in a cottage be bleß and contented.
And wretched without her, tho'plcu'd on a throne.
SCENE II.
Jenny, ColonelOldboy.
Col. Very well, my Lady, I'll come again to you
prefently, I am only going into the garden for a
mouthful of air. Aha! my little Abigail! Here, Molly!
Jenny ! Betty ! What's your name ? Why don't you
anfwer me, hulTy, when I call you ?
Jen. If you want any thing, Sir, I'll call oneoftlie
footmen.
Col, Thefootmen! the footmen! Damn me, I never
knew one of them, in my life, that wouldn't prefer a
rafcal to a gentleman—Come here, you flut, put your
hands about my neck and kifs me.
Jen. Who, I, Sir!
Col. Ay, here's money for you } what the devil are
you afraid of ? I'll take you into keeping j you ihall
go and live at one of my tenant's houfes.
Jen. 1 wonder you aren't afhamed. Sir, to make an
honeft girl any fuch propofial ; you that have a wor¬
thy gentlewoman, nay, a Lady of 3C0ur own—To .be
fure (he's a little ftricken in years ; but why fliouldn't
ihe grow elderly as well as yourfelf?
Col. Burn a lady, 1 love a pretty girl—
44 SC HOOî^ FOR fathers ; OR, Act n.
J^en. Weil, then yoa may go look for one, Sir, I
have no pretenfions to the title. 121
Col. Why, you pert baggage^ you don't know me.
^en. What do yoa pinch my fingers for? Yes, yes,
I know you well enough, and your charekter's well
known all over the country, running after poor young
creatures as you do, to ruinate them.
Col. What, then people fay
^en. Indeed, they talk very bad of you ; and what¬
ever you may think. Sir, though I'm iii a menial fta-
tion, I'm come of people that wou'dn't fee me put
upon ; there are thofe that wou'd take my part againfl:
the proudeft he in the land, that ihould offer any thing
uncivil. 133
Col. Well, come, let me know now, how does your^
young Lady lik>e my fon ?
^ea. You want to pump me, do you ? Ifuppofeyou
■vrouM know whether 1 can keep my tongue within
my teeth.
Col. She dofon't like him then ?
yen. I don't fay fo'. Sir—Isn't this afiiame, now—
I fuppofe to-morrow or next day it wiU be reported
that Jenny has been talking, Jenny faid that, and
t'other—But here. Sir, I ax you, Did I tell you any
fuch thing ?
Col. Why, yes, yott did.
yen. I !—Lord blefsme 1 how can yott ■
Col. Ad, I'll mouzle you.
yen. Ah! ah 1
Col. What do you bawl for ?
yen. Ah t ah ! ah !
Act ir, LIONEL AN» CLARISSA. Ai
AIR.
Indeed, forfooth, a pretty youth.
To play the amorous fool ;
At fuch an age, methinks your rc^e
Might he a little cool.
Fie, let me go. Sir.
Kifs me I—No, no. Sir.
Ton pull me, andßake me.
For what do you take me.
This ßgure to make me ?
I'd have you to know t6o
I'm not for your game. Sir ;
Nor voill I be tame. Sir.
Lord, have you no Jhame, Sir,
To tumble one fo ?
SCENE III.
Colonel Oldboy, Lady Mary, Diama,, Haemai4. .
Lady M. Mr. Oldboy, won't you give me your hand
to lead me up ftairs, my dear ?—Sir, I am prodigioußy
obliged to yon ; I proteft I have not been fo well, I
don't know when ; I have had no return of my bilious
complaint after dinner to day; and eat fo voraeioufly !
Did you obferve Mifs ? Doftor Arfnic will be quite
aftonifoed when he hears it ; forely his new invented
medicine ha dene me àprodigtous deal of for vice.
4« SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act II.
Col, Ah ! you'll always be taking one flop or other,
till you poifon yourfelf. 174
Lady M. It brought Sir Barnaby Drugg from
death's door, after having tried the Spaw and Briftol
waters without effeft : it is good for feveral things, in
many fovereign ; as in colds and confumptions, and
lownefs of fpirits : it Correéis the humours, reélifies
the juices, regulates the nervous fyftem, creates an ap¬
petite, prevents fluihings and ficknefs after meals, as
alio vain fears and head-achs ; it is the iineil: thing in
the world for an afthraa ; and no body that takes it, is
ever troubled with hyllericks. 184
Col. Give me a pinch of your Ladyfliip's fnufF.
Lady M. This is a mighty pretty fort of a man. Co¬
lonel, who is he !
Col. A young fellow, my Lady, recommended to
me.
Lady M. I protefl: he has the fweetefl: tafte for
poetry !—He has repeated to me two or three of his
own things ; and I have been telling him of the poem
my late brother Lord Jeflamy made on the moufe that
was drowned. 194
Col. Ay, a fine fubjeét for a poem ; a moufe that
was drowned in a
Lady M. Huih, my dear Colonel, don't mention
it ; to be fure the circumftance was vaftly indelicate j
but for the number of lines, the poem was as charming
a morfel—I hear the earl of Punley fay, who under-
ftood Latin, that it was equal to any thing in CatiJ-
ius. 202
Col. Well, how did you like your fon's behaviour
at dinner, Madam ? I thought the gid locked a little
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 47
aikew at him—^Why, he found fault with every thing
and contradiéted every body.
L. M. Softly, Mifs Flowerdale, I underftand, has
delired a private conference with him.
Col. What, Harman, have you got entertaining my
daughter there ? Come hither, Dy ; has he been giving
you a hiftory of the accident that brought him down,
here ? 212
Dlan. No,*î'apa, the gentleman has been telling—
he
Lady M. No matter what, Mifs—'tis not polite to
repeat what has been faid.
Col. Well, well, my Lady, you know the compaft
we made ; the boy is yours, the girl mine Give
me your hand, Dy. 219
Lady M. Colonel, I have done—Pray, Sir, was
there any news when you left London ; any thing
about the Eaft-lndies, the miniftry, or politics of any
kind ? 1 am ftrangely fond of politics ; but 1 hear
nothing fince my Lord Jeifamy's death ; he ufed to
write to me all the affairs of the nation, for he was a
very great politician himfelf. I have a manufcript
fpeech of his in my cabinet—He never ipoke it, but
it is as fine a thing as ever came from man ?
Col. What is that çrawling on your Ladylhip's pet¬
ticoat ? 230
Lady M. Where I Where !
Col. Zounds 1 a fpider with legs as long as my ami.
Lady M. Oh Heavens ! Ah don't let me look at itl
I ihall faint, 1 ihaU faint ! Alpider! aipider l a
fpider !
48 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ¡ OR, ActH.
SCENE IF.
Colonel Oldboy, Diana, Harman.
Col. Hold ; zounds let her go ; I knew the fpider
would fet her a galloping, with her damned fufs
about her brother, my Lord Jeflamy.—Harman, come
here.—How do you like my daughter ? Is the girl
you are in love with as handfome as this ? 240
Har. In my opinion, Sir.
'Col. What, as handfome as Dy!—I'll lay you
twenty pounds Ihe has not fuch a pair of eyes. He
tells me he's in love, Dy; raging mad for love, and, by
his talk, I begin to believe him.
Dim. Now, for my part, Papa, I doubt it very
much ; though, by what I heard the gentleman iky
juft now within, I find he imagines the lady has a
violent partiality for him ; and yet he may be miftaken
there too.
Col. For fliame, Dy, what the mifchief do you
mean ? How can you talk fo tartly to a poor young
fellow under misfortunes ! Give him your hand, and
alle his pardon.—Don't mind her, Harman. For
all this, ihe is as good natnred a little devil, as ever
was born.
Har. You may remember. Sir, I told you before
dinner, that I had for fome time carried on a private
corre^ndeoce with my lovely girl ; and tliat her
father, whofe confent we deipair of obtaining, is the
great obftacle to our happinefs. 259
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 49
Col. Why don't you carry her oíF in Ipight of him,
then ?—I ran away with my wife—aik my Lady Mary,
Ihe'll tell you the thing herfelf.—Her old conceited
Lord of a father thought I was not good enough ; but
I mounted a garden-wall, notwithftanding their che-
veux-de-frize of broken glafs bottles, took her out
of a three pair of flairs window, and brought he»
down a ladder in my arms By the way, ihe would
have fqueezed through a cat-hole to get at me.—
And I would have taken her out of the Tower of
London, damme, if it had been furrounded with the
three regiments of guards. 271
Dian. But, furely, Papa, you would not perfuade
the gentleman to fuch a proceeding as this is ; confider
the noife it will make in the country ; and if you are
known to be the advifer and abettor—
Col. Why, what do I care ? I fay, if he takes my
advice he'll run away with her, mid I'll give him all
the ailiflance I can.
Har. I am fure, Sir, you are very kind ; and, to
tell you the truth, I have more than once had the very
fcheme in my head, if I thought it wasieahble, and
knew how to go about it.
Col. Feafible, and knew how to go about it ! The
thing's feafible enough, if the girl's wiUing to go
off with yc^ and you have fpirit fuñicient to under«
take it.
Har. Oj^Wbr Aat, Sir, I can anfwer.
Dian. What, Sîr, that the|lady will be willing to
go off with you ? 289
Har. No, Ma'^m, that I have Ipirit enough to take
her, if ihe i^^ilfing to go ; and thus far i dare ven-
50 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act II.
ture to promife, that between this and to-morrow
morning I will find out whether Ihe is or not.
Col, So he may ; (he lives but in this county ; and
tell her, Harman, you have met with a friend, who
is inclined to ferve you. You ihall have my poft-
chaife at a minute's warning ; and if a hundred
pieces will be of any ufe to you, you may command
'em.
Har. And are you really ferious, Sir ? 300
Col. Serious ; damme if I an't. I have put twenty
young fellows in the way of getting girls that they
never would have thought of : and bring her to my
houfe ; whenever you come, you ihall have a fupper
and a bed ; but you muft marry her firft, becaufe my
Lady will be fqueamiih.
Dian. Well, but^ my dear Papa, upon my word
you have a great deal to anfwer for : fuppofe it was
your own cafe to have a daughter in fuch circum-
Aances, would you be obliged to any one 310
Col. Hold your tongue, hufly, who bid you put in
your oar ? However, Harman, I don't want to let
you upon any thing ; 'tis no affair of mine to be fure ;
I only give you advice, and tell you how I would ait,
if I was in your place.
Har. I alfure you. Sir, I am quite chaim'd with
the advice ; and fince you are ready t^Bcand my
friend, I am determined to follow it.
Col. You are
Har. Pofitively * 3 20
Col. Say no more then ; here's my hand :—You
underftand me—No occafion to talk any further of it
at prefent—When we are alone—^Dy, take Mr. Har-
Act ir. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 51
man into the drawing-room, and give him (bme tea.
—I fay, Harman, Mum.—
Har. O, Sir.
Col. What do you mean by your grave looks, mit
trefs ?
AIR.
Hoio curfedly vext the oldfellow will ¿í.
When he finds you have fnapt up his daughter ;
But Jhift as he willy leave the matter to me,
And I warrant you foon JhaU have caught her.
What a plague and a pox.
Shall an ill natur'd fox
Prevent youth and beauty ,
From doing their duty ?
He ought to he fet in the fiocks.
He merits the law ;
Aid if we can't bite him.
By gad we'll indite him.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha i
SCENE r.
Diana, Harman.
Dion. Sir, I delire to know what grofs afls of im¬
prudence you have ever difcovered in me, to authorize
st SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act 11.
you in this licence, or make you imagine I Ihould not
fliew fuch marks of my refentment as your monftrous
treatment of me deferves,
liar. Nay, my dear Diana, I confefs I have been
rather too bold ;—but confider, I languiih'd to fee
you : and when an opportunity offer'd to give me that
pleafure without running any rifque, either of your
quiet or reputation, how hard was it to be refifted ?
'Tis true, I little thought my vifit would be attended
with fuch happy confequences as it now feems to pro-
miie.
Dian. What do you mean ?
liar. Why, don't you fee your father has an incli¬
nation I ihould run a\vay with you, and is contriving
the means himfelf?
Dtan, And do you think me capable of concurring ?
Do you think I have no more duty ? 360
Har. I don't know that, Madam ; I am fure your
refiifing to feize fuch an opportunity to make me
happy, gives evident prqoft that you have very little
love.
I>ian. If there is no way to convince you of my
love but by my indifcretion, you are welcome to con¬
fider it in what light you pleafe.
Har. Was ever fo unfortunate a dog ?
Dian. Very pretty this upon my word ; but is it
pofiible you can be in earneft ? 370
Har. It is a matter of too much confequence to jeft
about.
JDian. And you ferioully think I ought
Har. You are fenfible there are no hopes of your
father's cooly and wittingly confenting to our mar-
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. Si
riage ; chance has thrown in our way a whimilcal
method of furprizing him into a cajupliance, and why
Ihould not we avail ourfelves of it ?
Dian, And ib you would have me—
Har. I ihall fay no more, Ma'am. 380
Dim. Nay, but, for Heaven's fake»*«
Har. No, Madam, no ; I have done.
Dian. And are you pofitivèly in this violent fuis
about the matter, or only giving yourfelf airs ?
Har. You may fuppofe what you think proper,
Madam.
Dian. Well, come 5—let us go into the drawing-
room and drink tea, and afterwards we'll talk of
matters.
Har. I won't drink any tea. 390
Diatt. Why fo ?
Har. Becaufe I don't like it.
Dian. Not like it ! Ridiculous.
Har. I wifh you would let me alone.
Dian. Nay, pr'ythee
Har. I won't.
Dian. Well, will you, if 1 cpnfent to aft as you
pleafe ?
Har. I don't know whether I will or not,.
Dian. Ha, ha, ha, poor Harman. 400
AIR.
Come then, pining, peeviß lover,
Tell me ouhat to do and fay }
Front your doleful dumps recover.
Smile, and it fhall have its way.
54 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, ACT II.
With thi^r humours^ thus to tea%e us.
Men are Jure theßrangeß elves !
Silly creatures, would you pleafeus,
Tou ßiouldßillfeem pleased yourfehies.
SCENE FI.
Harman.
Say'ft thou fo, ray girl ! Then Love renounce me,
if I drive not old Truepenny's humour to the utter*
moil.—Let me conlider ;—what ill coniequence can
pollibly attend it i—^The defign is his own, as in part
will Tae the execution.—He may perhaps be angry
when he finds out the deceit.—Well ;—he deceives
himfelf ; and faults we commit ourfelves, we feldom
find much difficulty in pardoning.
AIR.
Hence with caution, hence with fear.
Beauty prompts, and nought Jhtdlßqy me ;
Boldly for that prize IJleer }
Rocks, nor winds, nor waves difmay me. 420
Yet, rcfh lover, look behind,
Think what evils may betide you g '
Love andfortune both are blind.
And you have none elfe to guide you-.
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
SS
SCENE VIL
Changes to a handfome Drejfing-room, fuppofed to be
ClarissaV. On oneJide, between the IVings, is a
Table with a Glafs, Boxes, and two Chairs. Diana
enters before Jessamy.
Dian, Come, brother, I undertake to be mlftre(s of
the ceremony upon this occafion, and introduce you
to your firft audience.—Mifs Flowerdale is not here,
I perceive; but no matter.—
Mr, Jes. Upon my word, a pretty elegant drelling
room this ; but confound our builders, or architeéte,
as they call themfelves, they are all errant ftone-
mafons ; not one of them know the fituation of doors,
windows, or chimnies ; which are as eflential to a
room as eyes, nofe and mouth to a countenance.
Now, if the eyes are where the mouth fliould be, and
the liofe out of proportion and its place ; quelle horrible
phyfonomie ?
Dian. My dear brother, you are not come here as
a virtuofo to admire the temple ; but as a votary to
addrefs the deity to whom it belongs. Shew, I be*
feech you, a little more devotion, and tell me, how
do you like Mils Flowerdale i don't you think her
very handfome ?
Mr. Jes. Pale; but that I am determined Ihe
fhall remedy ; for, as foon as we are married, I will
make her put on rouge :—Let me fee ;—^has ihe got
any in her boxes here ; Veritable toilet a V Angloife.
Nothing but a bottle of Hungary-water, two or three
D
sS 3CH0QL FOR FATHERS; OR, Acr II.
rows of pins, n paper of patches, and a little bole-ar-
moniac by way of tooth-powder. 450
Dian. Brother, I would fain give you fome advice
upon this occaiion, which may be of fervice to you ;
You are now going to entertain a young Lady-—Let
me prevail upon you to lay alîde thofe airs, on ac¬
count of which, feme people are impertinent enoiigh
to call you a coxcomb ; for, I am afraid, ftie may be
apt to think you a coxcomb too, as I alTure you, ihe is
very capable of diftinguiihing.
Mr. Jes, So much the worfe for me.—»If ihe is ca¬
pable of diílinguiíhing, I ihall meet with a terrible re-
pulfe. I don't believe Ihe'll have me.
Dian. I don't believe ihe will, indeed.
Mr. Jes. Go on, fifter,—ha, ha, ha!
Dian. I proteft I am ferious—Though, I perceive,
you have more faith in the counfellor before you
there, the looking-glafs. But give me leave to tell
you, it is not a powder'd head, a lac'd coat, a gri¬
mace, a ilirug, a bow, or a few pert phrafes, learnt
by rote, that conftitutes the power of pleaiing all wo¬
men. 470
Mr. Jes. You had better return to the gentleman,
and give him his tea, my dear»
Dian. Thefe qualifications we find in our parrots
and monkles. I would undertake to içach Poll, in
three weeks, the faihionable jargon of half tlie fine
men about town 3 and I am fure it muft be allowed,
that pug, in a fçarlet coat, is a gentleman as dégagé
and alluri^ as nwft of them.
ActU. I.10N-EL AND CLARISSA.
'$•7
AIR.
Laáitst pr^ adnáre a figure^
Feat filan le dentier gout. .^80
JFiifit bis hal, inßeee no bigger
Fhm a Cbinefi taoman'eß>oe ¡
Six yards of ribbon bind
Hit hair en baton behind:
While his forertop's fo high,
Thea in crown he may vie
With the tifted coekatoo.
Then his waiß fi long emd tcper,
'Tis an atriste threadpaper :
Maids refiß him, you.that can, 450
Odd's Rfe, if this is all th' affair,
PU clip a hat on, dub my hair.
And codi myfelf a Mtm.
SCENE VIIL
ClarissA} Mr, Jebsamy.
dar. Sir, I to^k the liberty to deike a few momait's
prirate converfation with you—I hope you will exciife
it—I am, really, greatly embarraffed. But, in an af¬
fair of fuch immediate confequence to us both—
Mr. yes. My dear creature, don't be embairafs'd
before me ; I ihould be extremely forry to ilrifce you
D z
j« SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act II.
with any awe ; but, this is a fpecies of mauvaife
honte, which the company I ihall introduce you to,
will Ibon cure you of.
Ciar. Upon my word, Sir, I don't underftand you.
Mr. Jes. Perhaps you may be under fome uneail-
nefs left I ftiould not be quite fo warm in the profe-
cution of this aifair, as you could wilh : it is true
with regard to quality, I might do better ; and, with
regard to fortune, full as well—But, you pleafe me—
Upon my foul, I have not met with any thing more
agreeable to me a great while.
Ciar, Pray, Sir, keep your feat.
Mr. yes. Mauvatfe honte again. My dear, there is
nothing in theiê Httle familiarities between you and
me—When we are married, I lhall do every thing to
render your life happy. 509
Ciar. Ah ! Sir, pardon me. The happinefs of my
life depends upon a circumftance
Mr. Jes. Oh ! I underftand you—You have been
■told, I fuppofe, of the Italian opera girl—Rat peoples'
tongues—However, 'tis true, I had an affair with her
at Naples, and fhe is now here. But, be fatisfied :
I'll give her a thoufand pounds, and fend her about
her bufinefs.
Chr. Me, Sir ! I proteft nobody told me—Lord!
I never heard any fuch thing, or enquired about it.
Mr. yes. No I have they not been chattering to you
of my affair at Pifa, with the Principeffa del——
Chr. No, indeed. Sir.
Mr. yes. Well, I was afraid they might, becauie,
in this rude country—But, why filent on a fudden I
..f—don't be afraid to IpeaL
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 59
Ciar. No, Sir, 1 will come to the fubjedl, on which
1 took the liberty to trouble you-—Indeed, I have
great reliance on your generofity.
Mr. Jes. You'll find me generous as a prince, de¬
pend on't. 530
Ciar. I am blefs'd. Sir, with one of the heft of fa¬
thers : I never yet difobeyed him ; in which I have
had little merit; for his commands hitherto have only
been to fecure my own felicity. 540
Mr. Jes. Apres ma chere—
Ciar. But now. Sir, I am under the (hocking necef-
fity of difobeying him, or being wretched for ever.
Mr. Jes. Hem !
Ciar. Our union is impolBble—^my prefent fituation
—^the gloomy prolpeit before me—the inquietiade of
my mind
AIR.
Poor panting heart, ah! wilt thou ever
Throb within my troubled breafl ;
Shall I fee the moment never, 5 JO
That is doom'd to ¿we thee refl ?
Cruelßars ! that thus torment me.
Still I feeh for eafe in vain.
All my efforts but prefesU me
With variety of pain.
éo SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, Act II.
SCENE IX.
Jessamv, Jenkins.
Mr. yes. Who's there ?
yen. Do you call, Sir ?
Mr. yes. Hark you, old gentkman ! who are you ?
yen. Sir, my name is Jenkins.
Mr. yes. Oh ! you are Sir John Flowerdale's fte-
ward ; a ferrant he puts confidence in. 561
yen. Sir, I have ferved Sir John Flowerdale many
years : he is the heft of mailers ; and, I believe, he
has ibnie dépendance on my attachment and fidelity.
Mr. yes. Then, Mr. Jenkins, I ihallcondefcendto
fpeak to you. Does your mailer know who I am ?
Does he know. Sir, that I am likely to be a Peer of
Great Britain ? That I have ten thoufand pounds a
year ; that I have paifed through all Europe with dif-
tinguiihed eclat.; that I refufed the daughter of Myn¬
heer Van Slokenfolk, the great Dutch burgomailer ;
and, that, if I had not had the misfortune of being
bred a proteilant, I might have married the niece of his
prefent holineís the Pope, with a fortune of two hun¬
dred thoufand piailm f
yen. I am fure. Sir, my mafter has all the refpeél
imaginable
Mr. yes. Then, Sir, how comes he, after my ihew-
ing an inclination to be allied to his family ; how
comes he, I fay, to bring me to his houfe to be af¬
fronted ? I have let his daughter go ; but, I think, I
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 6r
was in the wrong ; for a woman that infiilts me, is no
more fafe than a man. I hate brought a Lady to
reafon before now, for giving me fancy language ;
and left her male friends to reteilge it.
Jen. Pray, good Sir, what's the matter ?
Mr, Jes. Why, Sir, this is the matter, Sir—^your
mailer's daughter. Sir, has behaved to me with
damn'd infolence, and iiUpettinence : and you may
tell Sir John Flowerdale, firll, with regard to her,
that 1 think (he is a filly, igaotant, awkward, ill-bred
country pu6>
Jen. Oh ! Sir, for Heaven's fake
Mr, Jes. And, that with regard to himfelf, he is,
in my opinion, an old, doating, ridiculous, country
'fquire ; without the knowledge of either men or
things ; and, that be is below my notice, if it were
not to defpife him.
Jen. Good Lord ! Good Lord !
Mr. Jes. And, advife him and his daughter to keep
Out of my way j for, by gad I will affront them, in
the firft place I meet them——And, if your mailer
is for carrying things further ; tdl him, I fence bet¬
ter than any man in Europe.
AIR.
In Italy, Germany, Frmtee have I been ;
Where princes I've Itv'd with, where monarcbs I've
feent
The great have carefs'd me.
The fair have addrefs'd me.
Nay, /miles I have hadfrom a queen.
63 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS j OR, Act II.
^nd, noiUffiall a pert,
Inßgnißcantßirt,
With injolence ufe me,
Prefume to refufe me /
She fancies my pride tvill be hurt.
But tout au contraire,
Pm pleas''d I declare,
^ite happy, to think, I efcape from the fnare :
Serviteur Mamfelle } my claim J nuithdraeu.
Hey, where are my people? Fal, lal, led, lal, la. 619
SCENE X.
Jenkins.
I muft go and inform Sir John of what has happen¬
ed } but, I will not tell him of the outrageous beha¬
viour of this young ipark ; for he is a man of fpirit,
and would refent it. , Egad, my own fingers itched to
be at him, once or twice ; and, as ftout as he is, I
fancy thefe old fifts would give him a bellyful. He
complains of Mifs Clarifia : but (he is incapable of
treating him in the manner he fays. Perhaps, ihe
may have behaved with fome coldnels towards him ;
and yet, that is a myftery to me too.
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 63
AIR.
We all fay the man "was exceedingly Inowing, 630
jind knowing moß furely ivas he.
Who found out the caufe of the ebbing andflowing.
The flux and reflux of the fea.
Nor was he in knowledge farfrom it.
Who flrfl mark'd the courfe of a comet ;
To what it was owing.
Its coming and going.
Its wanderings hither and thither ;
But the man that divines
j1 Lady's deflgns, 640
Thàr caufe or effeB,
In any refpeB,
Is wifer than both put together.
SCENE XI.
Changes to Sir John Fuowerdale'j Garden ; with a
View of a Canal, by Moon-Ught : the Side Scenes re-
prefent Box-hedges, intermixed with Statues and Flow-
ering Shrubs, Lionel enters, leadng Clarissa.
Lion. Hill—methought I heard a noife—Ihould
we be furprifed together, at a junâure fo critic^ ;
what nùght be the confequence—I know not how it
D3
64 SCHOOL FOK. FATHERS ; OR, Act If.
is ; but, at this the happieft moment of my life, 1 feel
a damp, a tremor, at my heart
Ciar. Then, what ihould I do ? If you tremble, I
©ught to be terrified indeed, who hare difcovered
fentiments, which, perhaps, I ihould have hid, with
a franknefs, that, by a man lels generous, lefs noble
minded than yourfelf, might be conftnied to my dif-
advantage. 654
Lion. Ohl wound me not with fo crael aa expref-
fion—You love me, and have coodefcended to con-
fefs it—You have feen my torments, and been kind
enough to pity them—The world, indeed, may blame
you
Ciar. And, yet, was it proclaimed to die world,
what could the moit malicióos fuggeA ? They could
but fay, that, truth and lincerity got the better of
forms ; that the tongue dar'd to Ipeak the honeif
fenfations of the mind ; that, while you aimed at
improving my underftanding, you engaged, and con¬
quered my heart.
Lion. And, is it ! is it poiTible !
Ciar. Be calm, and liilen to me; what I have done
has not been lightly imagined, nor raihly undertaken :
it is the work of refleilion, of conviition ; my love is
not a facrifice to my own fancy, but a tribute to your
worth J did I think there was a more deferring man
in the world
Lion. If, to doat on you more than life, be to de-
fcrve yoB, fo far I have merit ; if, to have no wiih,
no hope, no thoi^t, but ywà, can entitle me to the
envied di&inôion of a moment's legard, fo £u I dare
pretend. 678
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. «S
Ciar. That, I have this day refufed a man, with
whom I could not be happy, I make no merit : born
for quiet and fimplicity, the cronds of the world, the
noife attending pomp and diñinélipa, have no charms
for me: I wiih to pafs my life in rational tranquility,
with a friend, whofe virtues I can re^â, whole ta¬
lents I can admire ; who will make my efteem the ba¬
lls of my affeftion.
Lton. O charming creature ! yes, let me indulge the
flattering idea ; form'd with the fame fentiments, the
fame feelings, the fame tender paflion for each other ,•
Nature defigo'd us to compofe that facred union,
which nothing but death can annul, 691
C/ar. One only thing remember. Secure in each
other's affcflions, here we mull reft; I would not
give my father a moment's pain, to purchafe the em¬
pire of the world.
JL/Ö«. Command, dilpoie of me as you pleade ; an¬
gels take cognizance of the vows of innocence and
virtue ; and, I will believe that ours arc already re-
gifter'd in Heaven.
C/ar. I will believe fo too. 7©o
AIR.
Go, and, on my truth relßng.
Comfort to your cares applying.
Bid each douht and forrow flying.
Leave topease, and love y¡mr hrecft.
66 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act.II.
Ge, and may the Pow'rs that hear us,
Still, as kind proteSors near us.
Through our troubles fafely Jleer us
To a port of joy and reß.
SCENE XII.
Lionel, Sir John Flow&rdale.
Sir John. Who's there ? Lionel ?
Lion. Heavn's ! 'tis Sir John Flowerdale. 710
Sir John. Who's there ?
Lion. 'Tis I, Sir ; I am here, Lionel.
Sir John. My dear lad, I have been fearching fbr
you this half hour, and was at laft told you had come
into the garden : I have a piece of news, which I
dare Iwear will Ihock and furprize you; my daughter
has refufed Colonel Oldboy's fon, who is this minute
departed the houfe in violent refentment of her ill-
treatment.
Lion. Is he gone, Sir ? 720
Sir John. Yes, and the family are preparing to fol-
Jow him. Oh ! Lionel, Clarifla has deceived me : in
this affair fhe has fuffered me to deceive myfelf. The
mcäfures which I have been fo long preparing, are
broken in a moment-.—my hopes fruftrated ! and both
páfties, in the eye of the world, rendered light and
ridiculous.
Lion. I am ferry to fee youfo much moved; pray.
Sir, recover yourfelf. 729
Act It. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 67
Sir John. I am lorry, Lionel, Ihe has profited no
better by your leilbnS of philolbphy, than to impofe
upon and diñrefs fo kind a father.
Lion. Have jufter thoughts of her. Sir: (he has
not impofed on you, Ihe is incapable—have but a lit¬
tle patience and things may yet be brought about.
Sir John. No, Lionel, no ; the matter is paft, and
there's an end to it ; yet I would conjeflure to what
fuch an unexpedled turn in her conduit can be owing ;
I would fain be fatisfied of the motive that could urge
her to fo extraordinary a proceeding, without the
leaft intimation, the leaft warning to me, or any of
her friends. 742
Lion. Perhaps, Sir, the gentleman may have been
too impetuous, and offended Mifs Flowerdale's deli¬
cacy—certainly nothing elfe could occafion
Sir John. Heaven only knows—I think, indeed,
there can be no fettled averfion, and furely her affec¬
tions are not engaged elfewhere.
Lion. Engag'd, Sir No, Sir.
Sir John. I think not, Lionel.
Lion. You may be pofitive. Sir—I'mfure
Sir John. O worthy young man, whofe integrity,
opennefs, and every good quality have rendered dear
to me as my own child, I fee this affair troubles you
as much as it does me.
Lion. It troubles me indeed, Sir.
Sir John. However, my particular dilappointment
ought not to be detrimental to you, nor ihall it: I
well know how irkfome it is to a generous mind to live
in a ftate of dépendance, and have long had it in my
thoughts to make you çafy for life. 761
6S SCHOOL POS. FATHERS -, OR, Act 11.
Lion. Sir John, the ütuation of my mind at prefent
is a little diftttrb'd—^re me—I befeech yon, ipare
me ; why will yon perfift in a goodnefs that makes
me afiiam'd of myfelf Í
Sir John. There is an eftate in this county, which I
purchafed fome years ago ; by me it will never be
mified, and who ever marries my daughter will have
little reafon to conqdain of my difpoitng ^ fach a
trifie for my own gratification. On the prefent mar¬
riage 1 intended to perfedl a deed of gift in your fa¬
vour, which has been for fome tbne preparing ; my
lawyer has th» day completed it, and it is yours, my
dear Lionel, with every good wilh that the warmeft
friend can beftow.
Lion. Sir, If you prefented a piftol with delign to
(hoot me, 1 would fubmit to it ; but you muil excufe
me, 1 cannot lay myfelf under more ohligatiocs.
Sir yohn. Your delicacy carries you too far; in this
I confer a favour on myfelf: however, we'll talk no
more on the fubjeö at preient, let us walk towards
the houfe, cur friends wiU dejai t eife without my
bidding them adieu. ^83
SCENE XIII.
Diana, Clarissa, andafteriuards Lionel.
Diem. So then, niy dear Clariâà, you really give
credit to the nmngs of tiiat French wretch, with re¬
gard to a plurality of worlds ?
Act ir. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. «9
Clor. I don't make it an abfolute article of belief,
but I think it an ingenious conjefture with great pro¬
bability on its fide. 789
Dian. And we are a moon to the moon ! Nay, child,
1 know fomething of aftronomy, but—that that
little (hining thing there, which feems not much larger
than a filver plate, ihould, perhaps, contain great
cities like London ; and who carr tell but they may
have kings there and parliaments, and plays and ope¬
ras, and people of faihiom! Lord, the pec^e offaihion
in the moon muft be ftrange creatures.
Ciar, Methinks Venus Ihines very Iwight in yonder
corner. 799
Dian. Venus ! O pray let me look at Venus ; Ï fup-
pofe, if there are any inhabitants there, tfaey muft be
all lovers.
Lion. Was ever fuch a wretch—I can't ftay a mo¬
ment in a place ; where is my repofe ?—fled with my
virtue. Was I then born for falihood and dilEmuIa-
tioo ? I was, I was, and I live to be conicious of it ;
to ianpofe upon my friend ; to betray my benefaftor
and lie to hide my ingratitude—a monfter in a mo¬
ment—No, I may be the moft unfortunate of men,
but I will not be the moft odious ; while my heart is
yet capable of diflating what is honeft, I will obey its
.voice. 812
70 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act 11.
SCENE XIV.
Diana, Clarissa, Lionel, ColonelOi,v>^o'v, Har-
man.
Col. Dy, where are you ? What the mifchief, is
this a time to be walking in the garden ? The coach
has been ready this half hour, arid your Mamma is
waiting for you,
Dian. I am learning aftronomy, Sir ; do you know.
Papa, that the moon is inhabited ?
Col. Huffy, you are half a lunatic yourfelf ; come
here, things have gone juft as I imagin'd they wou'd,
the girl has refus'd your brother, I knew he mnft dit
guft her. 822
Dian. Women will want tafte now and then, Sir.
Col. But 1 muft talk to the young Lady a little.
Har. Well, I have had a long conference with your
father about the elopement, and he continues firm in
his opinion that I ought to attempt it : in ihort, all
the neceffary operations are fettled between us, and
I am to leave his houfe to-morrow morning, if I can
butperfuade the young Lady 830
Dian. Ay, but I hope the young Lady will have
more fenfe—Lord, how can you teaze me with your
nonfenfe ? Come, Sir, is'nt it time for us to go in ?
Her Ladyfhip will be impatient.
Col. Friend Lionel, good night to you ; Mifs Cla-
riffa, my dear, though I am father to the puppy who
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 51
has difpleafed yon, give me a kifs ; yoii ferv'd him
right, and I thank you for it.
AIR.
Col. 0 mihat a night is here for love !
Cynthia brightly Jhining above ;
Among the trees.
To theßghing breeze.
Fountains tinhling;
Stars a twinkling,
Dian. 0 what a night is here for love !.
So may the morn propitious prove ¡
Har. And fo it will, if right I guefs ;
For fometimes light.
As well as night,
A lover's hopes may blefs.
A. 2. Farewell my friend.
May gentle reß
Calm each tumult in your hreqfl.
Every pain and fear remove.
Lion. What have I done ?
Where Jhall I run.
With grief and fhame at once opprefl ¡
How my own upbraiding fbun.
Or meet my friend dißreß ?
A, 3. Hark to Philomel, how fweet.
From yonder elm.
Col. Tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet.
7a SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act Ii.
A, ¡, 0 what a night is here fir love !
But vainly natureßrives to tnove.
Nor nightingale among the trees.
Nor twinklingfiars, norfighing breeze.
Nor murmuringßrsAms,
Nor Phtthe's beams.
Can charm, mlefs the heart''s at eafe.
ACT III. SCENE I.
A Room in Colonel Os.'dwï'sHottfe. HhiimA.n enters
with his Hat, Boots, and Whip,filhwtdhy'D\iin.k.
Diana.
Pr'ythee, hear me.
Har. My dear, what would you fay ?
Dian. I am afraid of the ftep we are going to take ;
indeed, I am: 'tis true my father is the contriver of
it ; but, really, on conCderation, I thmk I fliould ap¬
pear lefs culpable if he was not fo ; I am at once cri¬
minal myfelf, and rendering him ridiculous.
Har. Do you love me ? 8
Dian. Suppole I do, you give me a very ill proof
of your love for me, when you would take advantage
of my tendernefs, to blind my reafon : how can you
have fo little regard for my honour as to facrifice it
to a vain triumph ? For it is mi that light I fee the ralh
adtion you are forcing me to commit ; nay, methinks
my confeflttng to it fttould injure me in your own
Act III. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 7Î
efteem. When a woman forgets what (he owes her-
felf, a lover fliould fet little value upon any thing (he
gives to him. 18
Har. Can you íóppofe then, Can yon imagine, that
my paffion -will ever make me forget the veneration
And, an elopement is nothing, when it is on the
road to matriiriony.
Dion. At heft, I fliall incur the cenfure of difo-
bedience, and indilcretion ; and is it nothifeg to a
young woman, wliat the world ik3rs of her ? Ah ! my
good friend, be affured, fuch a difregard of the world
is the firft ftep towards delèrviog its reproaches.
Har, But, the neceffity we are under—Mankind
has too much good fonfo, too much good nature—
Dian. Every one has good fenfe enough to fee other
peoples' faults, and good nature enough to overlook
their own. Befides, the mofl facred things may be
made an ill ufe of, and even marriage itfelf, if inde¬
cently and improperly-— 34
Har. Come, get yourfelf ready : where is your
band-box, hat, and clbakf Slip" into the garden : be
there at the iron-gate, which you fltówed rae juft now;
and, as the poft-chaife comes round, I will ftep and
take you in.
Dxttn, Dear Harman, let me beg of you to defift.
Har. I>ear l>iana, let me beg of yoa to go on. 41
Dian. I fliall never have refolution to catty me
through it.
Har. We fliall have four horfts, my dear, and they
will affiftus.
Dian. In fliort—I—-—cannot go with you.
Har. But before me—into the garden—^Wön't yon?
74 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act III.
AIR.
Dian. How can you, Inhuman I petjtfl to dißrefs me ?
My danger, my fears, 'tis in vain to difguife :
Tou know them, yetßill to deßruElion youprefs me,
jindforce thatfrompqßion whichprudence denies,
J fain would oppofe a perverfe inclination ; 52
The vifons of fancy, from reafon divide ¡
With fortitude baffle the wiles of temptation.
And let love no longer make folly its guide.
SCENE II,
Colonel Oldboy, Harmah.
Col, Hey-day! what's the meaning of this ? Who is
it went out of the room, there? Have you and my
daughter been in conference, Mr. Harman ?
Har. Yes, faith, Sir, ftie has been taking me to talk
here very feverely, with regard to this affair ; and fhe
has faid fo much againit it, and put it into fuch a
Ärange light 62
Col, A buly, impertinent baggage 5 egad I wifh I
had catched her meddling, and after I ordered her
not : but you have fent to the girl, and you fay
fhe is ready to go with you ; you muft not difappoint
her now.
Act m. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. >}$
Har. No, no, Colonel; I always have polite nefs
enough to hear a lady's reafons; but conllancy enough
to keep a will of my own. 69
Col. Very well—^now let me alk you,—don't you
think it would be proper, upon this occahob, to have
a letter ready writ for the father, to let him know who
has got his daughter, and fo forth i
Har. Certainly, Sir ; and I'll write it diredlly.
Col. You write it! you be damn'd ! I won't truft
you with it ; I tell you, Harman, you'll commit fome
curfed blunder, if you don't leave the management of
this whole affair to me : I have writ the letter for you
myfelf.
Har. Have you, Sir ? 80
Col. Ay—here, read it; I think it's the thing: how¬
ever, you are welcome to make any alteration.
Har. " Sir, I have loved your daughter a great
while, fecretly ; ihe affures me there is no hope of
your confenting to our marriage ; I therefore take
her without it. I am a gentleman who will ufe her
well : and, when you confider the matter, I dare
fwear you will be willing to give her a fortune. If
not, you fhall find I dare behave myfelf like a man—
A word to the wife—^You muft expeil to hear from
me in another llile." 91
Col. Now, Sir, I will tell you what you muft do
with this letter : as foon as you have got off with the
girl. Sir, fend your fervant back to leave it at the
houfe, with orders to have it delivered to the old
gentleman.
Har. Upon my honour, I will, Colonel.
76 SCHOOL. FOR FATHEE.S; OR, Act III.
Cal> But, upon my ko90tu<» I don't believs you'll
gQt the girl : come, Harman, I'll bet you a buck, and.
iix dozen of Burgundy, that you won't ba«« i^irit
enough to bring this affair to a crifls. loi
Netr. And, I iky done fjrft, Colonel.
Col. Then look into the court there. Sir ; a chaile
with four of the prettLeft bay geldings in Engiaiid,
with two boys in fearkt and iilver jackets, that will
vhiilt you dong.
Har. Boys ! Colonel î Little ei^ids, to tranlport
me to the iummit of my deßres. loS
Col. Ay, but for all that, it mayn't be amifs for me
to talk to them a little out of the window for you.
Dick, come hither j you are to go with this gentle¬
man, and do whatever he bids you ) and take into
the chaiiè whoever he pleafes ; and, drive like devils,
do you hear ; but be kind to the dumb beafts.
Har. Leave that to me. Sir——And fo, my dear
Colonel—
AIR.
To fear aßranger,
behold the fol^r arm ;
He kntios no dfrnger^
Whe'n honour founds the alarm ; I io
0«/ dauntlefs god,
Hmong his foes.
In Cupicis militia.
So fearlefs I iffite ;
And, as you fee,
Arm^d cap-a-pie,
Refolve on death or viäory. 127
Act III. LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
'73
SCENE HE
Colonel Oldbov, Latfy Marv, and then Jenby.
Lady M. Mr. Oldboy, here is a, note frpjn Sir John
Flowerdale, it is addrefled to me, intfeating my (bn
to come over there again- this morning. A maid
brought it: iho is in the anti-chaniber—We had
better fpeak to her—4^hild, child, why don't you
come in ?
yen. I chufe to ftay where I am» if youi ladyfliip
pleafes.
Lady M. Stay where you are ! why fp ?
Jen. I am afraid of the old gentleman there.
Col. Afraid of me, huify.
Lady Mi Pray, Colonel, have patience—Afraid-
Here is fomething at the bottom of this—What did
you mean by that expreffion, child ? 14. i
Jen. Why, the Colonel knows very well, Madam,
he wanted to be rude with me yefterday.
Laefy M. Oh Mr. Oldboy !
Col. Lady Mary, don't provoke me, but let me
talk to the girl about her buflnefs. How came yo»
to bring this note here ?
Jen. Why, Sir John gave it to me, to deliver to
my uncle Jenkins, and I took it down to his houle ;
but while we were talking together, he remembered
that he had fome bufinds with Sir John, fo he deiired
me to bring it, becaufe he faid it was not proper to be
fent by any of the common fervants. i y 5
"yS SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, Act lit.
Lady M. Colonel, look in my face, and help
blufhing if you can.
Cal. What the plague's the matter, my Lady ! I
have not been wronging you, now, as you call it.
Jen. Indeed, Madam, he offer'd to make me his
kept Madam : I am fure his ufage of me put me into
fuch a twitter, that 1 did not know what I was doing
all the day after. i6i
Lady M. I don't doubt it, though I fo lately for¬
gave him : but, as the poet fays, his fex is all deceit.
Read Pamela, child, and refill temptation.
yen. Yes, Madam, I will.
Col. Why, I tell you, my Lady, it was all a joke.
Jen. No, Sir, it was no joke, you made me a prof¬
fer of money, fo you did, whereby I told you, you
had a lady of your own, and that though ihe was old,
you had no right to defpife her. 170
Lady M. And how dare you, miftrefs, make ufe
of my name ? Is it for fuch trollops as you to talk of
perfons of diílinélion behind their backs ?
yen. Why, Madam, I only faid you was in years.
Lady M. Sir John Flowerdale lhall be infqrm'd
of your impertinence, and you lhall be turned out of
the family ; I fee you are a confident creature, and I
believe you are no better than you Ihould be.
yen. I fcom your words. Madam.
Lady M. Get out of the room ; how dare you Hay
in this room to talk impudently to me ? 181
yen. Very well, Madam, I lhall let my Lady
know how you have us'd me ? but, I fhan't be tum'd
out of my place. Madam, nor at a lofs, if I am j and
if you are angry with every one that won't fay you are
Act III. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 79
young, I believe, there is very few you will keep
friends with.
AIR.
I toonder, Pm fure, why this fufs Jhould he made ;
For my part, Pm neither qßam^d, nor afraid 190
Of what I have done, nor of what I have faid,
A fervant, I hope, is no ßave }
And tho', to their Jhames,
Some ladies call names,
I know letter how to behave
Times are not fo bad.
If occqßon I had.
Nor my charaBer fach I suedflarve on't.
And, for going away,
I don^t wcmt toßay, 300
And fo Pm your Ladyßip*s fervanU
SCENE IV.
Colonel Oldboy, Lady Mary, Mr. Jessamy.
Mr. fes. What is the matter here ?
Lady M. I vdll have a leparate maintenance, I
will, indeed. Only a new inftance of your father's
infidelity, ray dear. Then with fuch low wretches,
farmers' daughters, and fervant wenches ; but any
thing with a cap on, 'tis all the fame to him.
Mr. Jes. Upon my word. Sir, I am Ibrry to tell
you, that thofe pradlices very ill fuit the charaéter
which you ought to endeavour to fupport in the world.
£
Ii THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
fliould get her another ; and, fince the farmer is fo
fcrupulous, there is a young man in the houfe here,
whom I have fome influence over, and I dare fay he
will be lefs fqueamifh. 139
Fat. To be fure, my lord, you have, in all honeft
ways, a right to dilpofe of me and mine, as you think
proper.
L.Aim. Go then immediately, and bring Patty
hither ; I (hall not be ealy till I have given you en¬
tire fatisfaftion. But, ftay and take a letter, which I
am llepping into my ftudy to write : I'll order a
chaife to be got ready, that you may go back and for¬
ward with greater expedition.
AIR.
Let me ßy ■ , hence tyrant faßton.
Teach to fetrv 'tîe minds your lava ; 150
Curh in them each gen'rous paßion,
EvVy motion keep in avue.
Shall I, in thy trammels going,
^it the idol bf my heart ?
While it beats, allfervent, glowing !
With my Ttfe I'llfooner part.
Act III. THE MAID OF THE MILL.
79
SCENE in.
Fanny folloiuing Ralph.
Fan. Ralph, Ralph !
Ral. What do you want with me, eh ?
Fan. Lord, I never knowed fuch a man as you
are, fince I com'd into the world j a body can't Ipeak
to you, but you falls ilrait ways into a paillon : I
followed you up from the houfe, only you run fo,
there was no fuch a thing as overtaking you, and I
have been waiting there at the back door ever fo
long. 165
Ral. Well, and now you may go and wait at the fore
door, if you like it : but I forewarn you and your
gang not to kèep lurking about our mill any longer ;
for if you do, I'll fend the confiable after you, and
have you, every mother's Ikin, clapt into the county
gaol, you are fuch a pack of thieves, one can't hang
fo much as a rag to dry for you : it was but the other
day that a couple of them came into our kitchen to
beg a handful of dirty flour to make them cakes, and
before the wench could turn about, they had whipped
off three brafs candlefticks, and a pot-lid.
Fan. Well, fure it was not I.
Ral. Then you know that old rafcal, that you call
father ; the laft time I catch'd him laying fnaies for
the hares, I told him I'd inform the game-keeper,
and I'll expofe all 181
Fan. Ah, dear Ralph, don't be angry with me.
8o THE MAID OF THE MILT. Act III.
RaL Yes I will be angry with you^—what do you
come nigh me for ?—You (han't touch me—^There's
the ikirt of my coat, and if you do but lay a finger on
it, my lord's bailiff is here in the court, and I'll call
him and give you to him.
Fan. If you'll forgive me, I'll go down on my
knêes. 189
Ral. I tell you I won't.—Ño, no, follow your gen^
tleman ; or go live upon your old fare, crows and
polecats, and fheep that die of the rot ; pick the
dead fowl off the dung-hills, and fquench your thirft
at the next ditch, 'tis the fitteil liquor to wafh down
fiich dainties—^(kidking about from barn to bam, and
lying upon wet ftraw, on commons, and in green
lanes—go and be whipt from paiiih to pariih, as you
ufed to be.
Fan. How can you talk fo unkind ? 199
Raí. And fee whether yon will get what will keep
you as I did, by telling of fortunes, and coming'widk
pillows under your apron, among tíie young farmorS
wives, to make believe you are a breeding, with " the
Lord Almighty blefs you, fweet miftrefs, you cannot
lell how foon it may be your own cafe." You know
I am acquainted with all your tricks—and how you
turn up the whites of your eyes, pretending yon were
ftruck blind by thunder and lightning.
Fan. Pray don't be angry, Ralph.
Ral. Yes but I will tho' ; fpread your cobwebs to
catch flies, I am an old wafp, and don't value them a
button-. 212
Act m. THE MAÎD OF THE MILL. 8r
AIR.
When you meet a tender creature^
Neat in limh, and fair in feature,
Full of iindnefs and good nature.
Prove as kind again to fhe ;
Happy mortal ! to pojf^s her.
In your bofom, warm, andprefs har.
Morning, noon, and night, carefs her.
And be fond, as fond eon le. 229
Put if one you meet thaPs fraward.
Saucy, jslúng, and untoward.
Should you aä the whining coward,
"Tis to mend her ne'er the whit t
Nothing's tough enough to Instd her ;
Then agog, when once you ßnd her.
Let her go, and never mind her ;
Heart alive, you're fairly quit. 228
SCENE IF.
Fanny.
" I wiih I had a draught of water. I don't know
" what's come over me ; I have no more llrength
" than a babe ; a ftraw would fling me down.'''
—He has a heart as hard as any pariih-officer ; I
don't doubt now but he would Rand by and fee me
himfelf 5 and we ihall all be whipt, and all through my
means.—^The devil run away with the gentleman, and
his twenty guineas too, for leading me aftray : if I had
E
8î THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
known Ralph would h^ve taken it fo, I would have
hanged myfelf before I would have faid a word—but
I thought he had no more gall than a pigeon.
AIR.
0! <what aßmpleton "was /, 240
to malte my bed at fuch a rate !
Now lay thee down, vain fool and cry,
thy true love feeks another mate.
No tears, alack.
Will call him back.
No tender words his heart edlure ;
I could hite
My tongue thro' fpite
Some plague bewitch'd me, that's for fare.
SCENE V.
Changes to a Room in the Miller's Houfe.
Enter Giles, followed by Patty aiu/Theodosía.
" AIR.
Giles. Women's tongues are like nùll-clappers, 250
" Andfrom thence they learn the knack,
" Of for-ever-founding clack
Act. III. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 8j
Giks. Why, what the plague's the matter with you,
what do you fcold at me for ? I am fure I did not fay
an uncivil word, as I do know of : I'll be judged by
the young lady if I did.
Pat. 'Tis very well, farmer ; all I delire is, that
you will leave the houfe : you fee my father is not at
home at prefent ; when he is, if you have any thing
to fay, you know where to come. 260
Giles. Enough faid, I don't want to ftay in the
houfe, not I ; and I don't much care if I had never
come into it.
The. For Ihame, farmer, down on your knees and
beg Mifs Fairfield's pardon for the outrage you have
been guilty of.
Giles, Beg pardon, mifs, for what?—Icod that's
well enough ; why I am my own mailer, be'nt I ?—
If I have bo mind to marry, there's no harm in that,
I hope : 'tis only changing hands.—This morning
Ihe would not have me; and now I won't have
(he. 272
Pat. Have you !—Heavens and earth ! do you
think then 'tis the milling of you that gives me con¬
cern ?—No ; I would prefer a ftate of beggary a
thoufand times beyond any thing I could enjoy with
you : and be alTured, if ever I was feemingly confent-
ing to fuch a facrifice, nothing Ihould have compelled
me to it, but the cruelty of my fituation.
Giles. Oh, as for that, I believes you ; but you lee
the gudgeon would not bite as I told you a bit agone
you know : we farmers never love to reap what we
don't fow. 283
Ez
84 the maid of the MILI.. ACT III.
Pal, Y ou brutiíh fellow, how dare you talk
GUts, So, now fhe's in her tantrums again, and all
for.no manner of y earthly thing.
Pat. But be aíTured my lord will puniih you fe-
Tcrely for daring to make feee with his name.
Giles. Who made free with it ; did 1 evo" mention
my lord ? 'Tis a curfed lie.
ITheo. Blefsme! farmer! 29t
Giles. Why it is, mils—and I'H make her prove
her words——Then what does Ihe mean by being
punilhed ? I am not afraid of nobody, nor beholding
to nobody, that I know of ; while I pays my rent, my
money,, I believe, is as good as another's : egad, if it
goes there, I think there be thofe deferve to be pu¬
nilhed more than I.
Pat. Was ever unfortunate creature purfued as I
am, by difenelTes and vexations ! 300
The. My dear Patty—See, fanner, yon have th^o^wl
her into tear«—Pray be comforted.
AIR.
Patty. Oh leave me, m />ity ! Thefalßoo/l Ißom ¡
Porßaitder the bofom untainted d^s :
Bid mdtneß and mßdt are not to be borne,
Tho' offePd ¿y wretches we've ßnß to deßiß.
Of woman dfenceltfs, how crteel the fate !
Paß ever fo eautious, fi Mamelefs her way.
Nature, and envy, lurk eiways in went.
And innocence falls to their fury a prey. 310
ÁCT Iii.
1 HE MAID OF THE MIIX.
SCHNE FL
Mervin, Theodobia.
Tie. You are a pretty genderaan, are not you, to
fuíFer a lady to be at a rendezvous before you ?
Mer, Difficulties, my dear, and dangers None
of the company had two fuits of apparel ; fo 1 was
obliged to purchase a rag of one, and a tatter from ano¬
ther, at the expence of ten times the f«m they would
fetch at the paper-mill.
The. Well, where are they ? 318
Mer. Here, in this bundle—and the' I fay it, a
very decent habiliment, if yOu have art enough to
ñiek die parts together ; I've been watching till the.
coaft was clear to bring them to you.
The. Let me fee I'H'flip into' this clofet and
equip ^All here is in fuch confufiOn, tiiere
will no notice be taken.
Mer. Do fo ; I'll take care nobody ihall interrupt
you in the progrefs of your métamórjffi'oíis fie goes
in]—and if yOu are not tedious, we may Walk off
without being feen by any one. 329
The. Ha! ha! ha!—^Whataconcourfeofatoms
are here ? tho', as I live, they are a great deal better
than I expedled.
Mer, Well, pray make hafte ; and don't imagine
yourfelf at your toilette" now, where mode prefcribes
two hours, for what reafon would fcarce allow three
minutes.
8« THE MAID OF THE MILL. Alt III.
The. Have patience ; the outward garment is on al¬
ready ; and I'll aflure you a very good ftuíF, only a
little the worfe for the mending. 339
Mer. Imagine it embroidery, and confider it is your
wedding-fuit.—^—Come, how far are you got ?
The. Stay, you don't confider there's fome. con¬
trivance necefiary. Here goes the apron flounced
and furbelow'd with a witnefs—Alas ! alas I it has no
firings ! what ihall I do ? Come, no matter, a couple
of pins will ferve And now the cap oh, mer¬
cy ! here's a hole in the crown of it large enough to
thruft my head through.
Mer. That you'll hide with your llraw-hat ; or, if
you ihould not-^ What, not ready yet ? 350
The. Only one minute more—Yes, now the work's
acccmpliih'd.
AIR.
IVho^ll buy good luck, who'll buy, who'll buy
The g'tpfey'e favours ?——Here am I !
Through the village, 'through the town.
What charming fav'ry fcraps we'll earn I
Cleanßraw ßall he our beds of down,
yind our with drawing-room a barn.
Toung and old, and grave, and gay.
The tmfer and the prodigal ; 36c
Git, courtier, bumkin, come away^
I warrant we'll content you all.
Acrlll. THE MAID OF THE MILL.
87
SCENE FIL
Mervin, Theodosia, Fairfield, Giles.
Mer. Plague, here's fomebody coming.
Fat. As to the paft, farmer, 'tis paft ; I bear no
malice for any thing.thou haft faid.
Giles. Why, Mafter Fairfield, you do know I had
a great regard for Mifs Patty ; but when I came to
confider all in all, I finds as how it is not advifeable
to change my condition yet awhile. 369
Fat. Friend Giles, thou art in the right ; marriage
is a ferions point, and can't be confidered too warily.
—Ha, who have we here !—Shall I never keep my
houfe clear of thefe vermin ? Look to the gogds
there, and give me a horfe-whip—by the Lord Har¬
ry, I'll make an example—Come here. Lady Light-
fingers, let me fee what thou haft ftolen.
Mer. Hold, miller, hold !
Fat. O gracious goodnefs ! fure I know this face—
Mifs young Madam Sycamore Mercy heart,
here's a difguife ! 380
The. Difcover'dl
Mer. Miller, let me fpeak to you.
the. What ill fortune 1,8 this !
Giles. Ill fortune Mifs ! I think there be
nothing but crofies and misfortunes of one kind or.
other."
Fai. Money to me, fir ! not for the world ; yon
want no friends but what you have already—Lack-a-.
day, lack-a-day—fee how luckily I came in; I be-
88 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Ac r Ul.
lieve you are the gentleman to whom I am charged to
give this, on the part of my lord Aimworth Blefs,
you, dear Sir, go up to his honour, with my young
lady—There is a chaife waiting at the door to carry
you 1 and my daughter will take another way.
SCENE VIII.
Mervin, Theodosia, Giles.
Mef. Pr'ythee read this letter, " and tell me what
*• you think of k."
Tht. Heavens, 't» a letter from lord Aimwortji !
—We are betrayed.
■ Mer. % what means I know not. 399
The. I am fo frighted and flurried, that I have
fcarce ftrength enough to read it.
" SIR,
" It is with the greateft concern I find, that I
" have been unhappily the occafion of giving fome
" uneafinefs to you and Mifs Sycamwe ; be affured,
" had I been apprized of your prior pretenfions, and
" the 3roung kdy's diQiofition in your favour, I
" Ihould have been the laflr perfon to interrupt your
" felicity. I beg, fir, you will do me the favour to
" come up to my houfe, where I have already fo far
•• fettled matters, as to be able to affure you, that
•• every thing wilf go entirely to your fatisfeäion."
Act ni. THE MAID OF THE MUX- 89
Mer. Well! what do you think of it! Shall
we go to the caftle ?
" Well !
« rhe. Well !-
" Mer. What do you think of it ?
" The. Nay, what do you think of it ?
" Mer. Egad, I can't very well tell However,
" on the whole, I believe it would be wrong of us to
" proceed any further in our defign of running away,
" even if the thing was praticable. 422
" The. I am entirely of your opinion. I fwear this
" lord Aimworth is a charming man ; I fancy 'tis
" lucky for you I had not been long enough acquaint-
" ed with him to find out all his good qualities—
" But how the deuce came he to hear
" Mer. No matter ; after this, there can be nothmg
" to apprehend. ^What do you fay, lhall we go
" up to the caftle ?" 430
The. By all means ! and in this very trim; to (how
what we were capable of doing, if my father and mo¬
ther had not come to reafon " But, perhaps,
" the difficulties being removed, may leifen your^rn-
" chant : you men are fuch unaccountable mortals.—
" Do you love me well enough to marry me, without
" making a frolic of it ?
" Mer. Do I love you !
" The. Ay, and to what degree ?
" Mer. Why do yon aik me ? 440
E 3
90
THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
AIR.
" Who upon the oozy beech,
*' Can count the nutn'rous funds that Tie ;
" Or dtßindly reckon each
" Tranfparent orb that Jluds the Jky ?
" ÂS their multitude betray,
" Andfrußrate all attempts to tell :
" So 'tis impqjjible to fay
" How much I love, I love fo well."
But hark you, Mervin, will you take after my father,
and be a very huiband now ?—Or don't you think
I ihall take after my mother, and be a commanding
wife ! 552
Mer. Oh, I'll truft you.
The. But you may pay for your confidence.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE IX.
Giles.
So, there goes a couple ! Icod, I believe Old Nick
has got among the people in theíé parts. This is as
queer a thing as ever I heard of. ^Mafter Fair¬
field, and Mifs Patty, it leems, are gone to the caftle
too ; where by what I larns firom Ralph in the miU,
my lord has promifed to get her a huiband among the
Act m. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 91
ferrants. Now iet in cafe the wind fets in that cor¬
ner, I have been thinking with myfelf who the plague
it can be : there are no unmarried men in the family,
that I do know of, excepting little Bob, the poftillion,
and mailer Jonathan, the butler ; and he's a matter of
lixty or feventy years old. I'll be ihot if it be'nt
little Bob. Icod, I'll take the way to the caftle,
as well as the reft ; for I'd fain fee how the nail do
drive. It is well I had wit enough to difcern things,
and a friend to advife with, or elfe flie would have
fallen to my lot. But I have got a furfeit of
going a courting, and burn me if I won't live a bache¬
lor ; for, when all comes to all, I fee nothing but
ill blood and quarrels among folk when they are mar¬
ried.
AIR.
Thm hey for a frohelfame Ufe !
I'll ranéle where pkcfares are rife :
Strike up with the fra-hearted lajes ¡
And never think more cf a wife.
Plague on if, men are but afee, j8q
To run after noife ecadfirift.
Had we been together buckl'd ¡
'Twould heme prm'd a fine aJfiiir :
Dogs Would have bark'd at the eucktid¡
And beys, pmntmg, cry'd > Look there.
9X THE MAID OE THE MILL. Act Iii.
SCENE X.
Changes to a grand Apartment in Lord AimworthV
fíoufe, opening to a view of the Garden.
Lord Aimworth, Fairfield, Patty, Ralph.
L. Aim. Thus, Mafter Fairfield, I hope I have fully
fatlsfied you with regard to the falfity of the impu¬
tation thrown upon your daughter and me
Fai. My lord, I am very well content ; pray do not
give yourfelf the trouble of faying any more. 590
Ral. No, my lord, you need not fay any more.
Fai. Hold your tongue, firrah.
L. Aim. I am forry, Patty, you have had this mor¬
tification.
Pat. I am forry, my lord, you have been troubled
about it ; but really it was againft my confent.
Fai. Well, come children, we will not take up his
honour's time any longer ; let us be going towards
home Heaven profper your lordihip ; the pray'rs
of me and my family ftiall always attend you. 600
L. Aim. Miller, come back Patty, ftay
Fai. Has your lordihip any thing further to com¬
mand us ?
L. Aim. Why yes, Mafter Fairfield, 1 have a word
or two ftill to fay to you In (hort, though you are
fatisfied in this affair, I am not ; and you feem to for¬
get the promife I made you, that, fince I had been
the means of lofing your daughter one huiband, 1
would find her another.
Fai. Your honour is to do as you pleafe. 610
Aci III. THE maid 01- THE MILL. 93
L. Aim. What fay you, Patty, will you accept of a
hulband of my chuGng ?
Pat. My lord, I have no determination ; you are
the beft judge how I ought to adl ; whatever you
command 1 lhall obey.
L. Aim. Then, Patty, there is but one perfon I can
offer you and I wifh, for your fake, he was more
deferving Take me
Pat. Sir !
L. Aim. From this moment our interefts are one,
as our hearts ; and no earthly power (hall ever divide
us. 622
Fai. " O the gracious !" Patty—my lord—Did I
hear right I You, fir, you marry a child of mine I
L.Aim. Yes, my honeft old man, in me you be¬
hold the hufband defigned for your daughter ; and
I am happy that, by ftanding in the place of fortune,
who has alone been wanting to her, 1 fliall be able to
fet her merit in a light, where its luftre will be ren¬
dered confpicuous., 630
Fai. But good, noble fir, pray confider ; don't go
to put upon a filly old man : my daughter is un¬
worthy Patty, child, why don't you fpeak J
Pat., What can I fay, father ! what anfwer tafuch
unlook'd-for, fuch unmerited, fuch unbounded ge-
nerofity !
Ral. Down on your knees, and fall a crying.
Pat. Yes, fir, as my father fays, confider your
noble friends, your relations—It mull not, cannot
be.— 640
" L. Aim. It mull, and fhall Friends ! relations !
" from henceforth I have none, that will not acknow-
94 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
" ledge you : and I am lure, when they become ac-
" quainted with your perfeéíions, thofe, whole fuf-
" frage I moft efteem, will rather admire the juftice
of my choice, than wonder at its fingularity."
AIR.
L. Aim. My life, my joy,, my hleflng.
In thee, each grace pojfejftng.
All muß my chdce approve »•
Patty. To ym my all is owing ;
0 ! take a heart overflowing
With gratitude and love.
L. Aim. thus hfolding.
Thus leboldlng.
Both. Xhse to my fotdfo dear :
Can there he pleiftsre greater f
Can there he Mfs tompteeSer !
' Tis too much to bear.
SCENE XL
Enter Sir Harry, Lady Sycamore, Theodosia,
Mertik.
S.Har. Well, we have followed your lordlfeip's
öounfel, and made the heft of a bad inarket-^—So
my lord, pleafe to know our fon-in-law, that is to be.
L. Aim. You do me a great deal of honour—I wilh
you joy, fir, with all my heart.—Arid hOw, Sir Harty,
Act m. THE MAID OF THE MILL. çiS
g!íe me leave to introduce to you a new relation of
mine——This, fir, is Ihortly to be my wife.
S, Har. My lord 1
L, Syc. Your lordlhip's wife !
L. Am. Yes, madam.
L, Syc. And why fo, my lord ? 66^
L. Am. Why, faith, ma'am, becaufe I can't live
haypy without her ^And I think ihe has too mafiy
amiable, too many eftimabfe qualities to meet with a
worfe fate.
S. Har. Well, but you are a peer of the realm; you
will have all the fleerers
L. Jim. I know very wdl the ridicule that may be
thrown on a lord's marrying a miller's daughter ; and
1 own, with blufiies, it has for fome time had too
great weight with me : but we fliould marry to pleafe
ourfelves, not other people : and, on mature confi-
deration, I can fee no reproach juftly merited, by
raifing a deferving woman to a ftation ihe is capable
of adorning, let her birth be what it wdll.. 683
S. Har. Why 'tis very true, my lord. I once knew
a gentleman that, married his cook-maid ; he was a
relation of my own—You remember fat Margeiy,
my lady! She was a very gooddbrtof a woman, indeed
ihe was, and made the heft fuet dumplings I ever
tailed.
L. Syc. Will you never learn. Sir Harry, to guard
your expí^eífions ?- Well, but give me leave, my
lord, to fay a word to you—There are other ill
confequences attending fuch an alliance. 693
L. Aim. One of them I fuppoie is, that I, a peer,
fliould be obliged to call this good old miller father-
96 THE MAID OE THE MILL. Act IK.
in-law. But,where's the ihame in that? He is as
good as any lord, in being a man ; and if we dare fup-
pofe a lord that is not an honeft man, he is, in my
opinion, the more refpeftable charader. Come, Maf-
ter Fairfield, give me your hand ; from henceforth
you have done with working ; we will pull down your
mill, and build you a houfe in the place of it ; and
the money 1 intended for the portion of your daugh¬
ter, ihall now be laid out in purchafing a commiifion
for your fon.
Ral. What, my lord, will you make me a captain ?
L. Aim. Ay, a colonel, if you deferve it.
Rd. Then I'll keep Fan. 708
SCENE XII.
Lord Aimworth, Sir Harry, Lady Sycamore,
Patty, Theodosia, Mervin, Fairfield,
Ralph, Giles.
Giles.. Ods bobs, where am I running—I beg par¬
don for my audacity. 710
Ral. Hip, farmer ; come back, mon, come back—
Sure my lord's going to marry fifter himfelf ; fey-
ther's to have a fine houfe, and I'm to be a captain.
L. Aim. Ho, Mailer Giles, pray walk in ; here is
a lady who, I dare fwear, will be glad to fee yau,
and give orders that you ihall always be made wel¬
come.
Rd. Yes, farmer, you'll always be welcome in the
kitchen. 719
Act m. THE MAID OF THE MILL. 97
L. Aim. What, have you nothing to fay to your old
acquaintance ^Come, pray let the farmer falute
you-; Nay, a kifs—I infift upon it.
S. Har. Ha, ha, ha—^hem !
L. Syc. Sir Harry, I am ready to fink at the mon-
ftroufnefs of your behaviour.
L. Aim. Fye, Mafter Giles, don't look fo íheepiíh;
you and I were rivals, but not lefs friends at prefent.
You have, afled in this afiair like an honeft Engliih-
man, who fcorned even the lhadow of his dilhonour,
and thou lhall fit rent-free for a twelvemonth.
S. Har. Come, lhan't we all falute With your
leave, my lord, I'll
L. Syc. Sir Harry !
AIR.
L. Aim. Tield who will to forms a martyr.
While unaw'd by idlefiame.
Pride for happimfs I barter,
Heedlefs of the millions blame,
thus with love my arms I quarter ;
Women gradd in naturds frame,
Ev'ry privilege, by charter,
Have a right from man to claim.
The. Eadd of doubts and fears prefaging.
What new joys within me rife !
While mama, hef frowns aßsaging.
Dares no longer tyranni%e.
ç8 THE MAID OF THE MILL. Act III.
Sb longßorm and tempeßs. raging,
When the blußring fury dies.
Ah ! how lovely, how engaging,
Profgeäs fair, and cloudkfsJMes !
S. Har. Dad but this is wond'rous pretty.
Singing each h roun-de-lay ;
And I'll mingle in the ditty,
Tho' I fcarce know what to fay.
There's a daughter, bri/k and witty ¡
Herds a wife-i. can wifely fway :
Trufi me, maßers, 'twere a pity.
Not to let them have their way.
Patty. My example is a rare one ;
But the caufe may be divin'd:
Women want not merit dare one
Hope difcerning meti to find.
0 J may each aecompliß'd fair one.
Bright in perfon, fage in mind.
Viewing my goodfortune, fi:iare one
Full as fplendid, and as kind.
Giles. Laugh'd at, ßghted, circumvented.
And expos'dfor folks to fee't,
'Tis as tho'f a man repented
For his follies in a Jheet.
But my Wrongs go unrefented.
Since the fates have thought them meet .■
This good Company contented.
All my wifhes are complete.
D»ib3inPu'biiíh."dty^^Jaa65N^86J3ajii£ S-ceec.
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS:
OR,
LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
A
COMIC OPERA.
BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.
ADAPTED FOR
THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION,
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRES-ROYAL
DRURY-LANE AND COVENT-GARDEN.
REGULATED FROM THE PROMPT-BOOK,
Ey PermiJJim of tie Managers,
** The Line, diñinguilhed by inverted Commas, are omitted in the Reprefentation.*''
DUBLIN :
PRINTED BT GRAISBERRT AND CAMPBELL,
FOR WILLIAM JONES, NO. 86, DAME-STREET.
H see XCl,
ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.
In our mention of this man, prefacing the Opera of
the Maid of the Mill, we were inadvertently led into
an error relpeâing his having been Secretary to the
Earl of Chefterfield, when Lord Lieutenant of the
Kingdom of Ireland.—'The faâ is, Bickerftaif was
then too yoimg for fuch an employ. He was a page
to Lady Chefterfield, and, as is ufual in coAÎè-
quence, received the prefent of a pair of Colours in
the Regulars.
We have ibme reaibn to fufpeil: that the Biogra-
phia is miftaken in aíHrming Mr. BickerftafF to have
been in the marines. We believe he never ferved
but in the regulars, and that he attained no higher
rank than his Eniigncy.
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ;
OB,
LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
Authors are commonly deceived in eilimating
their own powers. This Opera, BickerllafFdeemed
his beft produilion. The ftage bills will ihow that
the public think otherwife. Love in a Village is
performed ten times for once that this piece is afted.
Perhaps this preference may be attributed to mufick
alone—for fuch Chara8ers.ná Writing as they exhibit,
feem tolerably uniform :—a íévere Critic might lay
uniformly intolerable.
AD VER TISEMENT.
Having for fome years, met with very great fuc-
cefs in my produdtions of the mulical kind ; when I
wrote the follov/ing opera, it was witli unufual care
and attention ; and it was the general opinion of all
my friends, fome of whom rank among the bell
judges, that of all my trifles, Lionel and Clarifla
was the moil: pardonable : a decifion in its favour
which I was the prouder of, becaufe, to the bell of
my knowledge, through the whole, I had not borrow¬
ed an expreflion, a fentiment, or a charadter, from
any dramatic writer extant.
When Mr. Garrick thought of performing this
piece at Drury-lane theatre, he had a new finger to
bring out, and every thing poflible for her advan¬
tage was to be done ; this necelTarily occafioned fome
new fongs and airs to be introduced ; and other fing¬
ers, with voices of a different compafs from thofe who
originally adted the parts, occafioned Hill more ; by
which ineans the greateft part of the mufic unavoid¬
ably became new. This is the chief, and indeed the
only alteration made in the opera ; and even to that,
I Ihould, in many places, have been forced, much
againft my will, had it not given a frelh opportunity to
vi
ADVERTISEMENT.
Mr, Dibdin to difplay his admirable talents as a mu-
iical conipofer. And I will be bold to fay, that his
airs, ferioas and comic, in this epent, will appear to
no difadvantagé by being heard with thofe of fome of
the greateft mafters.
The SCHOOL FOR FATHERS is added to
the title, becanfe the plot is evidently double ; and that
ef Lionel and ClarilTa alluded to but One part of it, as
the readers and fpeflators will eafily perOeive.
1. B.
DRAMATIS PERSONAL.
DRURY-LANE.
Sir John Flowerdale
Colonel Oldbot
Lionel
Mr. Jessamy
Harman
-Jenkins
Clarissa
Lady Mary Oldboy
Diana
Jenny
IVLchm
Mr, Aickln.
Mr. Suett.
Mr. KeUy.
Mr. Dodd.
Mr. Dignum.
Mr. Sedgwick.
IVmen.
Mrs. Crouch.
Mrs. Hopkins.
Miis Romanzini.
Mrs. Willfon.
COFENT-GARDEN.
Sir John Flowerdale
Colon el'Oldboy
l.ionel
Mr. Jessamy
Harman
Jenkins
Men.
Mr. Hull.
Mr. Quick.
Mr. Johnllone.
Mrs. Achmet.
Mr. Duffby.
Mr. Bannifter.
Clarissa
Lady Mary Oldboy
Diana
Jenny
IVmen,
Mrs. Mountain.
Mrs. Webb.
Mrs. Ward.
Mrs.
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS}
ok,
LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
ACT /. SCENE t.
A Chamber in Colonel Old boy'/ Houje : Colonel Old-
boy ir iijcovered at breakjqß reading a news-paper ¡
at a little dißance from the tea-tablefts ;
and on the oppfite Jide,T)\íí'SK, who appears playing
upon a harpjichord. A Girl attending.
AIR.
Ah how delightful the morning.
How fweet are the profpeBs it yields;
Summer luxuriant adorning
The gardens, the groves, and theßelds.
Se grateful to the feafon.
Its pleafures let's employ ;
Kind Nature gives, and Reafon
Permits us to enjoy.
B 2
JO SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, ACT I.
Col. Well faid Dy, thank you Dy. This, mailer
Jenkins, is the way I make my daughter entertain me
ereiy morning at breakfaâ;. Come boreg and kifs
me, you flut, come here, and kifs me, you baggage.-
Dtan. Lord, papa, you call one fuch names
Col. A fine girl, mailer Jenkins, a deviljih fine girl !
llie has got my eye to a twinkle. There's 'fire for you
—fpirit !—I defign to marry her to a Duke : how
much money do you think a Duke would expeil^with
fdcli a wench
Jm. Why, Colonel, with fiibraifiion, 1 thhik there
is no occafion to go out of our own country here; we
liave never a Duke in k, I believe, but we have many
an honeil gentleman, who, ÍB iny i){ûnion, might de-
ferve the young lady. 23
Col. So, you would hare me marry Dy to a country
Tquire, eh! How fay you to this, Dy! would not you
rather be married to a Dnke ?
Dian. So my huiband^s a rake, papa, 1 doa't care
what he is.
Col. A rake ! you damned confounded little bag¬
gage ; why you wou'd not wilh to marry a rake, wou'd
you ? So her huiband is a rakç, fiie does pot care
what he is J ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 32
P'tan. Well, but liilen to me, papa—When you
go out with your gun, do you take any pfeáfure in
Ihooting the poor tame ducks, and chickens in your
yard ? No, the partridge, the pbeafant, the woodcock
are the game ; there is fome iport in bringing them
down becaufe they are wild ; and it is juil the fame
with a huiband dr a lover. I would not wafte powder
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. tl
and (hot, to woitnd one of your ibbe* pretty behaved
gentlemen ; but to hit a libertine, extravagant, mad¬
cap fellow, to take him upon the wing— 42
Col. Do you hear her, mafter Jenkins ¡ Ha, ba, ha !
yin. Weil, bat, good Colonel, what do you fay to
my worthy and honourable patron here, Sir John
Flowerdale? He has an eftate of eight thouiand pounds
a year, as well paid rents as any in the kingdom, and
but one only daughter to enjoy it; and yet he is wil¬
ling, you fee, to give this daughter to your ibn, 49;
DJ/at. Pray, Mr. Jenkiris, how does Mifs Clariffa
and our univerhty friend Mr. L.ioncI I That is the
only grave young man I ever liked, and the only
handfome one I ever was acquainted with, that did
not make love to me.
Col. Ay, mailer Jenkins, iSfho is this Lionel? ^hey
fay, he is a damn'd witty knowing fellow ; and egad
I think him well enough for one brought up in a col¬
lege. 58
yefi. His father was a general oÄcer, a particular
friend of Sir John's, who, like many more brave men,
that live and die in defending their country, left little
elfe than honour behind him. Sir John fent this
young man, at his own expeocé, to Oxford; whêre,
while his fon lived, they were upon the fame footing :
and lince our young gentleman's death, which you
know unfortunately happened about two year§ ago,
he has continued him there. During the vacation, he
is come to pay us a vifit, and Sir John intends that
he ihall ihortly take orders for a very confiderable
benefice in the gift of the family, the prefent incum¬
bent of which is an aged man. 71
ti SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act I.
Dim. The laß: time I was at your houle, he was
teaching Mifs Clarifla mathematics and philofophy.
Lord, what a ßrange brain I have S If I was to lit
down to dißrait myfelf with fiich ßudies—
Col. Go, huffy, let fome of your brother's tafcals
inform their maßer that he has been long enough at
his toilet; here is a meffage from Sir John Flowerdale
—You a brain for mathematics indeed! We fliall
have women wanting to head our regiments to-mor¬
row or next day. 81
Dian. Well, papa, and fuppofe we did. I believe,
in a battle of the fexes, you men would hardly get
the better of us.
AIR.
To rob them offlrength, tuhen •wife Nature thought fit
By •women to fill do her duty,
Jnßead of a fmtord Jhe endued them •with •wit.
And gave them a Jhield in their beauty.
Sound, found the trumpet, both fexes to arms
Our tyrants at once, and proteBors 1 pQ
IVr quickly Jhall fee •whether courage or charms,
Decide for the Helens or Hedors.
Act Ir
LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
il
SCENE II.
Cí/o«í/Oloboy, Jenkins.
Col. Well, mailer Jenkins ! don't you think now
that a Nobleman, a Duke, an Earl, or a Marquis,
might be content to lhare his title 1 fay, you un-
derftand me—with a fweetener of thirty or forty
thoufand pounds, to pay off Mortgages ? Befides,
there's a prolpeél of my whole eftate ; for I dare
fwear her brother will never have any children. 99
yen. I Ihould be concerned at that. Colonel, when
there are two fuch fortunes to defcend to his heirs,
as your's and Sir John Flowerdale's.
Col. Why look you, mailer Jenkins, Sir John Flow-
erdale is an honeil gentleman ; our families are nearly
related ; we have been neighbours time out of mind ;
and if he and I have an odd dilput,e now and then, it
is not for want of a cordial elleem at bottom. He is
going to marry his daughter to my fon ; (he is a
beautiful girl, an elegant girl, a fenfible girl, a wor¬
thy girl, and—a word in your ear—damn me if I a'n't
very forry for her. 111
yen. Sorry ! Colonel ?
Col. Ay between ourfelves, mailer Jenkins, my
fon won't do.
yen. How do you mean ?
Col. I tell you, mailer Jenkins, he won't do—he is
not the thing, a prig—At fixteen years old, or there¬
abouts, he was a bold, fprightly boy, as you ihould
14 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Ac7 I.
fee in a thovifand; could drink his pint of port, or
his bottip of claret now he mixes all his wine with
water. 121
Jen. Oh! if that be his only fault, Colonel, he will
ne'er make the worfe huiband, I'll anfwer for it.
Col, You know my wife is a woman of quality
I was prevailed upon to fend him to be brought up
by her brother Lord Jeflamy, who had no children of
his own, and promifed to leave him an eftate he
has got the eftate indeed, but, the fellow has taken his
Lordihip's name for it. Now, mafter Jenkins, I
would be glad to know, how the name of Jeifamy is
better than that of Oldboy. 131
Jen. Well ! but Colonel, it is allowed on all hands
that his Lordihtp has given your fon an excellent edu¬
cation.
Col. Piha ! he fent him to the univerfity, and to
travel forfooth ; but what of that ; I was abroad, and
at the univerfity myfelf, and never a ru(h the better
for either. I quarrel'd with his Lordfhip about fix
years before his death, and fo had not an opportunity
of feeing how the youth went on ; if I had, mafter
Jenkins, I would no more have fuffered him to be
made fiich a monkey of He has been in ray houie
but three days, and it is all turned topfey-turvey by
him and his rafcally fervants then his chamber is
like a perfumer's ihop, with waih-balls, paftes, and
pomatum and do you know, he had the impudence
to tell me yefterday at my own table, that I did not
know how to behave myfelf ? 148
Jen. Pray, Colonel, how does my Lady Mary ?
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. TS
Col. What, my wife ? In the old way, maftef Jen¬
kins; always complaining; ever fomeAing the matter-
with her bead, or her back, or her legs but we
hare had the devil to pay lately—ihe and I did not
Ipeak to one another for three weeks.
Jen. How fo. Sir ?
Col. A little affair ofjealoufy—you muff know, my
game-keeper's daughter has had a child, and the
plaguy baggage takes it into her head to lay it to me
—Upon my foul it is a fine fat chubby infant as ever
I fet my eyes on ; I have fent it to nurfe ; and be¬
tween you and me, I believe I fliall leave it a for¬
tune.
yen. Ah, Colonel, you wiH never give over.
Col. Y ou know my Lady has a pretty vein of poetry ;
ihe writ me an heroic epiffle upon it, where ihe calls
me her dear feife Damon; fb I let-her cry a little,
promifed to do fo no more, and now we are as good
friends as ever.
Jen. Well, Colonel, I moft take my leave ; I have
delivered my meflàge, and Sir John may expeit the
pleafure of your company to dhuKF. 170
Col. Ay, ay„ we'll come—pox o' ceremony among
friends. But won't you ftay to fee ray fon ? I have
lent to him, and fuppofe he will be here as foon as
his valet-de-chambre will give him leave.
Jen. There is no occafion, good Sir : prefent my
humble refpefts, that's all.
Col. Well, but, zounds, Jenkins, you muff not go
till you drink fomething—let you and I have a bottle
of hock—
B3
16 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, AïtI,
Jen, Not for the world. Colonel ; I never touch
any thing ftrong in the morning. i8i
Col. Never touch any thing ftrong I Why one bot¬
tle won't hurt you, man, this is old, and as mild as
milk.
Well, but, Colonel, pray excufe me.
AIR.
To tell you the truth.
In the days of my youth.
As mirth and nature hid^
I lik'd a glafs.
And I lov'd a lafs.
And I did as younkers £d.
But now I am old.
With grief be it told,
I muß thofe freaks forbear ;
Atfxty-three,
Twixt you and me,
A man grows worfe for wear.
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. rr
SCENE III.
Je ssAMY, Lady Mary Ouduoy, and then Colonel
Oldboy.
Lady M. Shut the door, why don't you (liut the
door there ? Have you a rtlind I (hould catch my
death ? This houfe is abfolutely the cave of aEolus ;
one had as good live on the eddy-ftone, or in a wind»
mill. 201
Mr. yes. I thought they told your Ladyihip, that
there was a meflenger here from Sir John Flowerdale.
Col. Well, fir, and fo there was ; but he had not
patience to wait upon your curling-irons. Mr. Jen»
kins was here. Sir John Flowerdale's fteward, who
has lived in the family thefe forty years.
Mr. Jes. And pray, Sir, might not Sir John Flow¬
erdale have come himfelf: if he had been acquainted
with the rules of good breeding, he would have known
that I ought to have been vifited.
Lady M. Upon my word. Colonel, this is a fole^
cifm.
Col. 'Sblood, my Lady, it's none. Sir John Flow-
erdale came but .laft night from his fiiler's feat in the
Weft, and is a little out of order. But I fuppofe he
diinks he ought to appear before him with his daughter
in one hand, and his, rent-roll in the other, and cry.
Sir, pray do me the favour to accept them. 218
LadyM. Nay, but, Mr. Oldboy, permit me to fay—
1,8 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ¡ OR, Act. Í.
Col. He need not give himfelf fo many aíFeéledairs ;
I think it's very well if he gets fucli a girl for going
for ; (he's one of the handfomeft and richeft in this
country, and more than he deferves.
Mr. yes. That's an exceeding fine china jar your
ladyfiiip has got in the next room ; I faw the fellow of
it the other day at Williams's, and will fend to my
agent to purchafe it : it is the true matchlefs old
blue and white. Lady Betty Barebones has a couple
that ihe gave an hundred guineas for, on board an
Indiaman ; but ihe reckons them at a hundred and
twenty-five, on account of half a dozen plates, four
Nankeen beakers, and a couple of ihaking Mandarins,
that the cuftom-houife officers took from under her
petticoats. 234
Col. Did you ever hear the like of this Í He's chat¬
tering about old china, while I am talking to him of
a fine girl. I tell you what, Mr. Jeffamy, fince that's
the name you choofe to be called by, I have a good
mind to knock you down.
Mr. yes. Knock me down f Colonel ? What do
you mean ? I muft tell you, Sir, this is a language to
which I have not been acenftomed; and, if you think
proper to continue to repeat it, I fhali be under a ne-
ceflity of quitting your houfe ?
Col. Quitting ray houfe ?
Mr. yes. Yes, Sir, incontinently.
Col. Why, Sir, am not I your father. Sir, and have
I not a right to talk to you as I like? I will, firrah.
But, perhaps, I mayn't be your father, and I hope
not. 250
Act 1. LIONEI. AND CLARISSA. 19,
Lady M. Heavens and earth, Mr. Oldboy Í
Col. What's the nsatter. Madam ! I mean, Madamy
that he might have been changed at nuife. Madam y
and I believe he was.
Mr. yes. Huh ! huh ! huh Î
Col. Do you laugh at nie, you fancy jackanapes !
Lady M. Who's there ? fomebody bring me a chair.
Really, Mr. Oldboy, you throw my weakly frame
into fuch repeated convulfions—but I fee your aim ;
you want to lay me in my grave, and you will very
foon have that latisfaflion. 261
Col. I can't bear the light of him.
Lady M. Open that window, give me air, or I
(hall faint.
Mr. yes. Hold, hold, let me tie a handkerchief
about my neck firft. This curfed Iharp north wind
—Antoine, bring down my mulf.
Col. Ay, do, and his great-coat.
Lady M. Marg'ret, fome harts-horn. My dear
Mr. Oldboy, why will you fly out in this way, when
you know how it Ihocks my tender nerves ?
Col. 'Sblood, Madam, it's enough to make a man
mad.
Lady M. Hartfhorn ! HartOiorn 1
Mr. yes. Colonel !
Col. Do you hear the puppy ?
Mr. yes. Will you give me leave to aflc you one
queftion i
Col. 1 don't know whether I will or not. 279
Mr. yes. I ftiould be glad to know, that's all, what
fingle circumftance in my conduit, carriage, or
figure you can poffibly hod fault with—Perhaps, I
ta SCHOOL FOR. FATHERS; OR, Act i.
may be brought to reform—Pr'ythee let me hear
from your own mouth, then, ferioufly what it is you
do like, and what it is you do not like.
Col. Hum !
Mr. yes. Be ingenuous, ipeak and Ipare not.
Col. You would know i
AIR.
Zounds, Sir I then Pll tell you ivithout any jeß.
The thing of all things, which I hate and deteß ;
A coxcomb, afop, 2ÇO
A dainty milk-fop ;
Who, ßinc^d and di%en'dfrom bottom to top.
Looks jiß like a dollfor a milliner's Jhop.
A thing full of prate.
And pride and conceit ;
All faßion, no weight ;
Whoßrugs, and takes fnuff.
And carries a miß i
A minikin,
Finiking, 300
French powderpuff:
And now. Sir, I fancy, V-ve told you enough.
SCENE IV.
Lady Mary Oldboy, Mr. Jessamy.
Mr. Jes. What's the matter with the Colonel,
Madam ; does your ladyihip know ?
Act i. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. it
Lady M. Heigho ! don't be furprifed, my dear ; it
was the fame thing with my late dear brother, Lord
Jeflamy ; they never could agree : that good na-
tured friendly foul, knovdng the delicacy of my con-?
ftitution, has often faid, lifter Mary, I pity you.
Not but your father has good qualities, and I aflure
you I remember him a very fine gentleman himfelf.
In the year of the hard froft. One thoufand fever»
hundred and thirty-nine, when he firft paid his ad-
drefies to me, he was called agreeable Jack Oldboy,
though I married him without the confent of your
noble grandfather. 316
Mr. Jes. I think he ought to be proud of me : I
believe there's many a Duke, nay Prince, who would
efteem themfelves happy in having fuch a fon
Lady M. Yes, my dear ; but your lifter was always
your father's favourite : he intends to give her a pro¬
digious fortune, and fets his heart upon feeing her a
woman of quality.
Mr. Jes. He Ihould wilh to fee her look a little like
a gentlewoman firft. When Ihe was in London laft
winter, I am told flie was taken notice of by a few
men. But Ihe wants air, manner. 327
Lady M. A^nd has not a bit of the genius of our fa¬
mily, and I never knew a woman of it, but herfelf^
without. I have tried her ; about three years ago I
fet her to tranflate a little Prench fong i I found Ihe
had not even an idea of verlification ; and Ihe put
down love and joy for rhyme—fo I gave her over.
Mr. Jes. Why, indeed, Ihe appears to have more
of the Thaleftris than the Sappho about her»
i2 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act L
LaJy M. Well, my dear, I muft go anddrefs rny-
felf, thoagk I proteft I am fitter for my bed than my
coach. And condeicend to the Colonel a little—Do
my dear, if it be only to oblige your mamma. 339'
SCENE V.
Mr. Jessamv.
Let me confider : I am going to vifit a country Ba¬
ronet here : who would fain prevail upon me to mar¬
ry his daughter ; the old gentleman has heard of my
parts and underllanding ; Mifs of my figure and ad-
drefs. But, fuppofe I ihould not like her when I fee
her ? Why, pofitively, then 1 will not have her ; the
treaty*s at an end, and, fans complnnent, we break
up the congreis. But, won't that be cruel, after ha¬
ving fuffered her to flatter herfelf with hopes, and
ihewing myfelf to her. She's a ftrange dowdy I dare
believe : however, flie brings provifion with her for
a feparate maintenance. gyi
Antoine, appretea la toilet. I am going to fpend
a curfed day ; that I perceive already ; I wilh it was
over, I dread it as much as a general eledtion.
AIR.
When a man ef ft^hn conetefcenát.
To herd atmrrg hit country friends,
match his loots, his motions:
One booby gapes, anotherßares.
And all he fays, does, eats, drints, wears,
Muß fuit their rtißic notions. 360
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA,
But 03 for thu hrutyh old down here g
S'death, why did I ever come down here ¡
The favage will now never qmt me :
Then a confort to takct
For my fanMy's fake,
I'm in a fine jeopardy, fpRt me t
SCENE FL
Changes to a Study in i/r John Flowerdale V Houfe ;
two Chairs and a Table, with Globes and Mathema¬
tical Itiflruments. Clarissa enters, followed by
Jenny.
AIR.
Ciar. Immortal powers proteB me,
Aßifi, fupport, direñ me :
Relieve a heart opprefi :
Ah ! why this palpitation ? 37®
Ceafe, bafy perturbation.
And let me, let me refi,
Jen. My dear lady, what ails you ?
Ciar. Nothing, Jenny, nothing.
Jen. Pardon me. Madam, there is fomething ails
you indeed. Lord ! what Cgnifies all the grandeur
and riches in this world, if they can't procure one
content. I am fure it vexes me to the heart, fo it
does, to fee fuch a dear, fweet, worthy young Lady,
as you are, pining yourfelf to death. 3&0
S4 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act L
Ciar. Jenny, you are a good girl, and I am very
much obliged to you foe feeling fo much on my ac¬
count ; but in a little time, I hope I ihall be eafier.
Jieti. Why, now, here to day. Madam, for fartain
you ought to be merry to day, when there's a fine
gentleman coming to court you ; but, if you like any
one elfe better, I am fure, I wiih you had him, with
all my foul.
Ciar. Suppofe, Jenny, I was fo unfortunate, as to
like a man without my father's approbation ; would
you wiih me married to him i 391
^en. I wiih you married to any one, Madam, that
could make you happy.
Qar. Heigho !
yen. Madam 1 Madam ! yonder's Sir John and
Mr. Lionel on the terrace ; I believe they are coming
up here. Poor, dear Mr. Lionel, he does not feem
to be in over great Ipirits either. To be fure. Ma¬
dam, it's no bufinefs of mine ; but I believe, if the
truth was known, there are thofe in the houfe, who
would give more than ever I ihall be worth, or any
the likes of me, to prevent the marriage of a fartain
perfon that ihall be namelefs. 403
Ciar, What do you mean ? I don't underiland
you ?
yen. I hope you are not angry. Madam ?
C/ar. Ah I Jenny
yen. Lauk! Madam, do you think, when Mr.
Lionel's a clergyman, he'll be obliged to cut off his
hair ? I'm fure it will be a thoufand pities, for it is the
fweetell colour, and looks the niceft put up in a cue
»—and your great pudding-ileeves ! Lord I they'll
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. SS
quite fpoil his Ihape, and the fall of his Ihoulders.
Well ! Madam, if I was a lady of large fortune, I'll
be hanged if Mr. Lionel Ihould be a parfon, if I could
help it. 416
Ciar. I'm going into my dreffing room—It feems
then Mr. Lionel is a great favourite of yours ; but
pray Jenny, have a care how you talk in this manner
to any one elfe.
yen. Me talk ! Madam, I thought you knew me
better ; and, my dear Lady, keep up your ipirits.
I'm fure I have dreffed you to-day as nice as hands and
pins can make you.
AIR.
Pm but a poor fervant, 'tis true. Ma'am }
But ivas I a lady like you, Med am.
In grief would Ißt ? The dickens a lit ¡
Ho, faith, I would fearch the world thro'. Ma'am,
Toßnd what my liking could hit.
Set in cafe a young man, 430
In my fancy there ran ;
It might anger my friends and relations .•
But if I had regard.
It Jhottld go very hccrd.
Or I'dfollow my own inclinatiosu,,
36
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, Act I.
SCÊNE VIÏ.
John Flowerdale, Lionel.
Sir yohn. Indeed, Lionel, I will not hear of it.
What ! to run from us all of a fudden, this way ;
and at fuch a time too ; the eve of my daughter's
wedding, as I may call it ; when your companytmuft
be doubly agreeable, as well as neeeffary to us ? I am
fure you have no Itudjes at prefent, that require your
attendance at Oxford; I muft, therefore, infill on
your putting fuch thoughts out of your head.
Lion. Upon my word. Sir, I have been fo long from
the univerfity, tliat it is time for me to think of re¬
turning. It is true, I have no abfolute ftudies ; but,
really. Sir, I Ihall be obliged to you, if you will
give me leave to go. 44.8
, Sir y (Ah. Come, come, my dear Lionel, I have for
fome time obforved a more than ordinary gravity
growing upon you, and I am not to learn the reafon
of it : I know, to minds ferious, and well inclined,
like yours, the facred funâions you are about to em¬
brace
Lion. Dear Sir, yourgoodnefs to me, of every kind,
is fo great, fo unmeiited 1 Your condefceitfion, your
friendly attentions—in fliort, Sir, I want words to
cxprefs my fenfe of obligations
Sir yohn. Fie, fie, no more of them. By my lall
letters, I find that my old friend, the reiVor, Hill con¬
tinues in good health, confidering his advanced years.
You may imagine I am far from defiring the death of
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. «7
fo worthy and pious a man ; yet, I muft own, at this
time, I could wiih you were in orders, as you might
then perform the ceremony of my daughter's mar¬
riage ; which would give me a fecret fatisfaéiion.
Lion. No doubt. Sir, any office in my power thät
could be inftrumental to the happinefs of any in your
family, 1 ihould perform with plealiire. 469
Sir John. Why, really, Lionel, from the charafter
of her intended huftasd, I have no room to doubt,
but this match will make Clarifia perfedlly happy ;
to be fure, the alliance is the moil eligible, for both
families.
Lion. If the gentleman is fenfible of his happinefs
in the alliance. Sir.
Sir John. The fondnefs of a father is always fuf-
pefted of partiality ; yet, I believe, 1 may venture to
fay, that few young women will be found more unex¬
ceptionable than my daughter : her peribn is agree¬
able, her temper fweet, her underftanding good ; and,
with the obligations file has to your inftrudion
Lion. You do my endeavours too much honour. Sir';
I have been able to add nothing to Mifs Flowerdale's
accompliihments, but a little knowledge in matters of
fmall importance to a mind already fo well improved.
Sir John. I don't think fo; a little knowledge, even
in thofe matters, is necefiary for a woman, in whom^
I am fflir from confidering ignorance as a defireable
charafteriftic : when intelligence is not attended with
impertinent affeflation, it teches them to judge with
precifion, and gives them a degree of folidity necef-
fary for the companion of a fenfible man. 495
38 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act I.
Lion, Yonder's Mr, Jenkin3 : I fancy he's lóoking
for you, Sir.
Sir John. I fee him ; he's come back from Colonel
Oldboy's ; I have a few words to fay to him ; and
will return to you again in a minute.
SCENE Fill.
Lionel: afterwards Clarissa, and then Jenny,
who enters abruptly, and runs out again.
Lion. To be a burthen to one's felf, to wage con¬
tinual war with one's own paillons, forced to combat,
unable to overcome! But fee, ihe appears, whofe
prefence turns all my fufferings into tranlport, and
makes even mifery itfelf delightful, 503
Perhaps, Madam, you are not at leiiiire now ;
otherwife, if you thought proper, we would refume
the fubjedl we were upon yefterday.
Ciar. I am fure. Sir, I give you a great deal of
trouble.
Lion. Madam, you give me no trouble ; I ihould
think every hour of my life happily employed in your
fervice ; and as this is probably the laft time I (hall
have the fatisíaélion of attending you upon the fame
occailon
Ciar. Upon my word, Mr. Lionel, I think myielf
extremely obliged to you ; and ihall ever confider the
enjoyment oî your friendihip
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. «9
Uon, My fnendfliip, Madam, can be of little mo¬
ment to you ; but if the moft perfeil adoration, if the
warmeft wiflies for your felicity, though I fliould ne¬
ver be witnefs of it ; if thefe. Madam, can have-any
merit to continue in your remembrance, a man once
honoWed with a ihare of your efteem 522
Ciar. Hold, Sir—I think I hear fomebody.
Lion. If you pleafe. Madam, we'll turn over this
celeftial globe once more—Have you looked at the
book I left you yefterday ?
Ciar. Really, Sir, 1 have been fo much difturbed
in my thoughts for theiè two or three days pail, that
I have not been able to look at any thing. 529
Lion. I am forry to hear that. Madam ; I hope
there was nothing particular to difturb you. The
cafe Sir John takes to dilpofe of your hand in a man¬
ner fuitable to your birth and fortune.
Chr. I don't know. Sir ;—I own I am difturbed ;
I own I am uneaiy ; there is fomething weighs upon
my heart, which I would fain difclofe.
Lion. Upon your heart. Madam ! did you fay
your heart ?
Ciar. I—did Sir, 1 539
Jen. Madam ! Madam ! Here's a coach and fix
driving up the avenue : It's Colonel Oldboy's family ;
and, I believe the gentleman is in it, that's coming to
court you.—Lord, I muft run and have a peep at him
out of the window.
Lion. Madam, I'll take my leave.
Ciar. Why fo. Sir ?—Blefs me, Mr. Lionel,
what's the matter !—You turn pale.
Lion. Madam!
30 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act I.
Ciar. Pray fpeak to me, Sir.—You trçmble.—Tell
me the caufe of this fudden change.—How ^e you?-^
Where's your diforder ? yy i
Lkn. Oh fortune ! fortune !
AIR.
fau qß me in vain,
Of mhai iUt / contain,
Where harbours the torment Ißnd ;
In my head and my heart.
It invades ev'ry part.
And fubdues both my body and mind.
Ench ^ort I try,
Ev'ry med'cine epply, 560
7he pangs of my foul to appeçfe f
But doom'd to endure.
What I mean for a cure,
turns pdifon and feeds the difecfe.
SCENE IX.
Clarissa, Diana-
Eian. My dear Clarifla—I'm glad I have found
you alone.—For Heaven's fake, don't let any one
break in upon us and give me leave to fit down
with you a little I am in fuch a tremour, fuch a
panic
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 31
Clañ Mercy on us, what has happened ? 569
Dim. You may remember I told you, that when
I was laft winter in London, I was followed by an
odious fellow, one Harman ; I can't fay but the
wretch pleafed me, though he is but a younger bro¬
ther, and not worth fixpence : And, in fhort, when
1 was leaving town, I promifod to correipond with
him.
Clar. Do you think that was prudent ?
Dim. Madnefs ! But this is not the worft, for
what do you think, the creature had the aflurance to
write to me about three weeks ago, deiiring permiL
Hon to come down and ipend the fummer at my
father's. 58 ï
Ciar. At your father's 1
Dian. Ay, who never faw him, knows nothing of
him, and would as foon confent to my marrying a
horfe jockey. He told me a long ftory of fome tale
he intended to invent to make my father receive him
as an indifferent perfon ; and fome gentlemen in Lon¬
don, he faid, would procure him a letter that fhould
give it a face ; and he longed to fee me fo, he faid,
he could not live without it ; and if he could be per¬
mitted but to Ipend a week with me
Clar. Well, and what anfwer did you make ?
Dian. Oh ! abufed him, and refufed to liiten to
any fuch thing—But—I vow I tremble while I tell
it you—Juft before we left our houfe, the impudent
monfter arrived there, attended by a couple of ler-
vants, and is now aäually coming here with my fa¬
ther.
Clar. Upon my word, this is a dreadful thing.
C
¡i SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act I.
Dian. Dreadful, my dear !—I happened to be at
the window as he came into the court, and I declare
I had 'ike to kave fainted away.
Ciar. Isn't my Lady below ? 603
Dian. Yes, and I mull run down to her. You'll
have my brother here prefently too, he would fain
have come in the coach with my mother and me, but
my father infifted on his walking with him over the
fields.
Ciar. Well, Diana, with regard to your affair—I
think you mufi: find fome method of immediately in¬
forming this gentleman that you confider the outrage
he has committed againil you, in the moil heinous
light, and infill upon his going away direilly.
Dian. Why, I believe that will bé the bell way
but then he'll be begging my pardon and alking to
Hay.
Ciar. Why then you mull tell him poÇtively you
won't confent to it ; and if he perfilb in fo extrava¬
gant a defign, tell him you'll never fee him again as
long as you live. 620
Dian. Mull 1 tell him fp !
AIR.
yí¿ ! pr^ytha fpare me, deareß creature !
How can you prompt me to fo much ill-nature ?
Kneeling before me.
Should I hear him implore me :
Cou'd I accufe him,
Cou'd / rifufe him
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 33
The boon heßiou^d qß ?
Set not a lover the cruel tqß.
No, believe me, my dear.
Was he nowßandtng here.
In fpite qß my frights, and alarms,
I might rate him, might fcold him
But Jhoiddßillßrive to hold him
Andßnk at laß into his arms.
SCENE X.
Clarissa.
How eafy to dlredi: the conduit of others, how hard
to regulate our own ! I can give my friend advice,
while I am confcious of the lame indifcretions in my-
felf. Yet is it criminal to know the moil worthy,
moll amiable man in the world, and not to be infen-
lible to his merit ? But my father, the kindell, bell
of fathers, will he approve the choice I have made ?
Nay, has he not made another choice for me ? And,
after all, how can I be fure that the man I love, loves
me again ? He never told me fo ; but his looks, his
aillons, his prefent anxiety fufficiently declare what
his delicacy, his generoilty, will not fuffer him to
utter.
C 2
34
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act L
AIR.
Te gloomy thoughts^ ye fears perverfe¡
Like füllen vapours all difperfe,
And fcatter in the wind ;
Delufive phantoms, brood of night.
No more my ßckly fancy fright.
No more my reafon blind.
'Tis done ; Ifeel my foul releas'd :
The viftonsfly, the mifls are chas'd.
Nor leave a cloud behind.
SCENE XL
Changes to a Side View of Sir John Flowekdale'x
Houfe, with Gates, and a profpeB of the Garden.
Harman enters with Colonel Oldboy.
Col. Well, and how does my old firiend Dick Ran¬
tum do ? I have not feen him thefe twelve years ; he
was an honeft worthy fellow as ever breathed ; I re¬
member he kept a girl in London, and was curfedly
plagued by his wife's reladons. 660
Har. Sir Richard was always a man of fpirit,
Colonel.
Col. But as to this bufinefs of yours, which he tells
me of in his letter—I don't fee much in it—An afikir
Act I. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 35
with a citizen's daughter—^pinked her brother in a
duel—Is the fellow likely to die ?
Har. Why, Sir, we hope not ; but as the matter is
dubious, and will probably make ibme noife, I
thought it was better tO be for a little time out of the
way; when hearing my cafe. Sir Richard Rantum
mentioned you ; he faid, he was fure you would per¬
mit me to remain at your houfe for a few days, and
offered me a recommendation.
Col. And there's likely to be a brat in the calé—
And the girl's friends are in biifinefs—I'll tell you
what will be the confequence then—^They will be for
going to law with you for a maintenance—but no mat¬
ter, I'll take the affair in hand for you—make me
your folicitor ; and, if you are obliged to pay for a
lingle fpoonful of pap, I'll be content to father all the
children in the Foundling Hofpital. 681
Har. You are very kind. Sir,
Col. But hold—hark you—you fay there's money
to be had—fuppofe you were to marry the wench i
Har. Do you think. Sir, that would be fo right af¬
ter what has happened ? Befides, there's a ftronger
objeilion—To tell you the truth, I am honourably in
love in another place.
Col. Oh 1 you are. 689
Har. Yes, Sir, but there are obilacles—A father
—In fhort. Sir, the miftrefs of my heart lives in this
very county, which makes even my prefent fituation
a little irkfome.
Col. In this county ! Zounds ! Then I am fare I
am acquainted with her, and the firft letter of her
name is
¿6 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS j OR, Act I.
Har. Excufe me, Sir, I have fome particnlar rea-
fons
Col. But look who comes yonder—Ha ! ha ! ha !
My ion picking his ileps like a dancing-mafter.
Pr'ythee, Harman, go into the houfe, and let my
wife and daughter know we are come, while 1 go and
have fome fport with him : they will introduce you
to Sir John Flowerdale.
Har. Then, Sir, I'll take the liberty
Col. But d'ye hear, I muft have a little more dif'
courfe with you about this girl j perhaps ihe's a neigh¬
bour of mine, and I may be of lervice to you.
Har. Well, remember, Colonel, I lhall try your
friendihip. 710
AIR.
Indulgent povirs, if ever
Tou mari* J a tender vonv,
0 bend in kind compaffton.
And hear a lover now :
For titles, wealth, and honours.
While others crowd yourJhrine ;
J tt/k this only blejßng.
Lit her I love be Htiae,
Act I, LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
SCENE XII.
ColonelOldboy, Mr. JessaMy, andfeveralServants.
Col. Why, Zounds! ouie would think you had ne¬
ver put your feet to the ground before ; you make as
much work about walking a quarter of a mile, as if
you had gone a pilgrimage to Jerufalem. 722
Mr. yes. Colonel, you have ufed me extremely ill,
to drag me through the dirty roads irr this manner ;
you told me the way was all over a bowling-green ;
only fee what a condition I am in !
Col. Why, how did I know the roads were dirty ?
is that my fault? Befides, we miftöok the way.
Zounds, man, your legs will be never the worfe when
they are bruihed a little. 730
Mr. yes. Antoine 1 have you fent La Roque for
the fltoes and ftockifigs ? Give me the glafs out of your
pocket—^not a dull of powder left in my hair, aod the
friffure as flat as the fore-top of an attorney's clerk
—get your comb and pomatum ; you mufl: borrow
fome powder ; I fuppofe there's fuch a thing as a
drefllng-room in the houfe ?
Col. Ay, and a cellar too, I hope, for I want a
glafs of wine curfedly—^but hold ! hold ! Frank,
where are you going ? Stay, and pay your devoirs
here, if you pleafe ; I fee there's fomcbody coming
out to welcome us. 742
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR,
Act 1.
SCENE XIII.
Ceknel Oldboy, Mr. Jessamy, Lionel, Diana,
Clarissa.
Lion. Colonel, your moft obedient ; Sir John is
walking with my Lady in the garden, and has com-
miflioned me to recive you.
Col. Mr. Lionel, I am heartily glad to fee you
—come here, Frank—tliis is my fon. Sir.
Lion. Sir, I am exceeding proud to
Mr. Jes. Can't you get the powder then ? 749
Col. Mifs Clary, my little Mifs Clary—^give me a
kifs, my dear—as handfome as an angel, by heavens—
Frank, why don't you come here ? this is Mifs
Flowerdale.
Dian. Oh Heavens, ClariiTa ! Juft as I faid, that
impudent devil is come here with my father.
Mr. Jes. Had'nt we better go into the houfe ?
AIR.
To he made in fuch a pickle !
Will you pleafe to lead the way, Sir ?
No, but if you pleafe, you may. Sir,
For precedence none willßickle, 'j6o
Brother, no poUtenefs ? Blefs me !
Will you not your hand beßaw P
Lead the- Lady.
DotCt ^refi me ¡
Dear Diana let him go.
Col.
Dian.
Ciar.
Act II. I.IONEL AND CLARISSA. 39
Mr. Jes. Ma'am permit me.
Col. —— Smoke the beau,
A. 2. Cruel muß I, can / bear ?
Oh adverfeßars !
Oh fate fevere ! 77®
Befet, tormented.
Each hope prevented :
Col. None but the brave deferve the fair.
Come Ma'am let me lead you ;
Novo, Sir, I precede you.
A. 5. Lovers muß ill vfage bear.
Oh adverfe ßars ! oh fate fevere !
None but the brave deferve the fair.
ACT II, SCENE I.
A Hall in Sir fohn Flow erdale'f Houfe, with the
View of a grand Stair-cafe, through an Arch, On
eitherßde of the Stair-cafe below, two Doors, leading
from different Apartments,
'L.iOfii.i, enters, followed by Jekny.
Jenny,
Well, but Mr. Lionel, conGder, pray conGder
now ; how can you be fo prodigious undifcreet as you
are, walking about the hall here, while the gentle-
C3
4<» SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, Act H.
folks are within in the parlour 1 Don't you think
they'll wonder at your getting up fo foon after din¬
ner, and before any of the reft of the company ?
Lion. For Heaven's fake, Jenny, don't ipeak to
me : I neither know where I am, hor what I am do¬
ing ; I am the moft wretched and miferable of man¬
kind. I o
Jen. Poor dear foul, I pity you. Yes, yes, I be¬
lieve you are miferable enough indeed ; and 1 affure
you I have pitied you a great while, and fpoke many
a word in your favour, when you little thought you had
fuch a friend in a corner.
Lion. But, good Jenny, fince, by fome accident or
other, you have been able to drfcover what I would
willingly hide from all the world, 1 conjure you, as
you regard my intereft, as you value your Lady's
peace and honour, never let the moft diftaut hint e£
it efcape you ; for it is a fecret of that importance—
Jen. And, perhaps, you think I can't keep a fe¬
cret. Ah ! Mr. Lionel, it muft be hear, fee, and fay
nothing in this world, or one has no bufinefs to live
in it ; beftdes, who wtxild not be in love with nay
Lady ? There's never a man this day alive but might
be pimd of it ; for flie is the handfomeft, fweeteft
temperdeft ! And I am fure, one of the beft raif-
treffes, ever poor girl had.
Lion. Oh Jenny 1 She's an angel.
Jen. And fo Ihe is, indeed—Do you know that /he
gave me her blue and filver fack to-day, and it is
every cnim as good as new ; and, go things as they
will, don't you be fretting and vexing yourfelf, for I
am mortally fartain ihe would liverer lee a toad, than
AstII. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 41
this Jcflamy. Though I muft faj', to my thinking,
he's a very likely man ; and a finer pair of eye-broWS,
atnd a more ddicate nofe I never law on a face.
JLiaa. By Heavens I fhall run mad.
yen. And why fo ? It is not beauty that always
takes the fancy: moreover, to let you know, if it was,
I don't think him any more to compare to you, than
a thillle is to a carnation : and fo's a fign ; for, mark
my words, my Lady loves you, as much as ihe hates
him.
Zio«. "What you tell me, Jenny, is a thing I neither
merit nor expeft : No, I am unhappy, and let me
continue fo ; my moft prefuriiptuous thoughts ftiall
never carry me to a wifti that may affedt her (^uiet, or
g^ve her caufe to repent. 5°
That's very honourable of you, I muft needs
fay ! but for all that, liking's liking, and one can't
help it ; and if it ihoi^ld be my Lady's cale, it is no
fault of yours. I am fure, when Ihe called me intlo
her dreiSng-roonli, before ihe went down to dinner,
there flie ftood with her eyes brim full of tears : and
fo 1 fell a cryhag for company—and then (he laid (he.
coidd not abide the chap in the parlour ; and at the
fame time, (he bid me take an opportunity to fpeak
to you, and delire you to meet her in the garden this
evening after tea ; for Ihe has fomething to fay to
you. 62
Lion. Jenny, I fee you are my ftiend ; for which I
thank you, though I know it is impoffible to do me
any fervice ; take this ring and-wear it for my fake.
yen. 1 am veiy much obliged to your honour ; I am
your friend indeed—but, I fay, you won't forget to
4» SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act O.
be in the garden now ; and in the mean time keep as
little in the houfe as you can, for walls have eyes and
ears ; and I can tell you the fervants take notice of
your uneailnefs, though I am always defiring them to
mind their own buiinefs. 72
Uon. Pray have a care, Jenny, have a care, my dear
girl, a word may breed fufpicion.
Jen. Plha ! have a care, yourfelf : it is you that
breeds fufpicion, iighing and pining about ; you look,
for all the world like a ghoft ; and, if you don't pluck
up your fpirits, you will be a ghoft foon ; letting
things get the better of you Though, to be fure,
when I thinks witJi myfelf, being crofs'd in love is a
terrible thing—There was a young man in the town
where I was born, made away with himfelf upon the
account of it. 83
Hon. Things ihan't get the better of me, Jenny.
Jen. No more they don't ought. And once again
I fay, fortune is thrown in your dilh, and you are not
to fling it out ; my lady's eftate will be better than
three biihopricks, if Sir John could give them to you.
ThinK of that, Mr. Lionel, think of that.
Hon. Think of what ? 90
AIR.
Oh talk not to me of the nuealth Jhe poßjfes.
My hopes and^ my •oienus to herfelf I conßne ;
The fplendour of riches butßightly Impreffes
A heart that is fraught 'with a pa/pon like mine.
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 43
By love, only love, ßould our fouls be cemented ¡
No intreß, no motive, but that ivou'd I own ;
With her in a cottage be Heß and contented,
/ind wretched without her, tho'plac'd on a throne.
SCENE II.
Jenny, Co/oaí/Oldboy.
Col. Very well, my Lady, I'll come again to you
prefentiy, I am only going into the garden for a
mouthful of air. Aha! my little Abigail! Here, Molly!
Jenny ! Betty ! What's your name ? Why don't you
anfwer me, hufly, when I call you ?
yen. If you want any thing. Sir, I'll call one of the
footmen.
Col. Thefootmen! the footmen! Damn me, I never
knew one of them, in my life, that wouldn't prefer a
rafcal to a gentleman—Come here, you flut, put your
hands about my neck and kifs me.
Jen. Who, I, Sir!
Col. Ay, here's money for you } what the devil are
you afraid of ? I'll take you into keeping ; you ihall
go and live at one of my tenant's houfes.
Jen. 1 wonder you aren't aihamed. Sir, to make an
honeft girl any fuch propoiial ; you that have a wor¬
thy gentlewoman, nay, a Lady of your own—To .be
fure (he's a little ftricken in years ; but why fliouldn't
flie grow elderly as well as yoin-felf?
Col. Burn a lady, I love a pretty girl—
44 SCHOOÏy POR fathers ; OR, Act 11.
yen. Well, then you may go look for one, Sir, I
have no pretenfions to the title. 121
CoL Why, you pert baggage, yon don't know me.
yen. What do you pinch my lingers for? Yes, yes,
I know you well enough, and your charekter's well
known all over the country, running after poor young
creatures as you do, to rmnate them.
Col. What, then people fay
yen. Indeed, they talk very bad of you ; and what¬
ever you may think. Sir, though I'm iri a menial fta-
tiorr, I'm come of people that wou'do't fee me put
upon ; there are thofe that wou'd take my part againft
the proudeft he in the land, that ihould ofier any thing
uncivil. 133
Col. Well, come, let me know now, how does your
young Lady like my fon ?
yen. You want to pump me, do you ? Ifuppofeyou
would know whether I can keep lay tongue within
my teeth.
Col. She dofon't like him then ?
yen. I don't fay fo. Sir—Isn't this alhame, now—
I fuppofe to-morrow or next day k will be reported
that Jenny has been talking, Jenny fakf that, and
t'other—But here. Sir, I ax you. Did 1 tell you any
fuch thing ?
Col. Why, yes, you did.
yen. 11—Lord blefs me !' how can you
Col. Ad, I'll mouzle you.
yen. Ah! ah!
Col. What do you bawl for ? 1,^5
yen. Ah !* ah! ah!
Act IT. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 4S-
AIR.
Indeed., forfooth, a pretty youth.
To play the am'rous fool ;
At fueh an age, methinks your rags
Might be a little cool.
Fie, let me go. Sir.
Kifs me !—No, no. Sir.
Ton pull me, andßahe me.
For ivhat do you take me.
This ßg^e to make me ?
I'd have you to knonu í6o
I'm not for your game. Sir ¡
Nor -will I letame. Sir.
Lord, have you no fiame. Sir,
To tunéle one fo ?
SCENE III.
Colonel Oldbov, Lady Mary, Diana» HarmaK.
Lady M. Mr. Oldboy, mm't you grre me jrour ha-nd
to lead me up ftairs, my dear ?—Sir, I am prodigioufly
obliged to yon ; I protefl: I have not been fo well, I
don't know when : I have had no return of my bilious
complaint after dinner to day; and eat lb voraeiouily !
Did you obferve Mifs ? Doitor Arfnic will be quite
aftoniihed when he hears it ; iurely his new invented
medicine has dome me a prodigious deal of fefvice.
46 SCHOOL FOB. FATHERS ¡ OR, ACT 11,
Col. Ah ! you'll always be taking one flop or other,
till you polfon youifelf. 174
Lady M. It brought Sir Barnaby Drugg from
death's door, after having tried the Spaw and Briftol
waters without effeét : it is good for feveral things, in
many fovereign ; as in colds and confumptions, and
lownefs of (pirits : it Èorredis the humours, reftifies
the juices, regulates the nervous fyftera, creates an ap¬
petite, prevents fluihings and flcknefs after meals, as
alfo vain fears and head-achs ; it is the lineft thing in
the world for an afthma ; and no body that takes it, is
ever troubled with hyftericks. 184
Col. Give me a pinch of your Ladyfliip's fnufF.
Lady M. This is a mighty pretty fort of a man. Co¬
lonel, who is he I
Col. A young fellow, my Lady, recommended to
me.
Lady M. I proteft he has the fweetefl: taile for
poetry 1—He has repeated to me two or three of his
own things ; and I have been telling him of the poem
my late brother Lord Jeffamy made on the moufe that
was drowned. 194
Col. Ay, a fine fubjeél for a poem ; a moufe that
was drowned in a
Lady M. Huih, my dear Colonel, don't mention
it ; to be fure the circumftance was vaftiy indelicate
but for the number of lines, the poem was as charming
a morfel—I hear the earl of Punley fay, who under-
ftood Latin, that it was equal to any thing in Catid-
lus. 202
Col. Well, how did you like your fon's behaviour
at dinner, Madam I thought the girl locked a little
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 47
aikew at him—^Why, he found fault with every thing
and contradiiled every body.
L. M. Softly, JMifs Flowerdale, I underftand, has
delired a private conference with him.
Col. What, Harman, have you got entertaining my
daughter there ? Come hither, Dy ; has he been giving
you a hiftory of the accident that brought him down
here ? 212
D'lan. Noj^î'apa, the gentleman has been telling—
he
Lady M. No matter what, Mifs—'tis not polite to
repeat what has been faid.
Col. Well, well, my Lady, you knpw the compait
we made ; the boy is yours, the girl mine Give
me your hand, Dy. z 19
Lady M. Colonel, I have done—Pray, Sir, was
there any news when you left London ; any thing
about the Eaft-lndies, the miniftry, or politics of any
kind ! 1 am ftrangely fond of politics ; but I hear
nothing fince my Lord Jeflamy's death ; he ufed to
write to me all the affairs of the nation, for he was a
very great politician himfelf. I have a manufcript
fpeech of his in my cabinet—He never Ipoke it, but
it is as fine a thing as ever came from man í
Col. What is that crawling on your Ladyihip's pet¬
ticoat ? 230
Lady M. Where 1 Where!
Col. Zounds ! a fpider with legs as long as my arm.
Lady M. Oh Heavens ! Ah don't let me look at it!
1 ihall faint, 1 lhaU faint ! A ipider ! a Ipider ! a
fpider !
48 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS j OR, Act If.
SCENE IF.
Colonel Oldboy, Diana, Harmak.
Col. Hold ; zounds let her go ; I knew the fpider
would fet her a galloping, with her damned fufs
about her brother, my Lord Jeflamy.—Harman, come
here.—How do you like my daughter ? Is the girl
you are in love with as handfome as this ? 240
Har. In my opinion. Sir.
Col. What, as handfome as Dy!—I'll lay you
twenty pounds flie has not fuch a pair of eyes. He
tells me he's in love, Dy; raging mad for love, and, by
his talk, I begin to believe him.
Eian. Now, for my part. Papa, I doubt it very
much ; though, by what I heard the gentleman lay
juft now within, I find he imagines the lady has a
violent partiality for him ; and yet he may be miftaken
there too.
Col. For fhame, Dy, what the mifchief do you
mean ? How can you talk lb tartly to a poor young
fellow under misfortunes ! Give him your hand, and
allí his pardon.—Don't mind her, Harman, For
all this, (he is as good natnred a little devil, as ever
was born.
Har. You may remember. Sir, I told you before
dinner, that I had far fame time carried on a private
corrdFpoadence with my lovely gtri ; and that her
father, whofc confcnt we de^ir of obtaining, is the
great obftacle to our happinefs. 259
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 49
Col. Why don't j'ou carry her off in fpight of him,
then ?—I ran away with my wife—aik my Lady Mary,
ihe'll tell you the thing herfelf.—Her old conceited
Lord of a father thought I was not good enough ; but
I mounted a garden-wall, notwithftanding their che-
veux-de-frize of broken glafs bottles, took her out
of a three pair of flairs window, and brought he»
down a ladder in my arms By the way, ihe would
have fqueezed through a cat-hole to get at me.—
And I would have taken her out of the Tower of
London, damme, if it had been furrounded with the
three regiments of guards. 271
J?ian, But, furely. Papa, you would not periuade
the gentleman to fuch a proceeding as this is ; cooiider
the noife it will make in the country ; and if you are
known to be the advifer and abettor—
Col. Why, what do I care ? I fay, if he takes my
advice he'll run away with her, Mid I'll give him all
the ailiflance I can.
Har. I am fure, Sir, you are very kind ; and, to
tell you the truth, I have more than once had the very
fcheme in my head, if I thought it wasfeaGble, and
knew how to go about it.
Col. Feafible, and knew how to go about it ! The
thing's feaiible enough, if the girl's willing to go
off with yqu, and you have fpirit fuíHcient to under»
take it.
Har. O, a^öribat. Sir, I can anfwer.
Dian. What, Sir, tliat thejJady will be willing to
go off with you ? 289
Har. No, Ma^m, that I have fpirit enough to take
her, if flie Í3®ilIiDg to go ; and thus far I dare ven-
50 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act II.
ture to promife, that between this and to-morrow
morning I will find out whether ftie is or not.
Col. So he may ; (he lives but in this county ; and
tell her, Harman, you have met with a friend, who
is inclined to ferve you. You ihall have my poil-
chaife at a minute's warning; and if a hundred
pieces will be of any ufe to you, you may command
'em.
Har. And are you really ferions. Sir ? 300
Col. Serious ; damme if I an't. I have put twenty
young fellows in the way of getting girls that they
never would have thought of : and bring her to my
houfe ; whenever you come, you ihall have a fupper
and a bed ; but you muft marry her firft, becaufe my
Lady will be fqueamiih.
Dian. Well, but, my dear Papa, upon my word
you have a great deal to anfwer for : fuppofe it was
your own cafe to have a daughter in fuch circum-
Aances, would you be obliged to any one 310
Col. Hold your tongue, huify, who bid you put in
your oar ? However, Harman, I don't want to fet
you upon any thing ; 'tis no affair of mine to be fure ;
I only give you advice, and tell you how I would aâ,
if I was in your place.
Har. I alTure you. Sir, I am quite charm'd with
the advice ; and fince you are ready tJl^and my
friend, I am determined to follow it.
Col. You are
Har. Pofitively— 320
Col. Say no more tKen ; here's my hand :—You
underftand me—No occafion to talk any further of it
at prefent—When we are alone—Dy, take Mr. Har-
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 51
man into the drawing-room, and give him fome tea.
—I fay, Harman, Mum.—
Har. O, Sir.
Col. What do you mean by your grave looks, mif-
trefs ?
AIR.
Horn) curfedly vext the old fellow will he.
When he finds you have Jhapt up his daughter ;
Butfiñft as he will, leave the matter to me.
And I warrant you foon fitall have caught her.
What a plague and a pox.
Shall an ill natur'dfox
Prevent youth and beauty
From doing their duty ?
He ought to be fet in the fiocks.
He merits the law ;
And if we can't bite him.
By gad we'll indite him.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha 1
SCENE V.
I>iana, Harman.
Dian. Sir, I defire to know what grofs aéts of im¬
prudence you have ever difcovered in me, to authorize
s^ SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act 11.
you in this licence, or make you imagine I ihould not
fliew fuch marks of my refentment as your monftrous
treatment of me deferves.
ffur. Nay, my dear Diana, I confefs I have been
rather too bold ;—but coniider, I languiih'd to fee
you : and when an opportunity offer'd to give me that
pleafure without running any rifque, either of your
quiet or reputation, how hard was it to be refilled ?
'Tis true, I little thought my vifit would be attended
with fuch happy confequences as it now feems to pro-
mife.
.Dim. What do you mean ?
Ifar. Why, don't you fee your father has an incli¬
nation 1 Ihould run away with you, and is contriving
the means himfelf?
Dian, And do you think me capable of concurring ?
Do you think I have no more duty ? 360
Har. I don't know that. Madam ; I am fure your
refufing to feize fuch an opportunity to make me
happy, gives evident prqoß that you have very little
love.
Dian. If there is no way to convince you of my
love but by my indifcretion, you are welcome to con¬
iider it in what light you pleafe.
Har. Was ever fo unfortunate a dog ?
Dian. Very pretty this upon ray word ; but is it
poffible you can be in eameft ? 370
Har. It is a matter of too much confequence to jeft
about.
Dian. And you ferioufly think I ought
Har. You are fenfible there are no hopes of your
father's cooly and wittingly confenting to our mar-
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 53
riage ; chance has thrown in our way a whimfîcal
method of furprizing him into a cofnpliance, and why
ihould not we avail ourfelves of it i
Dtan. And fo you would have me—
Har. I ihall fay no more, Ma'am. 380
Dtan. Nay, but, for Heaven's ikke*»—■
Har. No, Madam, no 5 I have done.
Dtan. And are you pofitively in this violent fufs
about the matter, or only giving yourfelf airs ?
Har. You may fuppofe what you think proper,
Madam.
Dtan. Well, come 5—let us go into the drawing-
room and drink tea, and afterwards we'll talk of
matters.
Har. I won't drink any tea. 390
Dian. Why fo ?
Har. Becaufe 1 don't like it.
Dian. Not like it ! Ridiculous.
Har. I wifh you would let me alone.
Dtan. Nay, pr'ythee
Har. I won't.
Dian. Well, will you, if 1 confent to adt as you
pleafe ?
Har. I don't know whether I will or not.
Dian. Ha, ha, ha, poor Harman. 400
AIR.
Come then, pining, peeviß lever.
Tell me what to do and fag ¡
Frorri gour doleftfl dumps recover.
Smile, and it Jhall have its wag.
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act II.
With the^r humours, thus to tca%e us.
Men are Jure theßrangeß elves !
Silly creatures, mould you pleafe us.
Ton ßiouldßillßem pleas'd yourßlves.
SCENE FI.
Harman.
Say'll thou fo, my girl ! Then Love renounce me,
if I drive not old Truepenny's humour to the utter-
moft.—Let me conCder ;—what ill confequence can
poiEbly attend it ?—^The deiign is his own, as in part
will Ije the execution.—He may perhaps be angry
when he finds out the deceit.—Well ;—he deceives
himfelf ; and faults we commit ourfelves, we feldom
find much difficulty in pardoning.
AIR.
Hence mith caution, hence mith fear.
Beauty prompts, and noughtßallßay me ¡
Boldly for that prize Ißeer ¡
Rocks, nor minds, nor moves difmay me, 420
Yet, raß lover, look behind.
Think mhat evils may betide you >•
Love andfortune loth are blind.
And you have none elfe to guide you.
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. SS
SCENE VII.
Changes to a handfome DreJJîng-room, fuppofed to be
Clarissa'iT. On oneßde, heteueen the IVings, is a
Table <with a Glafs, Boxes, and two Chairs,' Diana
enters before Je s s amy.
Dian. Come, brother, I undertake to be miftreis of
the ceremony upon this occaiion, and introduce you
to your iirft audience.—Mifs Flowerdale is not here,
I perceive; but no matter.—
Mr, Jes, Upon my word, a pretty elegant dreifing
room this ; but confound our builders, or architeih,
as they call themfelves, they are all errant ftone-
mafons ; not one of them know the fituation of doors,
windows, or chimnies ; which are as eflential to a
room as eyes, nofe and mouth to a countenance.
Now, if the eyes are where the mouth fiiould be, and
the nofe out of proportion and its place ; quelle horrible
phaßonomie ?
Dian, My dear brother, you are not come here as
a virtuofo to admire the temple ; but as a votary to
addrefs the deity to whom it belongs. Shew, I be-
feech you, a little more devotion, and tell me, how
do you like Mils Flowerdale ? don't you think her
very handfome ?
Mr, Jes. Pale ; but that I am determined Ihe
ihall remedy ; for, as foon as we are married, I will
make her put on rouge :—Let me fee ;—has flie got
any in her boxes here ; Veritable toilet a P Angloife.
Nothing but a bottle of Hungary-water, two or three
D
j6 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act 11.
rows of pins, a paper of patches, and a little bole-ar-
moniac by way of tooth-'powder. 450
Dian. Brother, I would fain give you fome advice
upon this occafion, which may be of fervice to you ;
You are now going to entertain a young Lady-,,—Let
me prevail upon you to lay aiîde thofe airs, mi ac¬
count of which, fome people are impertinent enough
to call you a coxcomb} for, I am afraid, flre may be
apt to think you a coxcomb too, as I aíTure you, flie is
very capable of dillinguiftiiog«
Mr. yet. So much the worfe for me.—-If Ihe is ca¬
pable of diftinguifhing, I ihall meet with a terrible re-
pulfe. 1 don't believe ihe'll have me.
Dlan. I don't believe fhe will, indeed.
Mr. yes. Go on, lifter,—ha, ha, ha!
Dian. I proteft I am ferions—Though, I perceive,
you have more faith in the cqunfellor before you
there, the looking-glafs. But give me leave to tell
you, it is not a powder'd head, a lac'd coat, a gri¬
mace, a flirug, a bow, or a few pert phraies, learnt
by rote, that conftitutes the power of plenfing all wo¬
men. 470
Mr. yes. You had better return to the gentleman,
and give him his tea, my dear.
Diaa. Theie qualifications we find in our parrots
and monkies. I would undertake to teach Poll, in
three weeks, the faihionable jargon of half tlie fine
men about town ; and I am fure it muft be allowed,
that pug, in a fcarlet coat, is a gentleman as dégagé
and alluriqg as moil of them.
ActIJ. I,I0N£L AND CLARISSA.
AIR.
LadiaSi prag admire aßgurtf
Fait Jdm le dernier gout. /] 8o
Fiiß, hit bat, iano bigger
VChan a Cbinefe woman's fioe ;
Sfii yards of rsbhon Und
His hair en baton behind :
While his fore-tap's fo high.
That in crown he may vie
With the isfted coekatoo.
Then his weiß fo long and taper,
*Tis an abfolute threadpaper t
Maids refß him, you.thai can, 450
Odd's hfe, if this is all th' affair,
I'll clep a hat on, club my hear.
And call myfelf a Man.
SCENE VIIL
Clarissa, Mr. Jessamy.
Oar. Sir, I topk the liberty to deike afcw moment's
prirote converfation with you—I hope you will excufe
it—I am, really, greatly embarrafled. But, in an af¬
fair of fuch immediat-e confequence to us both-
Air. ßis. My dear creature, don't be embarrafs'd
before me ; I ihould be extremely forry to Itrike you
D 2
j« SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act II.
with any awe ; but, this is a fpecies of mauvatfe
honte, which the company 1 (hall introduce you to,
will foon cure you of.
Ciar. Upon my word. Sir, I don't underftand you.
Mr. Jes. Perhaps you may be under fome uneafi-
nefs left I fhould not be quite fo warm in the profe-
cution of this aftair, as you could wiih : it is true
with regard to quality, I might do better ; and, with
regard to fortune, full as well—But, you pleafe me—
Upon my fbul, I have not met with any thing more
agreeable to me a great while.
Ciar. Pray, Sir, keep your feat.
Mr. Jes. Mawuatfe honte again. My dear, there is
nothing in thelê little familiarities between you and
me—^When we are married, I Aall do every thing to
render your life happy. 509
Ciar. Ah ! Sir, pardon me. The happinefs of my
life depends upon a circumftance
Mr. Jes. Oh ! I underftand you—You have been
told, I fuppofe, of the Italian opera girl—Rat peoples'
tonjues—However, 'tis true, I had an affair with her
at Naples, and ihe is now here. But, be iktisfied :
I'll give her a thoufand pounds, and fend her about
her builnefs.
Clor. Me, Sir ! I proteft nobody told me—Lord!
I never heard any liich thing, oi' enquired about it.
Mr. Jes. No! have they not been chattering to you
of my affair at Pifa, with the Principeffa del
Ciar. No, indeed. Sir.
Mr. Jes. Well, I was afraid they might, becaule,
in this rude country—But, why filent on a fudden I
■—don't be afraid to ^eak.
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 5y
Ciar. No, Sir, 1 will come to the fubjefl, on which
1 took the liberty to trouble you—Indeed, I have
great reliance on your generofity,
Mr. Jes. You'll find me generous as a prince, de¬
pend on't. 530
Ciar. I am blefs'd. Sir, with one of the beft of fa¬
thers : I never yet difobeyed him ; in which I have
had little merit; for his commands hitherto have only
been to fecure my own felicity. 540
Mr. Jes. Apres ma chere—
Ciar. But now. Sir, I am under the fliocking necef-
fity of difobeying him, or being wretched for ever.
Mr. Jes. Hem !
Ciar. Our union is impolEble—^my prefent fituation
—^the gloomy profpeit before me—the inquietude of
my mind
AIR.
Poor panting heart, ah! <wilt thou ever
Throb nuithin my troubled breajl ;
Shall I fee the moment never, 550
That is doomed to ¿tve thee reß ?
Cruelßars ! that thus torment me.
Still 1 feek for eafe in vain,
All my efforts but prefent me
With variety of pain.
4o SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, Ac r II.
S CSNE IX.
Jessamy, Jenkins.
Mr, Ja. Who's there ?
Jen. Do yon call, Sir ?
Mr. yes. Hark you, old gentkman ! who are yon i
Jen. Sir, my name is Jenkins.
Mr. Jes. Oh ! you are Sir John Flowerdale's fte-
ward ; a fervant he puts confidence in. 561
yen. Sir, I have ferved Sir John Flowerdale many
years ; he is the befl: of mafters ; and, I believe, he
has fome dépendance on my attachment and fidelity.
Mr. yes. Then, Mr. Jenkins, I fhallcondefcendto
fpeak to you. Does your mafter know who I am ?
Does he know. Sir, that I am likely to be a Peer of
Great Britain ? That I have ten thoufand pounds a
year ; that I have palfed through all Etrrope with dif-
tinguifhed eclat ; that I refufed the daughter of Myn¬
heer Van Slokenfolk, the great Dutch burgomafter ;
and, that, if I had not had the misfortune of being
bred a proteilant, I might have married the niece of his
prefent holineû the Pope, with a fortnae of two hun¬
dred thoufand piaftm ?
yen. I am fure, Sir, my mafter has all the refpeét
imaginable
Mr. yes. Then, Sir, how comes he, after my (hew¬
ing an inclination to be allied to his family ; how
comes he, I fay, to bring me to his houfe to be af¬
fronted i I have let his daughter go ; but, I think, I
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 6l'
was in the wrong ; for a woman that infults nie, is no
more fafe than a man. I have brought a Lady to
reafon before now, for giving me fancy language ;
and left her male friends to revenge it.
Jen. Pray, good Sir, what's the matter ?
Mr. Jes. Why, Sir, this is the matter. Sir—your
mailer's daughter. Sir, has behaved to me with
damn'd infolence, and impertinence : and you may
tell Sir John Flowerdale, firÄ, with fegafd to her,
that 1 thiirit (he is a filly, igliotänt» awkward, ill-bred
country pu6.
Jen. Oh ! Sir, for Heaven's fake
Mr. Jes. And, that with regard to himfelf, he is,
in my opinion, an old, doating, ridiculous, country
'fquire ; without the knowledge of either men or
things ; and, that he is below my notice, if it were
not to defpife him.
Jen. Good Lord! Good Lord 1
Mr. Jes. And, advife him and his daughter to keep
Out of my way ; for, by gad I will affront them, in
the firft place I meet them——-And, if your maffer
is for carrying things further 5 tell him, I fence bet¬
ter than any man in Enrt^e.
AIR.
Tn Italy, Germany, Freutce have I been ;
Where prtnees I've Rv'd imth, mshere monanhs I've
fien;
The great have carefs'd me.
The fair have addrefs'd me.
Nay, fmiJes I have hadfrom a queen.
62 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, ActII.
jínJ, nonufjhall a pert,
Inßgnißcantßirt,
With injolence ufe me,
Prefume to refufe me !
She femciet my pride will be hurt.
But tout au contraire,
I'm pleas'd I declare,
^ito happy, to think, I efcape from the fnare t
Serviteur Mam'fette ¡ my claim J withdraw.
Hey, where are my people? Fal, lal, lal, ¡al, la. 6ig
SCENE X.
Jenkins.
I muft go and inform Sir John of what has happen¬
ed ; but, 1 will not tell him of the outrageous beha¬
viour of this young ipark ; for he is a man of Ipirit,
and would refent it. Egad, my own fingers itched to
be at him, once or twice ; and, as ftout as he is, I
fancy thefe old fifts would give him á bellyful. He
complains of Mifs Clarifia : but fhe is incapable of
treating him in the manner he fays. Perhaps, fhe
may have behaved with fome coldnefs towards him ;
and yet, that is a myftery to me too.
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 63
AIR.
We all fay the man nvas exceedingly knoiuing^ 630
And knowing moß furely was he.
Who found out the caufe of the ebbing andflowing.
Theßux and reflux of the fea.
Nor was he in knowledge farfrom it.
Who firß mark'd the courfe of a comet}
To what it was owing.
Its coming and going.
Its wanderings hither and thither ;
But the man that divines
A Lady's deflgns, 640
Their caufe or effe8.
In any refpeñ.
Is wifer than both put together.
SCENE XI.
Changes to Sir John Flowerdale'j Garden ¡ with a
View of a Canal, by Moonlight ; the Side Scenes re-
prefent Box-hedges, intermixed with Statues and Flow-
ering Shrubs, Lionel enters, lea£ng Clarissa.
Lion. Hift—methought I heard a noife—ihould
we be furprifed together, at a junfture fo critical ;
what might be the confequence—I know not how it
D3
64 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, ActU.
is ; but, at this the happieft moment of ray life, 1 feel
a. damp, a tremor, at ray heart
Ciar. Then, what ihould I do ? If you tremble, I
might to be terrified indeed, who have diicovered
ientiments, which, perhaps, I (hoold have hid, with
a frankneis, that, by a man lefs generous, lefs noble
minded than yomfeif, might be conftrucd to ray dif-
advantage. 654
Lion. Oh ! wound me not with fo cruel an expref-
fion—^You love me, and have condeicended to con-
fefs it—You have feen ray torments, and been kind
enough to pity them—The world, indeed, may blame
you
C/ar. And, yet, was it prflclaiaaed to the world,
what could the raoft malicióos fuggeft ? They could
but fay, that, truth and fincerity got the better of
forms ; that the tongue dar'd to fpeak the honelt
fenfations of the mmd ; that, while you aimed at
improving ray underltanding, you engaged, and con¬
quered ray heart.
Lion. And, is it ! is it pollible !
Ciar. Be calm, and lillen to me: what I have done
has not been lightly imagined, nor raftily undertaken :
it is the work of refledion, of conviélion j ray love is
not a facrifice to ray own fency, but a tribute to your
worth} did I think there was a more deferring man
in the world
Lion. If, to doat on you more than life, be to dé¬
ferré yon, fo far I have mtrit ; if, to have no wifli,
no hope, bo thought, but you, can entitle rae to the
envied difeinâiofi ofamMneBt's regard, f* fer I dare
pretend. 678
ACT II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. «S
Chr. That, I have this day refufed a man, with
whom I could not be happy, I make do merit ; born
for quiet and fimplicity, the cro«ds of the world, the
noife attending pomp aad diftiDdtipn, have no charms
for me: I wifli to pafs my life in rational tranquility,
with a friend, whofe virtues I can reipeâ, whoíe ta¬
lents I can admire ; who will make my efteem the ba-
fis of my affeflion.
Lion. O charming creature ! yes, let me indulge the
flattering idea ; form'd with the fame fentiments, the
fame feelings, the fame tender pallion for each other ;
Nature defígn'd us to compofe that facred umon,
which nothing but death can annul, 691
Ciar. One only thing remember. Secure in each
other's affeftions, here we mufl: reft; I would not
give my father a moment's pain, to purchafe the em¬
pire of the world.
Lion. Command, difpofe ôf me as you pleafe ; an¬
gels take cognizance of the vows of innocence and
virtue ; and, I will believe that ours are already re-
gifter'd in Heaven.
Clor. I will believe fo too. 700
AIR.
Oo, and, on my truth relßng.
Comfort to your cares applying.
Bid each doubt and forrow flying.
Leave to peace, and love your ireq/f.
66 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, Act. II.
Gof and may the Potu're that hear us,
Still, as kind proteBors near us.
Through our troubles fafely Jleer us
To a port of joy and refl.
SCENE XII.
Lionel, Sir John Flow&rdale.
Sir John. Who's there ? Lionel ?
Lion. Heavn's ! 'tis Sir John Flowerdale. 710
Sir John. Who's there ?
Lion. 'Tis I, Sir ; I am here, Lionel.
Sir John. My dear lad, I have been fearching for
you this half hour, and was at laft told you had come
into the garden : I have a piece of news, which I
dare fwear will ihock and furprize you; my daughter
has refufed Colonel Oldboy's fon, who is this minute
departed the houfe in violent refentment of her ill-
treatment.
Lion. Is he gone, Sir ? 720
Sir John. Yes, and the family are preparing to fol-
dow him. Oh! Lionel, Clarifia has deceived me : in
this affair Ihe has fuffered me to deceive myfelf. The
meafures which I have been fo long preparing, are
broken in a moment-!—my hopes fruftrated ! and both
parties, in the eye of the norld, rendered light and
ridiculous.
Lion. I am forry to fee you fo much moved; pray.
Sir, recover yourfelf. 729
Act H. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 67
Sir John. I am forry, Lionel, ihe has profited no
better by your leflbns of philofophy, than to impofe
upon and diftrefs fo kind a father.
Lion. Have jufter thoughts of her, Sir: Ihe has
not impofed on you, ihe is incapable—have but a lit¬
tle patience and things may yet be brought about.
Sir John. No, Lionel, no ; the matter is paft, and
there's an end to it ; yet I would conjeélure to what
fuch an unexpefled turn in her conduit can be owing ;
I would fain be fatisfied of the motive that could urge
her to fo extraordinary a proceeding, without the
leaft intimation, the leaft warning to me, or any of
her friends. 742
Lion. Perhaps, Sir, the gentleman may have been
too impetuous, and offended Mifs Flowerdale's deli¬
cacy—certainly nothing elfe could occafion
Sir John. Heaven only knows—I think, indeed,
there can be no fettled averfion, and furely her affec¬
tions are not engaged elfewhere.
Lion. Engag'd, Sir No, Sir.
Sir John. I think not, Lionel.
Lion. You may be pofitive. Sir—I'm fure
Sir John. O worthy young man, whofe integrity,
opennefs, and every good quality have rendered dear
to me as my own child, I fee this affair troubles you
as much as it does me.
Lion. It troubles me indeed. Sir.
Sir John. However, my particular dilappointment
ought not to be detrimental to you, nor fhall it; I
well know how irkfome it is to a generous mind to live
in a ftate of dépendance, and have long had it in my
thoughts to make you eafy for life. 761
6S SCHOOL POR FATHERS ; OR, Act II.
Litm. Sir John, the fituation of my mind at prefent
is a little difturb'd—ipare me—I boíéech you, fpare
me ; why will you perfift in a goodnefs that makes
me alham'd of myfelf ?
Sir John. There is an eftate in this county, which I
purchafed fome years ago ; by me it will never be
miíTed, and who ever marries my daughter will have
little reafon to complain of my difpollng nf fach a
trifle for my own gratification. On the prefent mar¬
riage I intended to peifeil a deed of gift in your fa¬
vour, which has been for fome time preparing ; my
lawyer has this day completed it, and it is yours, my
dear Lionel, with every good wifh that the warracfl
friend can beilow.
Lion. Sir, If you prefented a piftol with defign to
fhoot me, I wcwjld fubmit to it ; but you muft cxcufe
me, I cannot lay myfelf under more (¿ligations.
Sir John. Your delicacy carries you too far; in this
I confer a favour on myfelf: however, we'll talk no
more on the fubje¿t at prefent, let us walk towards
the houfe, our friends will depart etíe without my
bidding them adieu. y 83
SCEILE XIII.
Diana, Clarissa, and afterwards Lionel.
Dion. So then, my dear Clarifia, yon really give
credit to the ravings of that French wretch, with re¬
gard to a plurality of worlds ?
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 69
Ciar. I don't make it an abfolute article of belief,
but I think it an ingenious conjedlure with great pro¬
bability on its fide. 789
Dian. And we are a moon to the moon ! Nay, child,
1 know fomething of aftronomy, but—that that
little ihining thing there, which feems not much larger
than a filver plate, ihould, perhaps, contain great
cities like Londoo ; and who can- tell but they may
have kings there and parliaments, and plays and ope¬
ras, and people of falhion! L,ord, the people offaihion
in the moon muft be ftrange creatures-
Ciar. Methinks Venus fliines very bright in yonder
corner. 799
Dian. Venus! O pray let me look at Venus; Ifup-
pofe, if there are any inhabitants there, they muft be
ail lovers.
Lion. Was ever fuch a wretch—I can't ftay a mo¬
ment in a place; where is my repofe ?—fled with my
virtue. Was I then born for ialihood and diifimula-
tioo ? I was, I was, and I live to be conicious of it ;
to impofe upon ray friend ; to betray my benefailor
and lie to hide my ingtatitude—a raonfter in a mo¬
ment—No, I may be the moil unfortunate of men,
but I will not be the moil odious ; while my heart is
yet capable of diilating what is honeft, I will obey its
voice. 812
7»
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR,
Act n.
SCENE XIV.
Diana, Clarissa, Lionel, ColonelHar-
man.
Col. Dy, where are you ? What the mifchief, is
this a time to be walking in the garden ? The coach
has been ready this half hour, arid your Mamma is
waiting for you.
D 'tan. I am learning aftronomy, Sir ; do you know.
Papa, that the moon is inhabited ?
Col. Hufly, you are half a lunatic yourfelf ; come
here, things have gone juft as I imagin'd they wou'd,
the girl has refus'd your brother, I knew he mull dif-
gull her. 822
Dian. Women will want talle now and then, Sir.
Col. But 1 mull talk to the young Lady a little.
Har. Well, I have had a long conference with your
father about the elopement, and he continues firm in
his opinion that 1 ought to attempt it : in Ihort, all
the necelTary operations are fettled between us, and
I am to leave his houfe to-morrow morning, if I can
butperfuade the young Lady 830
Dian. Ay, but I hope the young Lady will have
more fenfe—Lord, how can you teaze me with your
nonfenfe ? Come, Sir, is'nt it time for us to go in ?
Her Ladylhip will be impatient.
Col. Friend Lionel, good night to you ; Mifs Cla¬
rilla, my dear, though I am father to the puppy who
Act II. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. VI
has difpleafed you, give me a kifs ; you ferv'd him
right, and I thank you for it.
AIR.
0 what a night is here for love !
Cynthia brightly Jhintng above ;
Among the trees,
to theßghing breeze.
Fountains tinkling;
Stars a twinkling,
0 what a night is here for love !
So may the morn propitious prove ¡
And fo it will, if right I guefs ¡
For fometimes light.
As well as night,
A loveAs hopes may blefs.
A. 2. Farewell my friend.
May gentle reß
Calm each tumult in your breaß.
Every pain and fear remove.
Lion. What have I done ?
Where Jhall I run.
With grief andßame at once opprefl ;
How my own upbraiding fiun.
Or meet my friend dßreß ?
Col.
Dian.
Har.
A. 3. Hark to Philomel, how fweet.
From yonder elm.
Col. tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet.
jia SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, ACT 11.
A, 0 what a night ii here for hve !
But vainly natureßrivet to move.
Nor nightingale among the trees.
Nor twinllingßars, norßghing breeze.
Nor murmuringßreäms.
Nor Phabe's beams.
Can charm, unlefs the heart's at eafe.
ACr ///. SCENE t.
A Room in Colonel OldroyVHoufe. HaHman enters
with his Hat, Boots, and Whip, followed by Diaha.
Diana,
Pr'ythee, hear me.
Har. My dear, what would you fay ?
Dian. I am afraid of the ftep we are going to take ;
indeed, I am : 'tis true my father is the contriver of
it ; but, really, on confideration, I think I ihould ap¬
pear lefs culpable if he was not fo ; 1 am at once cri¬
minal myfelf, and rendering him ridiculous.
Har. Do you love me? 8
Dian. Suppofe I do, you give me a very ill proof
of your love for me, when you would take advantage
of my tendemefs, to blind my reafon : how can you
have fo little regard for my honour as to facrifice it
to a vain triumph ? For it « iti that light I fee the raih
añion you are forcing me to commit j nay, methinks
my confeflttng to it Ihould injure me in your own
Act III. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 7 J
efteem. When a woman forgets what ihe owes her-
felf, a lover fhould fet little value upon any thing ihe
gives to him. 18
Har. Can you luppofe then, Can yon imagine^ that
my paffion will ever make me forget the veneration
And, an elopement is nothing, when it is on the
road to matriniony.
Dion, At heft, I (hall incur the cenfure of diib-
bedience, and indíícretitin ; and is it noekihg to a
young woman, wfiat the world fays of her ? Ah ! my
good friend, be aflured, fuch a difregard of the world
is the firft ftep towards deíérving its reproaches.
Har. But, the neceffity we are under—Mankind
lus too much good ièniè, too much good nature—
Dian, Every one has good fenfe enough to fee other
peoples' faults, and good nature enough to overlook
their own. Befides, the ffloft facred things may be
made an ill ufe of, and even marriage itfelf, if inde¬
cently and improperly— 34
Har. Come, get yourfelf ready : where is your
band-box, hat, and cloak? Slip into the garden ; be
there at the iron-gate, which you (hewed me juft now ;
and, as the poft-ehaife comes round, I will ftep and
take yon itu
Dion. Dear Harnian, let me beg of you to defift.
Har. Dear Diana, let me beg of yon to go on. 41
Dian. I (hall never have refblntion to taïiy me
through it.
Har. We (hall have four horfts, my dear, and they
willaffiftus.
Dia«. In ihort—■—cannot go with ymi.
Har. But before me—into the garden—^WOn^t yon?
74 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act 111.
AIR.
Dian. Hoiu can you, inhuman ! perjtß to dißrefs me ?
My danger, my feart, 'tit in vain to difguife :
Tou know them, yet ßill to deßruäian you preß me.
Andforce thatfrompqffion which prudence denies.
1fain would oppofe a perverfe inclination ; ¡2
The vißons of fancy, from reafon divide ;
With fortitude hqfße the wiles of tem^ation.
And let love no longer make folly its guide.
SCENE II.
Colonel Oldboy, Harman.
Col. Hey-day! what's the meaning of this ? Who is
it went out of the room, there? Have you and my
daughter been in conference, Mr. Harman ?
Har. Yes, faith, Sir, ihe has been taking me to taik
here very feverely, with regard to this affair ; and (he
has faid fo much againii: it, and put it into fuch a
ftrange light 62
Col. A buiy, impertinent baggage j egad I wilh I
had catched her meddling, and after I ordered her
not : but you have fent to the girl, and you (ay
(he is ready to go with you ¡ you muft not difappoint
her now.
Act in. LIONEL AND CLARISSA.
Har. No, no, Colonel; I always have polite nefs
enough to hear a lady's reafons ; but conftancy enough
to keep a will of my own. 69
Co/. Very well—^now let me aik you,—don't you
think it would be proper, upon this occafion, to have
a letter ready writ for the father, to let him know who
has got his daughter, and fo forth í
Har. Certainly, Sir ; and I'll write it direöly.
Col. You write it! you be damn'd! I won't truft
you with it ; I tell you, Harman, you'll commit fome
carfed blunder, if you don't leave the management of
this whole affair to me : I have writ the letter for you
myfelf.
Har. Have you. Sir ? 80
Col. Ay—here, read it ; I think it's the thing : how¬
ever, you are welcome to make any alteration.
Har. " Sir, I have loved your daughter a great
while, fecretly ; ihe affures me there is no hope of
your confenting to our marriage ; I therefore take
her without it. I am a gentleman who will ufe her
well : and, when you confider the matter, I dare
fwear you will be willing to give her a fortune. If
not, you (hall find I dare behave myfelf like a man—
A word to the wife—You mull expeél to hear from
me in another llile." 91
Col. Now, Sir, I will tell you what you mull do
with this letter : as foon as you have got off with the
girl. Sir, fend your fervant back to leave it at the
houfe, with orders to have it delivered to the old
gentleman.
Har. Upon my honour, I will. Colonel.
76 SCHOÖL BOR FATHERS; OR, Act III.
Co¡> But, upon my kosour, I don't believe you'll
get the girl : come, Harman, I'll bat you a buck, and
fix dozen of Burgundy, that you won't have fpirit
enough to bring this siFair to a crifis. lot
iVdr. And, 1 fay done firft, Colonel.
Co/, Then look into the court there, Sir 5 a chaife
with four of the prettieft bay geldings in England,
with two boys in fcarlet and filver jackets, that will
whiilc you along.
liar. Boys ! Colonel t Little ci^ids, to tranlport
me to the fummit of ray defires. 108
Co/. Ay, but fi)r all that, it mayn't be amifs for me
to talk to them a little out of the window for you.
Dick, come hither ; you are to go with this gentle¬
man, and do whatever he bids you ; and take into
the chai& whoever he pleaies ; and, drive like devils,
do you hear ; but be kind to the dumb beafts.
liar. Leave that to me. Sir——And fo, my dear
Colonel-—
AIR.
To f€ar afirangert
^t/)o/d the Jo/dier arm ;
He /mgovt no datier,
JVheü honour founds the alarm ; 12o
Out daunt/efs gots.
Among his fees.
In Cupid's ml/itta,
So fearlefs I t[fue ;
And, ai you fee,
Arm'd cap-afie,
Refolve on death or viSory, 127
Act Ur. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. ,77
SCEm in.
Colonel oldboy, La^ Mabï, and then Jenkv.
Lady M. Mr. Oldboy, her« iç ^ note frojn 3ir John
Flowerdale, it is addrefled to me, intreating my (bp
to come over there again- this mormng, A ?iaid
brought it! ihe is in the anti-chamber—We had
better fpeak to her—ti^hild, child, w% dop't you
come in ?
Jen- I chufe to ftay where I pni, if yow líidyíhip
pleafes.
Lady M- Stpy where you are ! why fo ?
Jen. I am afraid of the old gentleman there.
Col. Afraid of me, huffy.
Lady Mi Pray, Colonel, have patience—Afraid-
Here is fpmething at the bottom of this—What did
you mean by that exprelhon, child ? i
Jen. Why, the Colonel knows very well. Madam,
he wanted to be rude with me yefterday.
Lady M. Oh Mr. Oldboy !
Col. Lady Mary, don't provoke me, but let me
talk to the girl about her bufinefs. How came you
to "bring this note here ?
Jen. Why, Sir John gave it to me, to deliver to
my uncle Jenkins, and I took it down to his houfe j
but while we were talking together, he remembered
that he had fome bufinefs with Sir John, fo he defired
me to bring it, becaufe he faid it -was not proper to be
fent by any of the common fervgnts. 153
■7« SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act III.
Lady M. Colonel, look in my face, and help
bluihing if you can.
Cvl. What the plague's the matter, my Lady ! I
hare not been wronging you, now, as you call it.
Jen. Indeed, Madam, he offei'd to make me his
kept Madam : I am fure his ufage of me put me into
fuch a twitter, that I did not know what I was doing
all the day after. 161
Lady M. I don^t doubt it, though I fo lately for¬
gave him : but, as the poet fays, his fex is all deceit.
Read Pamela, child, and refill temptation.
yea. Yes, Madam, I will.
Col. Why, I tell you, my Lady, it was all a joke.
Jen. No, Sir, it was no joke, you made me a prof¬
fer of money, lb you did, whereby I told you, you
had a lady of your own, and that though (he was old,
you had no right to defpife her. 170
Lady M. And how dare you, miftrefs, make ufe
of my name ? Is it for fuch trollops as you to talk of
perfons of diftinftion behind their backs ?
Jen. Why, Madam, I only faid you was in years.
Lady M. Sir John Flowerdale ihall be infonn'd
of your impertinence, and you ihall be turned out of
the family ; I fee you are a confident creature, and I
believe you are no better than you ihould be.
>. I fcom your words. Madam.
Lady M, Get out of the room ; how dare yon ftay
in lilis room to talk impudently to me ? i8ï
yen. Very well. Madam, I ihall let my Lady
know how you have us'd me ? but, I ihan't be tum'd
out of my place. Madam, nor at a lofs, if I am; and
if you are angry with every one that won't iky you are
Act Ht. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 79
young, I believe, there is very few you will keep
friends with.
Am.
I wonder, Pm Jure, why this fufs Jhould he made i
For my part, Pm neither ajhandd, nor afraid 150
Of what I have done, nor of what I have faid,
A fervant, I hope, is no ßave ¡
And tho', to their Jbames,
Seme ladies call names,
I know better how to behavt
Times are not fo bad.
If occifion I had.
Nor my charaaer fuch I sued flarve on't.
And, for going away,
I don^t want toßay, 200
And fo Pm your Ladyßip^s fervant.
SCENE IV.
Colonel Oldboy, Lady Mary, Mr. Jessamy.
Mr. Jes. What is the matter here ?
Lady M. I will have a feparate maintenance, I
will, indeed. Only a new inftance of your father's
infidelity, my dear. Then with fuch low wretches,
farmers' daughters, and fervant wenches : but any
thing with a cap en, 'tis all the fame to him.
Mr. Jes. Upon my word. Sir, I am Ibrry to tell
you, tliat thofe praflices very ill fuit the charaâer
which you ought to endeavour to fupport in the world.
E
8o schpoí. fob. or, act iii.
Lady M. Is th^ a recompçnce for, my Ipve an4 re¬
gard ; I, who have been tender and faithfpl as a tur¬
tle dove ?
Mr. yes. A man of your birth and diftinilion
Ihould, methinks, have views of a. higjier nature,
than fuch low, fuch vulgar libertinifrti.
Lady M. Confider my birth and famil}^ too, Lady
Mary Jeflamy might have had the beft matches iij
England.
Mr. Jes. Then, Sir, your grey hairs. 220
Lady M. I, that have brought you fo many lovely,
fweet babes.
Mr. Jes, Nay, Sir, it is a refleilion on me.
Lady M. The heinous fin too——-
Mr. yes. Indeed, Sir, I blulh.for you.
Col. 'Sdeath and fire, you little effeminate puppy,
do you know who you talk to ?-^And you, Madam,
do you know who I-am l-r-Get up to your chamber,
or zounds I'll make fuch a
Lady M. Ah ! my deari come away from him. 230
SCENE V.
co/o«i/ot-dbov, Mr. jessamy, a Servant.
Col. Am I to he tutor?d and call'd to an account ?
How. now, you fcnundrel, what do you want ?
Serv. A letter. Sir.
Cot. A letter, from whom, firrah?
SfTv. The gentleman's fervant, a'n't.pleafe youf
honour, that left, this, juft now, iathe,poflL-chaife—
the gentleman nay young lady went away with.
AcTMt, LIONEL AND CLARISSA. ïi
Col. Your young lady, firrah—Your young Ifiár
went away with no'^entleman, you dbg—What gen»
tiemani! What j-oung lady, firrah ! 240
Mr. Jes. There is ibme myftery in
your llsare, Sir, 1*11 open the letter ; I believe it con¬
tains-no iecrets.
Col. What are you going to do, you jackanapes î
yon ihaa't open a fetter of mine—Dy—Diana-
Somebody call my danghtfer to me there—" To JohU
" Oidboy, Efq.—Sin, I have loVed your daughter
" a great while fecretly—Cortfenting to our mar-
" riage
Mr. Jir. So, fb.
Col. You villain ^yOudbg, what is it you have
brought me here- ? ayr
Serv. Pleaiè your honour, if you'll have patience,
I'll tell your honour^—As-1 told your honour before
the geMlemafi's fervant that went offjuft now in the
pOlt-chaife, came to the gate, and left it after his
mafter was gone. I faw my young lady go into the
chaife with the gentleman.
Mr. Jes. A very fine joke indeed ; pray. Colonel,
do you generally write letters to yourfelf? why, this
is your own hand. 260
Col. Call all the fervahts in the houle, let horfcs
be faddled difeifly—»every one take a different road.
Serv. Why, your honour, Dick laid it was by your
own orders.
Col. My orders ! you ralcal ? I thought he was
going to run away with another gentleman's daughter
—Dy—Diana Oidboy.
£ 2
»Z SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act lit.
Mr. Jet. Don't wafteyour longs to nopurpole,Sir,
^ur daughter is half a dozen mihA off by this time.
Col. Sirrah, you hare been bribed to further the
fcheme of a pick-pocket here. 271
Mr. Jes. Befides, the matter is entirely of your own
contriving, as well as the letter and fplrit of this ele¬
gant epiftle.
Col, You are a coxcomb, and I'll diUnheiit you;
the letter is none of my writing, it was writ by the
devil, and the devil contrived it. Diana, Mai;garet,
jny Lady Mary, William, John 278
Mr. Jes. I am very glad of this, prodigioufly glad
of it, upon my honour—he! he! he!—it will be a
jeft this hundred years, (bells ring wolently on both
ßdes.) What's the matter now ? O J her Ladyihip
has heard of it, and is at her bell; and the Colonel
anfwers her. A pretty duet ; but a little too much
upon the fortè methinks : it would be a diverting
thing now, to ftand unfeen at the old gentleman's el-
how.
AIR.
Hißffoft; let's hear how matters go j
J'II creep and liflen ¡—-fo,fo,fo.
They're all together by the ears ;
Cht horrid.' how the favcge/wears. 290
There too etgain ; ay, you may ring ,•
Sound out th' alarm-bell—ding, ding, ding—^
Difpatch your fcouts, 'tis all in vain.
Stray maids are feldom Jound again-
Act nr. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 83
But hark, the uproar hither founds ¡
The Colonel comes <with aR his hounds}
I'll wifely leave them open way.
To hunt with what fuccefs they may. 299
SCENE FI.
Colonel OtDBoy re-enters, with one Boot, a Great-Coat
on his Arm, lAc. followed by feveral Servants.
Col. She's gone, by the Lord ; fairJy Hole away,
with that poaching, coney-catching rafcal ! However,
I won't follow her ; no, damme ? take my whip, and
my cap, and my coat, and order the groom to un-
faddle the horfes ; I won't follow her the length of a
i5)nr-leather. Come here, you Sir, and pull off my
boot ; (whiflles) fhe has made a fool of me once, Ihe
fhan't do it a fécond time 5 not but I'll be revenged
too, for I'll never give her fixpence ; the difappoint-
ment will put the fcoundrel oui of temper, and he'll
thrafh her a dozen times a day ; the thought pleafes
me, I hope he'll do it. 311
What do you ftand gaping and ftaring at, you im¬
pudent dogs ? are you laughing at me î I'll teach you
to be merry at my expence.
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR,
ActIU.
AIR.
A rafcal, a huj^y ; zounds! fie that I counted
In temperfo mild, fo unpra8is'd in evil:
I fet her a horfe-back, and no fooner mounted,
Than, crack, whip andfpur,fie ridespojl to the dewl.
But there let her run.
Be ruin'd, undone', 320
If I go to catch her,
Or hack again fetch her,
I'm worfe than the fan of a gun.
A mifchief pfiefdd me to marry ;
And further my folly to tarry,
to ießiü more a fot.
Sons and daughters I got.
And pretty ones, by the Lord Harry,
SCENE VII.
Changes to Clarissa'x Drefiing-rom, Caarissa ea¬
ters melancholy, with a Beak in her hand, fsdhmed
by JïNar.
Ciar. Where have you been, Jenny ? I was en¬
quiring for you—why will you go out without letting
me know ? 331
Jen. Dear Ma'am, never any thing happened fo
unlucky ; I am forry you wanted me—But I was fent
Act ni. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. Sj
t» Colonel Oldftoy's wth a letter ; "where I havfc been
fo tífed'—Lord have bercy npöfl —qaalky indeed
— 1 Iky, qaality>^-^^^[hiiy, hSadaMi, do you think that I
looks any ways like an immodeft parfon—to be hire
I have a gay air, and 1 can't help ÍÍ, aid Î kWte to
appear a little gentedilh, that's what I do. ^^39
CHàr. Jenny, take away this book.
Jen. Heaven prelerve me, Madam, yon afe crykg.
Chr. O my dear Jehny !
Jen. My dear millrefs, what's the mâttdr ?
Chr. I am undone.
Jen. No, Madam ; Wo, Lord forbid !
Ghr. I am indeed—Ï ha"*e been täfh fenîtogh lo
difcover my weaknels for a man, who treats me with
contempt.
Jen. Is Mr. Lionel ungrateful, then ? 349
Chr. I have loft his efteem for ever, Jenny. Since
laft night, that I fatally eftftfëfled what I fliould have
kept a fecret from all the world, he has fcarce con-
defcended to càft a look át me, irof me an an-
fwer when I fpdks tO him, but with cOldnèfs ând re-
ferve.
Jen. Then he is a nafty, barbarous, mhiifflâft brute.
Chr. Hold, Jenny, hold; it is all ray fault. 357
Jen. Your fbuh, Mathcih ! I wlih I was to hèàr fuch
a word come out of his ttióuth : if he t?as a iñinifter
to-morrow, and to fay fuch a thing ffoift his pulpit,
and I by, I'd tell hifn it was fklfe upon the ^ot. 361
Chr. Somebody's at the door ; fee who it is.
jen. You in fault indeed—^that I know to be the
moft virtuoufeft, niceft, moft delicateft——
Chr. How now ?
16 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; OR, Act IlL
Madam, it's a meflage from Mr. Lionel. If
you are alone, and at leifure, he would be glad to
wait upon you : I'll tell him, Madam, that you are
bufy.
Ciar. Where is he, Jenny ? 370
^en. In the ftudy, the man fays.
Ciar. Then go to him, and tell him I /hould be
glad to fee him: but do not bring him up immediately,
becaufe I will ftand upon the balcony a few minutes
for a little air.
Do, fo, dear Madam, (or your eyes are as red
as ferret's, you are ready to faint too; mercy on us !
for what do you grieve and vex yourfelf—if I was as
you—
Ciar, Oh ! 38a
ÂIR.
Why with Jight my heart U fiutVingy
Why nuitb tears my eyes overflow ;
AJle me not, 'tis paß the telling.
Mute involuntary woe.
Who to winds and waves aßranger.
Vendrons tempts th' incotßant feas,
Jn each billovo fancies danger.
Shrinks ai ev'ry rißng breeze. 388
Act III. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 87
SCENE VIII.
5/r John Flowerdale, Jenkins.
Sir John. So then, the myftery is difcovered,—^but
is it poffible that my daughter's refufal of Colonel
Oldhoy's fon íhould proceed from a clandeftine en¬
gagement, and that engagement with Lionel?.
Jenk. My niece. Sir, is in her young Lady's fecrets,
and Lord knows ihe had little defign to betray them;
but having remarked fome odd expreffions of her's
yefterday, when ihe came down to nie this morning
with the letter, I queftioned her; and, in fliort, drew
the whole affair out ; upon which I feigned a recol-
le£lion of fome buflnefs with you, and defired her to-
carry the letter to Colonel Oldhoy's herfelf, while í
came up hither. 401
Sir yohn. And they are mutually promifed to each
other, and that promife was exchanged yefterdày ?
yenk. Yes, Sir, and it is my duty to tell you elle-
I would rather die than be the means of wounding
the heart of my dear young lady for if there is one
upon earth of truly noble,, and. delicate fentiments—
Sir yohn. I thought fo once, Jenkins. 408
yenk. And think fo ftillî O, good Sir John, now is
the time for you to exert that charaéter of worth and
gentlenefs, which the world, fo defervedly, has giveo-
you. You have, indeed, caufe to be offended ; but,
confider, Sir, your daughter is. young, beautiful,,and
Es
83 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act III.
amiable ; the poor youth unexperienced, fenfible, and
at a time of life when fuch temptations aie hard to be
refifted : their opportunities were many, their caft of
thinking, the fame.
Sir yohn. Jenkins, I can allow for all thefe things ;
but the young hypocrites, there's the thing, Jenkins ;
their hypocrify, their hypocrify wounds me 420
yenk. Call it by a gentler name. Sir, modefty on
her part, apprehenfion on his.
Sir yohn. Then, what opportunity have they had ?
They never were together but when my lifter or my-
felf made one of the company ; befides, I had fo firm
a reliance on Lionel's honour and gratitude
yenk. Sir, 1 can never think that nature ftamped
that gracious Countenance of his, to malic a corrupt
hèart. 429
Sir yohn. How ! at the very time that he was con-
fcious of being himfelf the canfe of it, did he not
Ihew more concern at this affair than I did ? Nay,
don't I tell you that laft night, of his own accord, he
offered to be a mediator in the affair, and defired my
leave to Ipeak to my daughter ? I thought myfelf
obliged to him, confented ; and, in conlequence of his
affurar.ce of fuccefs, wrote that letter to Colonel Old-
boy, to delire the family would come here again to¬
day. 439
yenk. Sir, as we were Handing in the next room, I
heard a meffage delivered from Mr. Lionel, defiring
leave to wait upon your daughter ; I dare fwear they
will be here prefently ; fuppofe we were to ftep into
that clofet, and overhear their converfation î
Act Hf. JLIOMEL Al«> CLARISSA. 89
Sir John. What, Jenkins, after having lived fo ma¬
ny years in confidence with my child, ihall 1 become
an eves-dropper to deteñ her ?
Jenk. It is neceflary at prefent.—Come in, my
dear matter, let us only ccmfider diât we were once
young like them ; fubje^l to the fame paffions« the
fame indifcretions ; and it is the duty of every man to
pardon errors incident to his kind.
AIR.
Whtn love gets into a youthful tratUf
InßruQion is fruülefs, and cation vam :
Prudence may cry, do fo ;
But if Love fa^s No ;
Poor Prudence may go.
With her f reaching.
And teaching.
To Jericho. ^Ùo
Dear Sir, m oU age,
'Tis not hard to be fage.
And 'tis eajy fo point the way ¡
But do or fay.
What we may.
Love and youth will have their day.
90 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act m.
SCENE IX.
Clarissa, Lionel.
Ciar. Sir, you defîred to fpeak to me ; I need not
tell you the prefent fituation of my heart ; it is full.
Whatever you have to fay, I beg you will explain-
yourfelf ; and, if poflible, rid me of the anxiety under
which I have laboured for fome hours.
Lion. Madam, your anxiety cannot be greater than
mine ; I come, indeed, to fpeak to you ; and yet, I
know not how, I come to advife you, lhall I fay as a
friend ? yes, as a friend to your glory, your felicity ;
dearer to me than my life.
Ciar. Go on. Sir.
Lion. Sir John Flowerdale, Madam, is fuch a father
as few are blefled with ; his care, his prudence has
provided for you a match—^Your refufal renders him
inconfolable. Liften to no fuggeftions that would
pervert you from your duty, but make the worthieft
of men happy by ííibroitting to his will.
Ciar. How, Sir, after what palTed between us yef-
terday evening, can you advife me to marry Mr. Jef-
faray ?
Lion. I would adviíé you to marry any one. Ma¬
dam, rather than a villain.
Giar. A villain. Sir.
Lion. I ihould be the worft of villains. Madam,
was I to talk to you in any other ftrain : Nay, am 1
not a villlain, at once treacherous and ungrateful ?
Received into this houfe as an afylum : what have I
Act III. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 91
done! Betrayed the confidence of the friend that
trufted me ; endeavoured to facrifice his peace, and.
the honour of his family, to my own unwarrantable
delires.
Ciar. Say no more. Sir ; iky no more ; I fee my er¬
ror too late ; I have parted from the rules prefcribed
to my fex ; I have miftaken indecorum for a laudable
fincerity ; and it is juft 1 Ihould meet with the treat¬
ment my imprudence deferves. 502
Lion. 'Tis I, and only I, am to blame ; while I
took advantage of the father's fecurity, I praitifed
upon the tendernefs and ingenuity of the daughter ;
my own imagination gone aftray, I artfully laboured
to lead yours after it : but here. Madam, I give you
back thofe vows which I rnfidioufly extorted from
you ; keep them for fome happier man, who may re¬
ceive them without wounding his honour, or his
peace. 511
Ciar. For Heaven's fake !
Lion Why do you weep ?
Ciar. Don't fpeak to me.
Lion. Oh ! my Clarifia, my heart is broke ; I am
hateful to myfelf for loving you ;—yet, before I leave
you for ever, I will once more touch that lovely hand
—^indulge my fondnefs with a laft look pray for
your health and proiperity.
Ciar. Can you forfake me?—Have I then given my'
affeitions to a man who rejefts and difregards them ?
—Let me throw myfelf at my father's feet ; he is ge-'"
nerous and compaflionate :—He knows your worth—
Lion. Mention it not ; Wfere you ftript of fortune,
reduced to the mcaneft ftation, and I monarch of the
9s SCHOOL FOR FATHIMj OR, Act 111,
giobe, I ihould gloary in raifing you to uhareifst empire;
but as it is
CAtr. Yet hear me
Lion. Farewel, farewel !
AIR.
0 dry tbofi tears ! Hie meked orty 350
Fq/l dropping on, my heart they fall :
thinhy think no more of me ; no more
7he mem'ry of paf ftenet recalL ;
Oh a nmld fea of pi^on tojl,
Ifpht upon the fatalfhelf ;
Fritndßtip and love at once are hfl.
And now I wiß to lofe myfelf.
SCENE X.
Clauissa, jbnttv, then Sir John Flowerdale,
Jenkins, and afterwards
Jen. O, Madam ! I have betray'd you. I have
gone and faid fomethiog I (hould not have ikid to my
unde Jenkins ; and, as iure as day, he has gone and
told it all to Sir John. 541
Cktr. My father !
Sir John. Go, Jenkins, and defire that young gen¬
tleman to come back:—ilay where you are—But what
Act III. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 9J
have I done to you, my child ? How have I delerv'd
that you ihould treat me like an enemy ? Has there
been any undefigned rigoar in my conduit, or terror
in my looks î
Ciar. Oh, Sir !
Jlené. Here is Mr. Lionel. ^50
Sir John. Come iñ—^When I tell you that I am in-
ûruâed in all your proceedings, and that I have been
ear-witnefs to your coo-veriâtion in this place ; you
will, perhaps, imagine what my thoughts are of you,
and the meafures which juftice prefcriibes me to fol¬
low.
Lion. Sir, I have nothing to fay in my own defence \
I ftand before you, fclf-conviiled, felf-condenm'd, and
lhall fubmit without murmuring to the fentence of my
judge. 560
Sir John. As for you, ClarifTa, fince your earlieft
infancy, you have known no parent but me ; 1 bave
been to you, at once, both father and mother ; and,
that I might the better fulfill thofe united duties, tho'
left a widower in Ae prime of my days, I would ne¬
ver enter into a fécond marriage—I loved you for your
hkenefs to your dear mother j but that mother never
deceiv'd me—and there the likenefs fails—yon have
repaid ray affeflion with diffîmulation—Clarifia, you
fliould have trufted me. 570
Jen. o my dear fweet Lady.
Sir John. As for you, Mr. Lionel, what terms can
I find ftrong enough to paint the excefs of my friend-
(hip!—lloved, I efteemed, I honoured your father ;
he was a brave, a generous, and a fincere man ; I
thought you inherited his good qualities—you were
94 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act III.
left an orphan, I adopted you, put you upon the
footing of my own fon ; educated you like a gentle¬
man ; and defígned you for a profeifion, to which 1
thought your virtues would have been an ornament.
^en. Dear me, dear me. 581
fenL Hold your tongue.
Sir yohn. What return you have made me, you
ieem to be acquainted with yourfelf ; and, therefore,
1 ihall not repeat it—^Yet, remember, as an aggrava¬
tion of your guilt, riiat the laft mark of my bounty
was conferr'd upon you in the very inftant, when you
were undermining my defigns. Now, Sir, I have
but one thing more to fay to you—^Take my daugh¬
ter ; was ihe worth a million, Ihe is at your fervice.
Lion. To me. Sir !—^your daughter—do you give
her to me ?—Without fortune—without friends !—
without
Sir John. You have them all in your heart ; him
whom virtue raifes, fortune cannot abafe.
Ciar. O, Sir, let me on my knees kifs that dear
hand—acknowledge my error, and entreat forgivenefs
and blelling.
Sir John. You have not erred, my dear daughter ;
you have diftinguiih'd. It is I ihould alk pardon, for
this little trial of yon ; for I am happier in the ibn-in-
law you have given me, than if you had married a
prince 603
Lion. My patron—my friend—my father—I would
fain fay fomething ; but, as your goodnefs exceeds
all bounds
Sir yohn, I think I hear a Coach drive into the
court ; it is Colonel Oldhoy's family ; I will go and
^CT III. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. JJ
receive them. Don't make yourlelf uneaiy at this j
we muft endeavour to pacify them as well as we can.
My dear Lionel, if I have made you happy, you
have made me fo, Heaven blefs you, my children,
and make you deferving of one another.
SCENE XL
Clarissa, Lionel, Jenny.
Jen, O dear. Madam, upon my knees, I humbly
beg your forgivenefs—Dear Mr. Lionel, forgive me
—I did not delign to difcover it, indeed and you
won't turn me off. Madam, will you ? I'll ferve you
for nothing.
Ciar. Get up, my good Jenny ; I freely forgive you
if there is any thing to be forgiven. I know you love
me ; and, I am fure here is one who will join with
me in rewarding your fervices. 622
Jen, Well, if I did not know, as fure as could be,
that fome good would happen, by my left eye itching'
this morning.
AIR.
Lion. 0 hlifi unexpeSed! my joys overpow'r me!
My low, my Clariffa, what wordsJhall I find I
Remorfe, defperation, no longer devour me—
He blefs* d us, and peace is rfior'd to my mind.
y6 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act III.
Ciar. He us ! 0 rstfiurt ! í,Íke one I recover
Whom death had ^ped'd, •cokiout hope, with¬
out aid ! 630
\A moment depriv'd me of fc^her and lever ;
A moment r^ons, and my pitngt are repaid.
Lion. Forfaken, abandoned.
Ciar. What JoTly 1 what Uindnefsi
Lion. We fortune accus'd ¡
Ciar. And the fates that decreed :
A. 2. But pain was inßiSed by Heaven, out of kindnefs.
To hinten the joyt that were doom'd to fuc-
eeed.
Our day was o'ercqfl : 640
But brighter thefcene it,
TheJky more ferene is.
And fofter the calm for the hurricane pqfi.
SCÈNE Xll.
Lady Mary Oldbov, leasdng an a Servant, Mr.
Jzssíí.vi'í leading her ; Jenny, and afierwardt Sir
John Flowsrdale, with Colonel Oldvoy.
Lady M. 'Tis ail in vâiil, my dear ;—fet me down
any where ; I can't go a ftep further—I knew, when
Mr. Oldboy infifted upon my coffting, that I iheùld
be feized with a meagriffl by the way ; and it's well
I did not die in the coach.
Mr. Jes. But, pr'ythee, why will you let yourfelf
be affeâed with fiich trifles—Nothing more common
Act m. LIONEL ÄND CLARISSA. 57
than for young women of faihion to go off with low
fellows.
Lady M. Only feel, my dear, how 1 tremble !
Not a nerve but what « in agitatie« ; and my blood
runs cold, cold !
Mr. Jes. Wed], bai^ Lady Mary, don't let us ex-
pafe ourf^yes to thofe people ; 1 fee there is not one
of the rafcals about us, that has not a grin upon his
countenance.
Lady M. Expofe ourfelves, my dear 1 Your father
will be as ridiculous as Hudlbras, or Don Quixote.
Mr, Jrs. Yes, be will be very ridiculous indeed.
Sir John, I give ycu my word, my good friend, and
neighbour, the joy I feel upon tlrit occaiion, is greatly
alky-ed by the difappointment of an alliance with your
family ; but I have explained to you hovv things have
happened——You fee my Ctuation ; and, as you are
kind enough to cordider it yourfelfi I hope you will
excufe it to your fon.
Lady M, Sir John Flowerdak, how do you do?
You fee we have obey'd your furamons ; and I have
the pleafure to affure you that my fon yielded to my
entreaties with very little difagreement ; in fliort, if I
may (peak metaphorically, he is content to /fand can¬
didate again, notwithilanding his late repullè, when
he hopes for an unanimous eledtion.
Cal, Well, but, my Lady, you may lave your rhe¬
toric ; for the borough is diipofed of to a worthier
member.
Mr, Jes. What do you fay, Sir ?
SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR,
Act III.
SCENE XIII.
Sir John Flowerdale, Lady Marv Olmoy,
Mr, Jessamy, Colonel Oldboy, Lion«i., Cla¬
rissa, Jenny.
Sir John, Here are my fon and daughter.
Lady M. Is this pretty, Sir John ?
Sir John. Believe me, Madam, it is not for want of
a juft fenfe of Mr. Jeilamy's merit, that this añkir has
gone off on any fide : but the heart is a delicate
thing ; and after it has once felt, if the obje£t is me¬
ritorious, the impreilion is not eafily effac'd; it
would tíierefore have been an injury to him, to have
given him in appearance what another in reality pof-
fefled.
Mr.y es. Upon my honour, upon my foul. Sir John,
I am not in the leaft offended at this contre temps—.
Pray, Lady Mary, fay no more about it.
Col. Toi, loi, loi, loi.
Sir John. But, my dear Colonel, I am afraid, after
all, this affair is taken amifs by you ; yes, I fee you
are angry on your fon's account ; but let me repeat
it, I have a very high opinion of his merit. 661
Col. Ay ! that's more than I have. Taken amifs !
I don't take any thing amifs ; I never was in better
fpirits, or more pleafed in my life.
Sir John. Come, you are uneafy at fomethmgK
Colonel.
Act Til. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. 99
Col. Me I Gad I am not uneaiy—^Are you a juftice
of peace? Then you could give me a warrant, cou'dn't
you ? You mull know, Sir John, a little accident has
happen'd in my family lince I faw you lall, yo.u and I
may Ihake hands—Daughters, Sir, daughters ! Your's
has fnapt at a young fellow without your approbation ;
and how do you think mine has ferved me this morn¬
ing ?—oltly run away with the fcoundrel I brought to
dinner here yellerday.
Sir John. I am exceffively concerned.
Col. Now I'm not a bit concerned—No, damn me, I
am glad it has happened ; yet, thus far, I'll confefs, I
Ihould be forry that either of them would come in my
way, becaufe a man's temper may fometimes get the
better of him, and I believe I Ihould be tempted to
break her neck, and blow his brains out. 6S2
Ciar. But pray, Sir, explain this af&ir.
Col. 1 can explain it no farther—Dy, my daughter
Dy, has run away from us.
SCENE XIV.
Sir John Flowerdale, Colonel Oldboy, Lady
Mary Oldboy, Mr. Jessamy, Clarissa,
Lionel, Jenny, Diana, Harman, Jenkins.
Dian. No, my dear papa, I am not run away ; and
upon my knees, I entreat your pardon for the folly I
have committed ; but, let it be fome alleviation, that
duty, and affedlion, were too llrong to fulFer me to
100 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act 111.
etury it to extramhy : and, if you knew the agooy I
have been in, fince 1 few yoa-laft 691
Ladtf^M, How't (fei»?
Rw. StP, 1 rejacare your datighter toi you; whofe
feul^.as fer as it goes, 1 mufl: alfb take upon myfelf;
we have been known to each other for fome time ;
as Lady. Riohl^, your fifter^ in London, can acquaint
you. ■ ■ ■.
CoL Dy, come here Now, you rafcai,. vdjere's
your fword ; if you are a< geatlsmaD, you Ifaall- fight
me; ifryoa, are-a ferub, horfe-whip youi—Dtaw,
ShzaiinvShut the door there, don't let him efeapfo
Har^ Sir, don't imagine I want to efcape I am ex¬
tremely forry. for what has faappenedv hut am ready-to
give you any fetisifeâion you drink pn^er.
Gol. Follow me into the garden thenr->Zouads ! I
have no fword about me?.'-Sir John Flowerdkle—-lend
us a. cafe of piftols, or a cotqile of guns ; and, come
and fee fair play.
Ciar. My dear papa ! 709
Dum. Sir John Flewerdale—O my indiferetion—
we came here. Sir, to beg your mediation in our fa¬
vour.
Lady M. Mr. Oldboy, if you attempt to fight, I
(hall expire.
Sir John, Pray,. Colonel, let me (peak a word to
you in private.
Col. Slugs and a faw-pit
Mf\ Jts, Why, Mils Dy, you are aperfeá heroine
for a romance——And, pray who is this courteous
knight.' 720
Act, III. UONEI. AND CLAMSSA. lot
Ladt^ M. Q Sir, you that I thought iiich. a pretty
behav'd gentleman !
Mr. Jts. What bufiioera are yoao^ fbiend'i
Har. My chief trade:, Sir, is. plain. deaKmg,j and,
as that is a commodity you have no neafoit to be very
fond of, I would not advife you to purchafe any of it
by impertinence.
Col. And is this what you wtsoíd.adwfe me to ?
Sir John. It is, indeed, my deafc old ftiend ; as
thirds are fituated, there ia in my opinion, no other
prudent method of proceeding j and it is the method
I would adopt myfelf, was !• i» your caft.
Col. Why, I believ» yoii. are in ths; ri^t of it-
fay what you will for me then.
Sir John. Well ! ypung people, I have been able
to ufe a few arguments, which have foftened my
neighbour here ; and in fome meafure pacified his
refentment. I find. Sir, you are a gentleman by your
connexions ? 739
Har. Sir, till it is found that my cKaraXer and
mily will bear the ftriXeft fcrutiny, I délire no fa¬
vour—And for fortune
Col. Oh ! rot your fortune, I don't mind that—I
know you are a gentleman, or Dick Rantum would
not have recommended you. And fo, Dy, kifs and
friends.
Mr. Jes. What, Sir, have you no more to, fay to
the man who has ufed you fo ill ?
Col. Us'd me ill!—That's as I take it—he hae done
a mettled thing 5 and, perhaps, I like him the better
fqt it ; it's long before you would have fprit enough
to run away with a wench—Harman give me your
101 SCHOOL FOR FATHERS; OR, Act III.
kand ; let's hear no more of this now -Sir John
Flowerdale, what fay you ? ihall we fpend the day
together» and dedicate it to love and harmony ?
Hir John, With all my heart.
Col. Then take off my great coat.
AIR.
Lion. Come then, all ye fecialpono'rsf
Shed your influence o'er ut.
Crown with iiifs the prefent hourt, 760
rind lighten thofe before us.
May thejuflt the gen'roue kind.
Still fee that you regard 'em ;
rind Lionels for ever find,
Clariffas to reward 'em.
Ciar. Love, thy godhead I adore.
Source of facred ptfißoa ;
But will never how h fore
Thofe idols, wealth, or fajhion.
May, Rie me, each maiden wife, 7 70
From the fop defend her ;
Learning, fenfe, and virtue prize,
rind fcom the vain pretender.
Har. Why the plague ßould men befad.
While in time we moulder ?
Grave, or gay, or vex'd, or ^ad.
We ev'ry day grow older.
Bring the fiaß, the mufic bring,
Joy will quitlly find us ;
Drink, and laugh, and dance, and fing, 78»
And-cqfl our cares behind us.
Act m. LIONEL AND CLARISSA. loj
Dian. Ha<w Jhall I efcape—fo naughty
On ßlial laws to trample ¡
I'll ^en curtfey, own my fault,
And plead papa's example.
Parents 'tis a hint to you,
Children oft are fhamelefs ¡
Oß tranfgrefs—the thing's too true—^
But are you always blamelefs ? 790
One Word more before We go ;
Girls and boys have patience ;
Tou to friends muß fomething owe.
As well as to relations.
Thefe kind gentlemen addrefs—
What tho' we forgave 'em
Still they muß be loß, unlefs
Tou lend a hand to fave 'em.
F
a
TABLE OF THE SONCS,
U^ith the ÑaMes of the feveral Composers«
jV". B. Thofe marked thus **, are new, both words
and mulle i but thoiè marked thus are only
new fet«
A New Overture by Mr. Dibdin.
Act i.
Ail how deiightful the morning
Duet
*To rob them of ilrength - a
Mr. Dibdin
*To tell you the truth
Dibdin
Zounds, Sir ! then I'll tell you
Dibdin
When a man of falhion condefcends
Dibdin
*I'm but a poor fervant
Dibdin
You alle me in vaiil -
Dibdin
Ah Í pry'thee fpare me - -
Gallupi
**Ye gloomy thoughts
Dibdin
Quintetto i . - .
Dibdin
A TABLE OF THE SONGS.
ÂCT IL
Talk not to me ... - Vento
Indeed, forfooth, a pretty youth - Scolari
How curfedly vext ... Arne
Come then, pining, peevilh lover - Ciampi
*To fear a ftranger - - Dibdin
**Ladies pray admire a figure • Dibdin
**Poor panting heart - - Dibdin
In Italy, Germany, France have I been Dibdin
**We all fay the man - » Dibdin
Go, and on my truth relying - Vento
Quintetto ... Dibdin
ACr IIL
**How can you inhuman ! - - Dibdin
* I wonder, I'm fure, - - Dibdin
**Hift, foft ; let's hear how matters go Dibdin
**Arafcal, a huffy - - Dibdin
Why with fighs my heart is fwelling Ciampi
*0 blifs unexpeéled - - Dibdin
Chorus . . - fc Dibdin
COMl'.S
jjc nru,aje. eunwy 041.
a^r^co^ -fcufyu
JifiSS STOX^CE in EzrPHliOSTafM.
ti^ur eÂi,A'ym^4 ¿/ú-eát^nj ÍS^tMíeP.
Jf^o Íjíi/^^'í /i'o un// /'Tí
Dublin PubliÜi'd JyrW^fJones iJ^86D«iieStr«ct.
Bublin ?\û>lifh'â. Jones >If66 Bame Stx'ee.t.
COMUS.
A
MASK.
BY JOHN MILTON.
ADAPTED TOR
THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION,
A3 PERFORMED RIRST AT TSE
THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN,
IN THE TEAR 1744.
REGÜLATED FAOM THE PEOMFT-BOOK»
By Permißim of the Managers.
'* The Lines díAinguiíhed by inverted Commas, are omitted in the Reprefentation
DUBLIN :
PRINTED BT GRAISBERRT AND CAMPBELL,
FOR WILLIAM JONES, NO. 86, DAME-STREET.
MDCC XCI.
THE
BIOGRAPHER TO THE WORLD.
It may be neceffary exaBly to ßate what are the freien-
ßons fpectfically ©/"/¿íbriefBiOGRAPHY freßxed to thefe
Volumes :—that expeäat 'wn may not be difappointed^ and
that blame may not be imputed to him for omifiions of what
were by no means comprehended in his plan.
All that is here to be fought., is a concife charac-
teriftic Sketch of the Author, to whofe play it is pre-
ßxed. Anecdote s that are entirely new, can fcarcely
be hoped at this period. Moß of thefe Lives have been
narrated in various forms, with minutenefs of refearch,
and length of detail. The corßsied fpace that can here
be allotted, rather prefcribes feleftion from what is
known already, than refearch after novelties to fwell the
amount.
If, multum in parvo, much in a narrow compafr
be found ; if the philofoph'ßng fpirit of Biography ren¬
der charaSer moreperfpicuous, andpeculiarities prominent',
if, exemplifying upon habits and manners, a leffon neither
inelegant nor tedious be offered to leifure and curißty ¡ if
the errors of the mind he in any degree correSed and re¬
formed, and the focial propenßties of mankindßrengthened
and extended ; / have my wßs.
tb.e biographer.
JOHN MILTON.
To write at this time the life of an Author like the
Poet abovementioned, would be fuperfluous and imper¬
tinent.—Every circumftance that attended him is fo
generaMy known ; his admirers have fo minutely re¬
corded his excellencies, and his enemies have taken the
fame kind care of his failings, that little more is left
for us than to conllder him in the particular province
of a Dramatic Poet.
Milton appears to have been but flenderly gifted
for the effedts of Tragedy—His powers inclined little
to the pathetic, though Eurípides was his favourite
author. The other grand principle of tragic effort
Ibemed as little within his attainment.—The terror
that his conception would excite is rendered lefs vivid
by the folemn prolongation of his period, and the con¬
catenation of his lines.—The nervous brevity of Shak-
Ipeare he admired, but he did not imitate. His two
dramatic poems, exquifite as they are, confidered as
the vehicles of ftorid imagination and elegant expret
fion, are nevertheleft utterly remote from modern fen-
timent and modern language. There is little to regret
that, following the obvious bias of his mind, he foared
into the epic field of unbounded invention, and per¬
mitted the Drama of his country, gothic and barbarous
as he deemed it, to remain without a conteft in thofe
hands to which Nature feemed to have configned the
portraiture of Manners and of Man.
JOHN MILTON.
V
Fortune is frequently favourable in the arrange¬
ment of events : an efcape from the enthufialm of his
politics might have rendered the great Milton an un¬
couth Hiilorian, and an unfuccefsful Dramatift. The
extent of his attainments made him little doubtful of
their capabilities. It was the moll; felicitous circum-
ftance of his life, that abandoning the Drama rdi-
gioufly, and Hiftory from calamity, he fixed upon a
Theme of fuch exquifite beauty as enabled him to bear
the evils of blindnefs and adverfity, foothed by the
nightly harmonies of heaven, and fuftained unfaulter-
ingly by the holy fervour of inlpired Poesy.
COMUS.
This beautiful Mask has given rife to much Criti-
cifm, relpeñing circumftances of the fcene to which
objeítíons are applied :—^we ftiall briefly confider
them with all poflible re^eft—as the authorities are
of high eminence.
First—It is objefled, that there is a confiderable
impropriety in the Spirit addreffing the Audience to
acquaint them with his nature and milflon, in a mono^
logue of extreme length, in the Firft Scene.—^The
remark is, however, attempted to be repelled by a re¬
ference to the continued Chorus of the Greek drama
never vacating the ftage.—This palliation will, notwith-
flanding its tone of triumph, be of little avail, until it
is ihewn that there is in Comus any Chorus what¬
ever. The Greek audiences were not Choroides ;
that confiant occupant of their Theatres, denominated
the Chorus, was relevant to the Drama, and as ex¬
pedience demanded, either of Virgins or Senators,
Soldiers or Priests. The Addrefs is, in truth, an
elegant abfurdity—and intended to the audience.
To the Second—Dr. Johnson has hinted at the
ridiculous expedient to celebrate the beauty of Phi-
lofophy, and the fanftity of Virginity, in the difputa-
tion of the Brothers overtaken by night ; and by dark-
nefs divided from their Sifter. From this charge the
COMUS.
vii
Bard may be more eafily vindicated—^Why they were
fo long abfent is another quellion—1 have to account
for the difputation : we find them in the double ob-
fcurity of night and a thick (hade formed by innu-
merous boughs. To diflipate the fear of the Younger
Brother for his Sifter's fafety, the Elder defcants
upon the unaflailable nature of virgin purity. In the
uncertainty of their fituation, to move was dangerous;
to expatiate, therefore, while it fortified their minds
againft alarming apprehenfion, deceived the wearinefs
of time, combined with the aking privations offilence
and darinefs.
CoMUS, as it is here given, is an adaptation to the
modern ftage—by the retrenchment of much Dia¬
logue, and the addition of many Airs.—That the
Poetry of this beautiful piece fuffers by a modern hand
can be little doubted. Veneration for the Author
might wilh it in the original ftate ; but a dramatic ex¬
hibition muft pleafe to be repeated ;—the aim ftiould
be to venture at as little innovation as pofiible. The
Mufic of Arne, in the modern Comus, is well
known ; it is as intelligent as modern mufic can be.
Eet not this article be clofed without paying to de-
ceafed merits the praife fo defervedly their due i—
From the late Mr. Henderson's performance of
Comus was derived one of the moft luxuriant feafts
that the writer of this article ever banquetted upon.
The jocundity—plaufibility—feftivity, and voluptu-
oufnefs he aflumed, were among the fineft effeäs of
his confummate abilities. His manner of reciting the
viiî
COMUS.
rich melody of his firft fpeech, and the happy con¬
tempt of
" The Blalbing Eailern Scout, the nice Mora, tsV."
he who has heard will never forget—he who has not
will never conceive.
PREFACE.
This Maík was firft reprelented at Ludlow-Caftle oft
Michaelmas-day 1654, before the Right Hon. the'
Earl of Bridgewater, Lord Prefident of Wales :
the principal Performers were the Lord Brackly,
Mr. Thomas Egerton, and the Lady Alice Egerton*.
In the year 1774 it was abridged, and has ever fince
been performed as an Afterpiece at the Theatre-Royal
in Covent-Garden. The following were the re^ns
offered to the Public in favour of the Abridgment, and
were prefixed to an edition of the piece then publiihed
in its curtailed ftate.
" Pure Poetry, nnmixt with pafiiotv, however ad-
" mired in the clofet, has fcarce ever been able t<y
" fuffain itfelf on the ftage. In this Abridgment of
" Milton's Comus no circumftance of the drama con-
" tained in the original Malic is omitted. The di-
" vine arguments on temperance and chaftity, toge-,
ther with many defcriptive palîàges, are indeed
" expunged or contrafled ; but, divine as they are,
" the moft accomplilhed declaimers have been em-
" barraffed in the. recitation of them : the Ipeaker
" vainly laboured to prevent a coldnefs and lai^uor
•' in the audience ; and it cannot be diffembled that
" The Malic of Comus, with all its poetical beauties^
" not only mmntained its place on the theatre chiefly
• The MuGc was originally compofed by Sir Henfy Lawes,
who alfo reprefented the Attendant Spirit. Thé prelènt
Millie is the compofitioa of Dr. Arne.
PREFACE.
" by the afltftance of-mufic, but the mufic itfelf, as if
" overwhelmed by the weight of the drama, almoft
funk with it, and became in a manner loft to the
" ftage. That mufic, formerly heard and applauded
" with rapture, is now reftored, and the Maik, on
" the above confiderations, is curtailed.
" As a further argument in favour of the drama in
" its prefent form, it might perhaps be urged, that
" the feftivity of the charafler of Comus is heightened
" by his aflifting in the vocal parts as well as in the
" dialogue, and that theatrical propriety is no longer
" violated in the charader of the Lady, who now
" invokes the Echo in her own perfon, without ab-
" furdly leaving the fcene vacant as heretofore, while
" another voice warbled out the fong which the Lady
" was to be fuppofed to execute.
" To conclude, it may not be impertinent to ob-
" ferve, that The Faithful Shepherdefs of Beaumont
" and Fletcher, which is efteemed one of the moft
" beautiful compofitions in our language, not only
" afforded our Author the firft hint of this Mafk, but
" that feveral brilliant paffages of Comus are imitated
" from that excellent performance ; yet it is remark-
" able that the play of The Faithful Shepherdefs,
" being merely poetical, was condemned on its firft
" reprefentation ; for which hard fate, though fiic-
" ceeding critics have reprehended the barbarifm of
" that age, yet no attempt has ever been hazarded to
" reftore the haplefs drama to the ftage."
PROLOGUE.
Ourßedfc^ Bard, to his otvn genius true,
Still bade his Mufe* "ßt audienceßnd tho' feit) i"
Scorning the judgment of a trißing age
To choicer fpirits he bequeath'd his page.
He too ivas fcorn'd, and to Britannia's ßsame
She fcarce for half an age kneiv Milton's name :
Bui noiu, his fame by ev'ry trumpet blown,
JVe on his deathlefs trophies rafe our own.
Nor art nor nature did his genius bound ;
Heav'n, hell, earth, chaos, he furvey'd around¿
All things his eye, thro' wit's bright empire thrown^
Beheld, and made what it beheld his own.
Such Mtlton was : 'tis ours to bring him forth.
And your's to vindicate negleBed worth.
Such heav'n-iaught numbers Jhould be more than read,
More wide the manna thro' the nation fpread.
Like fome blefs'd fpirit he to-night defends.
Mankind he vßts, and theirßeps befriends ;
Thro' mazy errors dark perplexing wood
Points out the path of true and real good.
Warns erring youth, and guards the fpotlefs maid
From fpell of magic vice by reafon's aid.
Paradife Loft, Book VII. vet. 31.
xil
PROLOGUE,
Attend theßraint ; andßiould fame meaner phrafe
Hang on theßyle and clog the nobler lays,
Excufe what we with trembling hand fupply.
To give his beauties to the public eye :
His the pure effince, ours the großer mean
Thro' which his fpirit is in aäion feen.
Obferve the force, obferve the ßame divine
That glows, breathes, añs, in each harmonious line.
Great objeBs only ßrike the generous heart ¡
Praife the fublime, overlook the mortal part :
Be there your judgment, here your candour ßewn ;
Small is our portion—and we wifli *twere none.
DRAMATIS PERSONAS.
DRURT-LANE.
CoMüS,
First Spirit,
Elder Brother,
Younger Brother,
Bacchanals,
Ladv, ....
Euphrostne, ...
Bacchantes, ...
Sabrina ««¡/Pastoral Ntmph,
Men,
Mr. Wroughton.
Mr. Hay mes.
Mr. Benfon.
Mr. Banks.
C Mr. Kelly.
V Mr. Dignum, ts"
¿ Mr. Sedgwick.
Women,
Mrs. Kcmble.
Mrs. Storacce.
r Mrs. Edward.«,
.< Mifs Barnes,
¿Mrs. Fox,
Mils Romanziiji.
Bacchanals, Naiads, Spirits, l^c.
COVENT-GARDEN.
comds,
First Spirit,
Elder Brother ,
Younger Brother,
Bacchanals,
Ladt, .....
Euphrostne, ....
Bacchantes, ....
Sabrina and Pastoral Nymph, -
Bacchanals, Naiads, Spirits, ÇfjV.
Men.
Mr. Farren.
Mr. Thompfoir.
Mr. M'Ready,
Mr. Evett.
5 Mr. Darlcy,
¿Mr. Cubit.
Women,
Mrs. Pope.
Mrs. Martyr.
Ç Mrs. Kennedy,
¿ Mrs. Morton.
Mrs. Mountam.
COMUS.
ACT I.
The Scene dtfcovers a wild Wood.
Theßrß Attendant Spirit enters,
" Before the ftarry threihold of Jove's court
" My manfion is, where thofe immortal ihapes
" Of bright aerial fpirits live infpher'd
" In regions mild of calm and ferene air,
" Above the fmoke and ftir of this dim fpot
" Which men call earth, and with low-thoughted care
" Confin'd and pefter'd in this pinfold here
" Strive to keep up a frail and fev'rifli being,
" Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives,
" After this mortal change, to her true fervants lo
" Amongft the enthron'd gods on fainted feats.
" Yet fome there are that by due fteps afpire
"To lay their jull hands on that golden key
" That opes the palace of Eternity ;
16 COMUS. Act I.
"To fuch my errand is ; and but for fuch
" 1 would not foil ,theie pure ambrofial weeds
" With the rank vapours of this Gn-worn mould.
" But whence yon' flanting ftream of purer light
" Which ftreaks the midnight gloom, and hither darts
" Its beamy point ? Some meflenger from Jove 20
" Commiffion'd to dire<ft or fliare my charge,
" And if I ken him right a Ipirit pure
" As treads the fpangled pavement of the Iky,
" The gentle Philadel : but fwift as thought
" He comes
" The fécond Attendant Spirit defcends.
" Declare on what ftrange errand bent
" Thou viGteft this clime to me ailign'd,
" So far remote from thy appointed iphere.
Spi, " On no appointed talk thou feeft me now ;
" But, as returning from ElyGan bow'rs 30
" (Whither from mortal coil a foul I wafted)
" Along this boundlefs fea of waving air
" I fteer'd my flight, betwixt the gloomy ihade
" Of thefe thick boughs thy radiant form I ipy'd,
" Gliding as ftreams the moon thro' dulky clouds ;
" Inftant I ftoop'd my wing, and downward Iped
"To learn thy errand, and with thine to join
" My kindred aid, from mortals ne'er withheld
" When Virtue on the brink of peril ftands.
F. Spi. " Then mark th' occaGon that demands it
here. 40
" Neptune, I need not tell, beGdes the fway
" Of every fait flood and each ebbing ftream,
" Took in by lot, 'twixt high and nether Jove,
Act I. COMUS. »7
" Imperial rule of all the fea-girt ifles
" That, like to rich and various gems, inlay
" The unadorned boibm of the deep ;
" Which he, to grace his tributary gods,
" By courfe commits to fev'ral government,
" And gives them leave to wear their fapphire crowns,
" And wield their little tridents ; but this ifle, 50
" The greateft and the beft of all the main,
" He quarters to his blue-hair'd deities ;
" And all this track that fronts the falling fun
" A noble peer of mickle truft and pow'r
" Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide
" An old and haughty nation proud in arms.
S. Spi. " Does any danger threat his legal fway
" From bold fedition or clofe-ambufli'd treafon ?
F. Spi. " No danger thence ; but to his lofty feat,
" Which borders on the verge of this wide vale, 60
" His blooming offspring, nurs'd in princely lore,
" Are coming to attend their father's ftate
" And new entrufted fceptre, and their way
" Lies thro' the perplex'd path of this drear wood,
" The nodding horror of whofe lhady brows
" Threats the forlorn and wand'ring paffengçr ;
" And here their tender age might fuffer peril,
" But that by quick command from fov'reign Jove
" I was difpatch'd for their defence and guard.
S. Spi. " What peril can their innocence affail 70
" Within thefe lonely and unpeopled ihades ?
.F. Spi, " Attend my words. No place but har=
hours danger ;
•• In ev'ry region Virtue finds a foe.
i8 COMUS. Act I.
" Bacchus, that firil from out the purple grape
" Cntih'd the fweet poifon of mifufed wine,
" After the Tufcan mariners transform'd,
" Coafting the Tyrrhenne ihore as tlie winds lifted
" On Circe's ifland fell : (who knows not Circe,
" The daughter of the Sun, whofe charmed cup
" Whoever tafted loft his upright ihape, 80
And downward fell into a grov'ling fwine ?)
" This nymph, that gaz'd upon his cluft'ring locks,
" With ivy berries wreath'd, and his. blithe youth,
" Had by him, ere he parted thence, a fon
" Much like his father, but his mother more,
" Whom therefore ihe brought up and Comus nam'd.
S. S/>i. " Ill-omen'd birth to Virtue and herfons !
F. SpL " He, ripe and frolick of his full grown age,
" Roving the Celtick and Iberian fields,
*' At laft betakes him to this ominous wood, 90
" And in thick ihelter of black ihades imbower'd
" Excels his mother at her mighty art,
" Off'ring to ev'ry weary traveller
" His orient liquor in a cryftal gWs
" To quench the drought of Phoebus, which as they
tafte,
(For moft do tafte thro' fond intemp'rate thirft)
•• Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance,
" Th' exprefs refemblance of the gods, is chang'd
Into fome brutifli form of wolf or bear,
" Or ounce or tiger, hog or bearded goat, 100
All other parts remaining as they were :
" Yet, when he walks his tempting round?, the forcerer
" By magic pow'r their human face reftores
" And outward beauty to delude the fight.
act 1. comüs.
S, Spi. " Lofe they the mem'ry of their fomiêr
ftate ?
F. Spl. " No, they (fo perfeét is their mifery)
" Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
" But boaft themfèlves more comely than before ;
" And all their friends and native home forgetj
"To roll with pleafiire in a fenfual fly. lio
S. Spi. " Degrading fall ! from fuch a dire diftrefs
" What pain too great our mortal charge to fave ?
F. Spi. " For this, when any favour'd of high Jove
" Chances to pafs thro' this advent'rous glade,
" Swift as the Iparkle of a glancing ftar
" I Ihoot from heaven to give him fafe convoy,
" As now 1 do ; and opportune thou com'H
"To ihare an office which thy nature loves.
" This be our talk; but firft I muft put off
" Thefe my iky robes fpun out of Iris' woof, i zo
" And take the weeds and likenefs of a fwain
" That to the fervice of this houfe belongs,
" Who with his foft pipe and fmooth-ditty'd fong
" Well knows to ftill the wild winds when they roar,
" And hufh the waving woods ; nor of lefs faith,
" And in this office of his mountain watch
" Likelieft and neareft to the prefent aid
" Of this occafion. Veil'd in fuch difguife.
" Be it my care the fèver'd youtlis to guide
"To their diftrefs'd and lo|nely lifter} thine 130
" To cheer her footfteps thro' the magic wood.
" Whatever bleffed fpirit hovers near,
" On errands bent to wand'ring mortal good,
" If need require him fummon to thy fide ;
" Unfeen of mortal eye fuch thoughts infpire,
i8 COMUS. Act I.
" Bacchus, that firft from out the purple grape
" Crulh'd the fweet poifon of mifufed wine,
" After the Tufcan mariners transform'd,
" Coafting the Tyrrhenne ihore as the winds lifted
" On Circe's iiland fell : (who knows not Circe,
" The daughter of the Sun, whofe charmed cup
" Whoever tafted loft his upright ihape, 80
" And downward fell into a grov'ling fwine ?)
" This nymph, that gaz'd upon his cluft'ring locks,
" With ivy berries wreath'd, and his, blithe youth,
" Had by him, ere he parted tlience, a fon
" Much like his father, but his mother more,
" Whom therefore ihe brought up and Comus nara'd.
5. S/)i. " Ill-omen'd birth to Virtue and her fons !
Spi. " He, ripe and frolick of his full grown age,
" Roving the Celtick and Iberian fields,
" At laft betakes him to this ominous wood, 90
" And in thick (heiter of black (hades imbower'd
" Excels his mother at her mighty art,
" OiF'ring to ev'ry weary traveller
" His orient liquor in a cryftal gWs
"To quench the drought of Phoebus, which as they
tafte,
(For moft do tafte thro' fond intemp'rate thirft)
" Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance,
" Th' exprefs refemblance of the gods, is chang'd
" Into fome brutilh form of wolf or bear,
" Or ounce or tiger, hog or bearded goat, 100
" All other parts remaining as they were :
Yet, when he walks his tempting rounds, the forcerer
" By magic pow'r their human face reftores
" And outward beauty to delude the fight.
Act 1. COMÜS. tç
S. Spi. " Lofe they the mem'ry of their fornlér
ftate ?
F. Spi. " No, they (fo perfeét is their mifery)
" Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
" But boaft themfèlves more comely than before ;
" And all their friefids and native home forget*
"To roll with pleafiire in a fenfual fty. lio
S, Sp't. " Degrading fall ! from fuch a dire diftrefs
" What pain too great our mortal charge to lave ?
F. Spi. " For this, when any favour'd of high Jove
*' Chances to pafs thro' this advent'rous glade,
" Swift as the iparkle of a glancing ftar
" I flioot from heaven to give him fafe convoy,
" As now 1 do ; and opportune thou com'ft
"To ihare an office which thy nature loves.
" This be our talk; but firft I muft put off
" Thefe my Iky robes Ipun out of Iris' woof, 12o
" And take the weeds and likenefs of a fwain
" That to the fervice of this houfe belongs,
" Who with his foft pipe and fraooth-ditty'd fong
" Well knows to Hill the wild winds when they roar,-
" And huih the waving woods ; nor of lefs faith,
" And in this office of his mountain watch
" Likelieft and neareft to the prefent aid
" Of this occafion. Veil'd in fuch diiguife.
" Be it my care the fever'd youths to guide
" To their diftrefs'd and lonely lifter ; thine 13g
" To cheer her footfteps thro' the magic wood.
" Whatever bleffed fpirit hovers neai',
" On errands bent to wànd'ring mortal good,
" If need require him fummon to thy fide ;
" Unfeen of mortal eye fuch thoughts infpire,
ao CO MÜS. Act 1.
« Such heaveñ-born confidence, as need demands
" In hour of trial.
S. Spi. " Swift as winged winds
" To my glad charge I fly. [JSxt/.
F. Spù " •• I'll wait a while 140
" To watch the forcerer, for I hear the tread
" Of hateful fteps i I muft be viewlefs now."
CoMus enters mitb a charming rod in one hand, htsgtafs
in the other, with him a rout of Men and IVomen drejfed
as Bacchanals ; they come in making a riotous and un¬
ruly nci/e, with torches in tbdr bands.
Camus /peaks. Thé ftar thai bids the (hepherd fold
Now the top of heav'n doth hold,
And the gilded car of day
His glowing axle doth allay
In the fteep Atlantic ftream ;
And the flope fun his upward beam
Shoots againil the dullcy pole,
Facing tow'rd the other goal t Jo
Of his chamber in the eaft ;
Mean-while welcome joy and feaft.
SONG.
Now PhshusJinitib in the weß^
Welcome fong and welcome jeß.
Midnight Jhout and revelry,
Tipfy dance and jollity :
Braid your locks with rofy twine^
Dropping odours, dripping winct
Act t. COMUS. si
Rigour novj is gone to bed ;
And Advice 'with fcrup'lous head, 16o
Striä Age and four Severity,
With their grave favos, inßumier üe.
We, that are of purer fire,
Imitate the ftarry choir,
Who, in their nightly watchful ipheres,
Lead in fwift round the months and years.
The founds and feas, widi all their finny drove,
Now to the moon in wav'ring morrice move.
And, on the tawny fands and fiielves,
Trip tlie pert Fairies and the dapper Elves. 170
SONG. By a Woman,,
By dimpled brook andfountain brim
The Wwd-nymphs, deck'd "Vuith defies trim.
Their merry •wakes andpqßmes keep i
What has night to do •with Jleep ?
Night has better ftueets to prove ;
Venus no'w •wakes and ivakens Love s
Come, let us our rites begin;
'Tis only day-light that makesfin.
Comus. Hail, goddefs of no£turnal fport,
Dark-veil'd Cotytto ! to whom the fecret flame 180
Of midnight torches burn. Myfterious dame !
That ne'er art call'd but when the dragon-womb
Of Stygian darknefs Ipits her thickeft gloom.
And makes one blot of all the air.
Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,
B
21 COMUS. ACT I.
Wherein thou rid'ft with Hecat', and befnend
Us thy vow'dprieflis, till utmoft eand
Of all thy dues be done, and none left out ;
Ere the blabbing eaftern fcOut,
The nice Morn, on th' Indian fteep 190
From her cabin loop-hole,peep,
And to the tell-tale Sun defcry
Our conceal'd fdemnky.
SONG. Èy Qouv&'iinä Woman.
From tyrant lanus and cufloms free
ÎVe foltatü.fiveet variety ;
By turns nue drmk, and dance^ andftng^
Love for ever.onthe nuing.
Why ßsould>mggari tmles -àtiélral
Fr anfrort s of the jovial fou! ?
No dullfiitu'tng 'hour We'onun } 200
Pleafure counts our time-alone.
Comus. Come, knithaods and beat the grouöd
In a light fantaffie rouild.
Dance.
Break off, break off ; I feel the diff'rent pace
Of fome challe footing near about this ground;
Run to your Ihrouds within thefe brakes and trees ;
Our number may affright. Some virgin fure
(For fo I can dillinguilh by mine art)
Benighted in thefe woods. Now to my charms,
Andto my wilytrainsi lihaTl ere long iio
Act. I. COMUS. 23
Be well ftock'd with as fair a herd as graz'd
About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazzling fpells into the Ipungy air,
Öf pow'r to cheat the eye with blear illufion,
And give it falfe prefentments, left the place
And my quaint habits breed aftoniihment.
And put the damljel to fufpicious flight ;
Which mull not be, for that's againft my courie.
I, under lair piietence of friendly ends,
And well-plac'd words of glozing courtefy, 220
Baited with reafons not unplauiible,
Wind me into the eafy-hearted man.
And hug him into fnares. When once her eye
Hath met the virtue of this magic dull,
I ihall a23pear fome harmlefs villager
Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear.
But here flig comes 3 I fairly ftep aCde
And hearken if 1 may her bus'nefs here.
Enter the Lady.
Lady. This way the noife was, if mine ear be true.
My bell guide now : methought it was the found 230
Of riot and ill-raanag'd merriment ;
" Such as the jocund flute or gamefome pipe
" Stirs up among the loofe unletter'd hinds,
" When, for their teeming flocks and granges full,
" In wanton dance they praife the bounteous Pan,
" And thank the gods amifs." I Ihould be loath
To meet the rudenefs and fwill'd infolencc
Of fuch late rioters ; yet oh ! where elfe
B 2
.4 COMUS, Act f
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood ? 240
Comus afide."] I'll eafe her of that care, and be her
guide.
Lady. My brothers, when they faw me weary'd
out
" With this long way, refolving here to lodge
" Under the Ipreading favour of thefe pines,"
Stepp'd, as they faid, to the next thickeft fide
To bring me berries, or fiich cooling fruit
As the kind hofpitable woods provide.
" They left me then when the grey-hooded Even,
" Like a fad votarift in palmer's weeds, 249
** Rofe from the hindmoft wheels of Phoebus' wain;"
But where they are, and why they come not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts : 'tis likeliell:
They had engag'd their wand'ring fteps too far.
" This is the place, as well as I may guefs,
" Whence, ev'n now, the tumult of loud mirth
" Was rife, and perfe6t in my lift'aing ear,
" Yet nought but fingle darknefs do I find.
" What might this be ? A thoufand fantafies
" Begin to throng into my memory,
" Of calling ihapes and beck'ning ihadows dire, 260
And aery tongues, that fyllable mens* names
" On fands, and (bores, and deiert wildernefies.
" Thefe thoughts may ftartle well, but not aftound,
" The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
" By a ftrong fiding champion, Confcience.
" O ! welcome pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope,
" Thou hov'ring angel, girt with golden wiiigs,
" And thou unblemiih'd form of Chaftity !
Act I. COMUS. 25
" I fee you vifibly, and now believe,
f That he, the fupreme Good (to whom all things ill
" Are butas flaviíh officers of vengeance) 271
" Would fend a glift'ring guardian, if need were,
*'■ To keep my life and honour unaflail'd.
" Was I deceiv'd, or did afable cloud
" Turn forth her filver lining on the night ?
" 1 did not err; there does a fable cloud
" Turn forth her filver lining, on the night,
" And cafts a gleam over this tufted grove."
I cannot halloo to my brothers, but
Such noife as I can make to be heard fartheft 2 80
I'll venture, for my new enliven'd Ipirits
Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off.
SONG.
Sweet Echo, fweiteß nymph ! that liv'Jl mfeen
Within thy aery cell.
Byßow Mceander's margent green.
And in the •oiolet-embroider'd vale.
Where the lovelorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her fad fong mourneth well,
Canß thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likeß thy Narciffus are ? zqo
Oh ! if thou have
Hid them in fomeßow'ry cave.
Tell me hut nfhere.
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the Sphere
So mafß thou be trarflated to thefkies.
And give refounding grace to all heav'n's harmonía,
a6 COMUS. Act t.
Gomus aßde."] Can any mortal mixture of earth's
mould
Breathe fuch divine enchanting ravifhment ^
" Sure fomething holy lodges in that bread:,
" And with thefe raptures moves tire vocal air 300
"To teftify his hidden refidence :
" How fweetly did they float upon the wings
" Of filence through the empty-vaulted night,
" At ev'ry fall fmoothing the raven down
" Of darknefs till it fmil'd I I have oft' heard
" My mother Circe, with the Sirens three,
" Amidfl: the flow'ry-kirtled Naiades,
" Culling their potent herbs and baleful dfUgs,
" Who, as they fung, would take the prilbrt^d foul
" And lap it in Elyfium : Scylla wept, 31 o
" And chid her barking waves into attention,
" And fell Charybdis murmur'd foft applaufe ;
" Yet they in pleaííng flumber luli'd the íénfe,
" And fweet in madnefs robb'd' it of itfelf ;
" But fuch a facred and home-felt delight,
" Such fober certainty of waking blifs,
" I never heard till now."—IH Ipeak to her.
And Ihe ihall be my queen.—Hail, foreign Wonder!
Whom certain thefe rough (hades did never breed,
Urilefs the goddefs that, in rural (hrine, 320
Dwell'ft here with Pan or Silvan, by blefs'd fong
Forbidding ev'ry bleak unkindly fog
To touch the profp'rous growth of this tall wood.
Lady. Nay, gentle Shepherd ! ill is loil that
praife
That is addrefs'd to unattending ears :
Act I. COMUS. VI
Not any boaft of íkill» buA extreaie Ati/t
How to regain mjs fever'd company,
Corapell'd me to awaj^e the cQarteoa.s Echo
To give me anfwer from her mo0y cpuch.
■ Com. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you
thus ¡
Lttdg. Dim darhnels and tins leafy labyriwh. 331
Com. Could thati divide you from near-viih'ring
guides ?
hady. They left me weavy 00 a §ta% titff.
Com. " ByfaJfehoodordiifcoitttefy, or why?.
" To feok. i' th' íiwo «odl iaUodly
^ing.
Com. And Uft yoiH fair fids aU unguarded, Ladjpl
Lady. They were but twain,, arid juKßo&'d «juieJt r^
tura.
Com. " Perliapa foreûaUisg night prevented thecv?
Lady. " How eafy my misfortune is to hit
Com. Imports their lofs beíido the prefent need ?
L(tí^. Nofefsthanif I íhauJd ray brothers lofe. J4.t
Com. Were they of maidy prime or youthful bloom ?
Lady. As fnftooth as Hebe's their unfazor'd hps.
Com. Two fuch I faw " what time the labour'd, Q5t'
" In his loofe traeea from the furrow came,
" And the fwink't bedgçr at his fupper fat ;
" I faw them" under a " greca" mantling vit».
That cravds along the fide of yon' feall hill.
Plucking rife dufteacs from the tender ihoots :
Their port was more than human} " as they ftood
" 1 took it for a Êùry vífiem 3j[I
" Of feme gay creatmes of the ekment,
" That in the colours of the rainbow live,
38 COMUS. Act. í.
" And play i' th' plighted clouds. I was awe-ftruck,
" And as I pafs'd I worihipp'd:" if thofe you feek
It were a journey like the path to heav'n
To help you find them.
Lady. Gentle Villager,
What readieft way would bring me to that place ?
Com. " Due weft it rifes from this ihrubby point.
Lady. "To find out that, good Shepherd, I fup-
pofe,
" In fuch a fcant allowance of ftar-light, 362
" Would overtalkthe heft land pilot's art,
" Without the fure guefs of well-praéHs'd feet."
Com. I know each lane and ev'ry alley green,
Dingle or buihy dell, of this wide wood,
" And ev'ry bolky bourn from fide to fide,"
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood ;
And if your ftray attendants be yet lodg'd.
Or fliroud within thefê'limits, I ihall know 370
Ere morrow wake, " or the low-roofted lark
" From her thatch'd pallat rpufe ; if" otherwile,
I can conduit you XMy ip ^ low
But loyal cottage, where yçu çiay be (àfe
Till farther queft.
Lady. Shepherd, I take thy word.
And truft thy honeft offer'd courtefy,
" Which oft' is fooner found in lowly (heds,
*' With fmoky rafters, than in tap'ftry halls
" And courts of princes, where it firft was nam'd, 3 80
" And yet is moft pretefided.'' In a place
Eefs warranted than this, or lefs fecure,
X cannot be, that I Ihould fear to change it.
Act I. COMUS. 29
Eye me, blefs'd Providence, and fquare my trial
To my proportion'd ftrength—Shepherd, lead on.
[_Exeunt.
Enter Com us' Crevi from beünd the treet.
SONG. By a Man.
Fly Jtutftly, ye Minutes ! till Conius receive
the namelefs foft tranfpbrts that beauty can give ;
The bowl's frolich joys let him teach her to prove.
Andße in return yield the raptures of love.
Without love and wine, wit and beauty are vain.
All grandeur infipid, and riches a pain, 39 t
The moß fplendidpalace grows dark as the grave :
Love and wine give, ye Gods, or take back what you gave.
chor.us.
Away, away, away.
To Comus' court repair ;
There night outßines the day.
There yields the melting fair.
Bi
30
COMUS.
Act II.
jicr IL
" Enter the two Brothers.
" Elder Brother.
" Un MUFFLE, ye faiot Stars! and tliou, fair Moon!
" That wont'il to love the traveller's benlfon,
" Stoop thy pale vifage thro' an amber cloud,
" And difinherit Chaos, that reigns here
" In double night of darknefs and of ftiades;
" Or if your influence be quite damnt'd up
*' With black ufurping mills, fome gentle taper,
" Tho'a ruih candle, from the wicker-hole
Of fome clay habitation, vifit us
*' With thy long levell'd rule of ftreaming light, lo
•' And thou (halt be our ilar of Arcady
" Or TyrianCynofure.
T. Bro, " Or, if our eyes
" Be barr'd that happhieik, might we but hear
" The folded flocks peniv'dhi their wattled cotes,
" Or found of paft'ral reed with oaten flops,
" Or whiflle from the lodge, or village cock
" Count the night-watches to his feathery dames,
" 'Twould be fome folace yet, fome little cheering,
" In this clofe dungeon of innum'rous boughs. 20
" But oh ! that haplefs virgin, our lofl fifter I
" Where may Ihe wandermow, whither betake her
*' From the chill dew, amongft rude burs and thiflles ?
" Perhaps fome cold bank is her bolfler now,
act n. c0mu3. 31
" Or 'gainft the rugged bark of feme broad elm
" Leans her unpillow'd head, fraught with fad fear« :
*' What if in wild amazement and affright f
*' Or, while we fpeak, within the direful gralp
" Of favage hunger or of favage heat ?
E. Bra. " Peace brother j be not over exquiüte 30
"To caft the faihion of uncertain evils ;
" F,or, grant they be ib, wliile they reft unknown
" What need a man foreftal his date of grief,
"And run to meet what he would rooft avoid î
" Or if they be but fajíé alarms of fear
" How bitter is fuch ielf-delufion !
" I do not think-my fifter £0 to feek,
" Or lb unprincipled in virtue's book,
" And the fweet peace that goodnefs bofoms ever,
"As that the fingle want of light and noife 40
" (Not being in danger, as I truft (he is not)
" Could ftir the conftant mood of her calm thoughts,
" And put them into railbecoming plight.
" Virtue could lee todo what Virtue would
" By her own radiant light tho'fun and moon
" Were in the flat fea funk ; and Wifdoia's Iblf
" Oft' feeks to fweet retired folitude,
" Where with her beft nurfe. Contemplation,
" She plumes her feathers and lets grow her wings,
" That in the various buftle of refort 50
" Were allto ruffled, and fbmetimes impair'd.
" He, that has light within his own clear breaft,
" May fit i' th' centre and enjoy bright day ;
" But he, that hides a dark foul and foul thoughts,
♦' Benighted walks under the mid-day fun j
" Himfelf is his own dungeon.
3» COMUS. Act II.
T. Bro. " 'Tis moll true
" That mufing Meditation moll affefls
" The penfive fecrecy of defert cell,
" Far from the chearful haunt of men and herds, 60
" And fits as fafe as in a fenate houfe ;
' For who would rob a hermit of his weeds,
" His few books, or his beads, or mapledilh,
*' Ordo his grey hairs any violence ?
" But Beauty, like the fair Helperian tree
*' Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard
•' Of dragon watch witli unenchanted eye,
" To fave her bloflbms, and defend her fruit
" From tlie ralh hand of bold Incontinence.
'* You may as well ipread out the unfunn'd heaps 70
" Ofmifers' treafure by an outlaw's den
" And tell me it is fafe, as bid me hope
Danger will wink on opportunity,
" And let a fingle helplefs maiden pafs
Uninjur'd in this wild furrounding walle.
" Of night or lonelinefs it recks me not ;
" I fear the dread events that dog them both,
" Left fome ill-greeting touch attempt the perfon
" Of our unowned lifter.
E. Bro. •' I do not, brother, 80
*' Infer as if I thought my filler's ftate
" Secure, without all doubt or controveify ;
"Yet, where an equal poife of hope and fear
" Does arbitrate th' event, my nature is
" That I incline to hope rather than fear,
" Apd gladly banilh fquint fulpicion.
" My filler is not fo defencelels left
Act II, COMUS. 33
" As you imagine ; ihe has a hidden llrengtb
" Which you remember not.
T. Bro. " What hidden ftrength 90
" Unlefs the ftrength of Heav'n ? if you mean that.
£. Bro. " I mean that too ; but yet a hiddenr
ftrength,
" Which, if Heav'n gave it, may be term'd her own ;
" 'Tis chaftity, my brother, chaftity :
" She that has that is clad in complete fteel,
" And like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen
" May trace huge forefts and unharbour'd heaths,
" Infamous hills and fandy perilous wilds,
" Where thro' the facred rays of chaftity
" No favage fierce, bandit, or mountaineer, lOO
" Will dare to foil her virgin purity ;
" Yea, there where very defolation dwells,
" By grots and caverns ihagg'd with horrid (hades,
" She may pafs on with unblench'd majefty,
" Be it not done in pride or in prefumption.
" Some fay no evil thing that walks by night
"In fog or fire, by lake or moorilh fen,
" Blue meagre hag, or ftubborn unlaid ghoft,
" That breaks his magick chains at curfew time,
" No goblin, or fwart Fairy of the mime, 110
" Hath hurtful pow'r o'er true virginity.
" Do ye believe me yet, or (hall I call
" Antiquity from the old fchools of Greece
" To teftify the arms of phaftity í
" Hence had the huntrefs Dian her dread bow.
Fair filver-ihafted queen, for ever chafte !
" Wherewith ihe tam'd the brinded lioneis
" And fpotted mountain pard, but fet at nought
34 COMUS. Act II.
" The frir'lottS bolt of Cupid : gods and men
" Fear'd her ftern frown, and ftie was Queen o' th'
Woods. 120
" What was the fneaky-headed Gorgon fliield
" That wife Minerva wore, unconquer'd virgin !
" Wherewith flie freez'd her foes to congeal'd ftone,
" But rigid looks of challe aufterity
" And noble grace, that dalh'd brute violence
" With fudden adoration and blank awe ?
" So dear to Heav'n is faintly chaftity,
" That, when a foul is found fincerely fo,
" A thoufand livery'd angels lacquey her,
" Driving far off each thing of fin and guilt, 130
" And in clear dream and folemn vifion
" Tell her of things that no grofs ear can hear,
" Till 'oft converfe with heav'nly habitants
" Begin to call a beam on th' outward flupe,
" The unpolluted temple of the mind,
" And turn it by degrees to the foal's efibnce,
" Till all be made immortal.
" But when lull
" By unchalle looks, loofe geftures, and foul talk,
" But mofl: by lewd and lavifh ail of fin,
" Lets in defilement to the inward parts,
" The foul grows clotted by contagion,
" Imbodies and imbrutes, till fhe quite lofo
" The divine property of her firft being.
" Such are thofe thick and gloomy fliadows damp
" Oft' feen In charnel vaults and fepulchres,
" Ling'ring and fitting by a new-made grave,
" As loath to leave the body that it loy'd.
Act II. COMUS. 35
" And iink'd itièlf in carnal fenfaaKty
" To a degen'rate and degraded Äaie. 150
T. Brà. " How cbtraaing is* divine {ddkifbyby !
" Not harih and crabbed, as dull fools fuypofe,
" But mufca! as is Apollo's lute,
" And a perpetual feaft of neftair'd fweets,
" Where no etude &rfek reigns."
E. Bra. Lift, lift 1 I heat
Some faff-off halloo break the (ileftt air.
T. Brt^. Metbon^ fo too 5 what fliould it be ?
E. Bro. Far certain
Either fome one like us Bjght-founder'd here, 160
Or elfe fonae neighboirf woodnaan, or at Worft
Some roving robber calling to his fellows.
Y, Bra. Heav'a keep my lifter ! Again ! agswn !
and near i
Bell draw, and ftand upon our guard.
E. Bro. I'll halloo ;
If he be friendly he comes ^ell ; if not.
Defence is a good taufei and Heav'n be for as.
Enter theßrß Attendant Spirit, hahited lilt a Shepherd.
T.Bro.ThaX, halloo-1 ihould know—What are you?
fpeak.
" Come not too near ; you fall on iron ftakes elfe."
" F."Spi. What voice is that? my young lord ?
Speak again. 170
T. Bro. O brother, 't is> my father's ibepherd fiire.
E. Bra. Thyriis ? whofe artful ftrains have oft'
delay'd
The huddling brook to hear his madtigalj
And fweeten'd ev'ry muflcrofe of the dale.
36 COMUS, Act II.
How cam'ft thou here good Swain ? has any ram
Slipp'd from the fold, or young kid loft his dam,
Or ftraggling weather the pent flock forfook ?
How could'ft thou find this dark fequefter'd nook ?
"F."Spi. O my lov'd mafter's heir, and his next joy !
" I came not here on fuch a trivial toy i8o
" As a ftray'd ewe, or to purfue the ftealth
" Of pilfring wolf ; not all the fleecy wealth
" That doth enrich thefe downs is worth a thought
" To this my errand, and the care it brought.
" But oh !" where is my virgin lady ? where is Ihe ?
How chance ihe is not in your company ?
E.Bro. To tell thee fadly, Shepherd, without blame
Or our negleft we loft her as we came.
"F." apt. Ah me I unhappy I then my fears are true.
E. Bro. What fears, good Thyrfis ! prithee briefly
ihew? I go
F. Spi. " I'll tell ye : 't is not vain, nor fabulous,
" (Tho' ib efteem'd by ihallow ignorance)
" What the fage poets, taught by th'heav'nly Mufe,
Story'd of old in high immortal verle,
** Of dire Chimeras, and enchanted ifles,
" And rifted rocks, whofe entrance leads to hell ;
" For fuch there be ; but unbelief is blind.
E. Bro. " Proceed, good Shepherd ! I am all atten¬
tion."
"F." Spi, Within the navel of this hideous wood,
Immur'd in cyprefs lhades, a forcerer dwells, 200
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Cornus,
Deep ikill'd in all his mother's witcheries,
Âad wanton as his father ¡
Act U. COMUS. 37
" And here to ev'ry thirfty wanderer
" By fly enticements gives his baneful cup,
" With many murmurs mix'd, whofe pleaiing poiflm
" The vifage quite transforms of him that drinks,
" And the inglorious likenefs of a bead
" Fixes inftead, unmoulding reafon's mintage
" Charaéler'd in the face." This have I learnt 210
Tending my flock hard by, " i' th' hilly crofts
" That brow this bottom glade," whence night by
night
He and his mondrous rout are heard to howl
" Like dabled wolves or tigers at their prey,
" Doing abhorred rites to Hecate
" In their obfcured haunts and inmod bow'rs."
Yet have they many baits and guileful Ipells,
And beauty's tempting femblance can put on
T' inveigle and invite th' unwary fenfe
" Of them that pafs unweeting by the way.'" 220
" But hark ! the beaten timbrel's jarring found
And wdd tumultuous mirth proclaim their prefence ;
Onward they move ; " and fee ! a blazing torch
" Gleams thro' the Ihade," and this way guides their
deps.
Let us withdraw a while and watch their motions.
\JThey retire.
Enter Com u s' Crew revelling, and by turns careßng each
other, till they obferve the' two Brothers ¡ then the
Elder Brother advances and fpeals,
E.Bro.V^h.'iX. are you,fpeak,that thus in wanton riot
And midnight revelry, like drunTcen Bacchanals,
Invade the filenee of thefe lonely lhades ?
38 eOMU9. Act II.
F. Worn. Ye godlike youths! " whofo»adiant forms
excel
" The bloomiilg grace of Maia's wloged fon," 230
Biefs tlîe propitious fta* that led you to us ;
We are the happiefb of the race of mortals,
Of freedom» mirth, and joy, the only heirs :
But you lhall ihare them with us ; for this cup,
This neitar'd cup» the fweet aifurance gives
Of prefemt and the pledge of future blifs»
[Wr ^en them the cup, uuhich they hoth put ly.
S-QNG. By a Man.
By tht gayJy arcUng ghßi
We can fee harm vùautes pap<^
By the hdkta cajk are told
How the ntfainmg night grawfi old, 240
Soan% too foott, the hmfy day
JDrivee usfrom ourfport and play s
What have we with day to do ?
Sons of care 'i was mask for you.
E. Bro. Forbear, nor ofFer us the poHbn'd fweets
That thus have render'd thee thy fex's ihame.
All ienfe of honour banilh'd from thy breaft.
« SONG.
" Fame's an echo, prattling double,
*' An empty, airy, glitt'ring, bubble ;
" A breath eem fwell, a breath eanßnh it, ayo
" The wife not worth their keeping think it.
Act ir. CO MUS. 39
" Why theUf nvhy fueJi toll anipain
" Fatness uttdertaln ßmks to gain ?
" Liée herßßer Fortime Wind,
" To the heßßie^s ofi" unkind,
" Ând the tuorß her favour ßnd,
E. Bro. " By her own ientence Virtue ftands ab-
folv'd,
" Nor ailis an echo' from the tongues of men
"To tell what hourly to herfelf Ihe proves.
" Who wants hi» own no other praife enjoys ; 260
" His ear receives it as a fatíbme lalfe
"To which his heart i« íécret gives the He :
" Nay, úander'd innocence mcft feeh a peace,
" An inward peace, which flatter'd guilt ne'er knew."
F..Worn. Ob! how unfeemly ihews- is bleonaing
youth
Such grey feverity !<—^But come with us,
We to the bow'r of bliià will guide your Heps ;
There you ihall tafte the jjoya that Nature iheds
On. the gayfpiing of life, youth's flow'ry prime.
From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve,, 270
Each rifing hour by rifing pleafures matk'd.
SONG. By a Woman In apqßoralhahlt.
Would ym taße the uoan-4ide air^
To yon' fragrant boivr repair.
Where tuoven •mlth the popkar hough.
The mantling vine lolllfhelter you.
40 COMUS. Act II.
Do<um each Jide a fountain ßotus,
Tinkling, murm'ring , as it goes,
Lightly o'er the mqffy ground.
Sultry Phahus fcorching round.
Round the languid herds andßseep 280
Stretch'd o'er funny hillocks Jleep,
While on the hyacinth and rofe
The fair does all alone repofe.
■All alone and in her arms
Tour breqß may beat to love's alarms.
Till blefs'd and blejjing you JhaR own
The joys of love are joys alone.
E. Bro. " How low finks beauty when by vice de-
bas'd !
" How für that form if virtue dwelt within !
" But from this fliamelefs advocate of fhame 290
" To me the warbled fong harfli difcord grates.
T. Bro. " Short is the courfe of ev'ry lawlefs pleafure ;
" Grief like a fliade on all its footfteps waits,
" Scarce vifible in joy's meridian height,
" But downward as its blaze declining ipeeds
" The dwarfifti ihadow to a giant fpreads."
E. Worn. No more ; thefe formal maxims miibe*
come you ;
They only fuit fufpicious Ihrivell'd Age.
Act ir.
COMÜS.
4*
SONG. By a Man and two JVonun,
Live and love, etyoy the fair,
Baniß farrow, hanißi care ; 300
Mind not what old dotardsfay ¡
Âge has had his fiare ofplay.
But youth's fport begins to-day.
From thefruits offweet delight
La not feare-crow Firtue fright :
Here in Pleafurds vine-yard we
Rove Me birds from tree to tree,
Carelefs, airy, gay, andfree.
E. Bro. How can your impious tongues profane the
name
Of facred Virtue, and yet promife pleafure 310
In lying fongs of vanity and vice ?
From virtue lever'd pleafure phrenzy grows,
" The gay delirium of the fev'riih mind,
" And always flies at reafon's cool return.
F. Worn. " Perhaps it may ; perhaps the fweeteft
joys
" Of love itfelf from paflion s folly Ipring j
*' But fay, does wifdom greater blifs beftow ?
B. Bro. " Alike from love's and pleafure's path you
ftray,
" In fenfual folly blindly feeking both,
" Your pleafure riot, luft your boafted love. ¡20
" Capricious, wanton, bold, and brutal, luft
" Is meanly felfHh, when refifted cruel,
' And like the blaft of peftilential winds
«2 COMUf. act h.
" Taints the fweet bloom of Nature's faireft forms :
" But love, lite od'rous Zephyr's grateful breath,
" Repays the flow'r thatiaveetnEdrs which itiorrows ;
" Uninjuring, uninjur'd, lovers .move
" In their own fphore of happinefs content,
" By mutual truth n\'»idÍBg mutual blame."
But we forget : who hears the voice of Trutfa 330
In noify riot and intemp'rance drown'd ?
Thyrfis, be then ourgoide ; weUl follow thee,
And fome good angd bear a ihield before us'l
[£míuuí Brothtrs and SpirtU
F. Worn. Come, come, my friends, and partners of
my joys.
Leave to thefe pedant youth their bookjih dreams ;
" Poor blinded boys, by their blind guides mifled!
" A beardlefs Cynick is the fliame of nature,"
Beyond the cure of this infpirlng cup ;
" And my contempt, at bell my pity, moves."
Away, nor wafte a moment more aboufem. 340
chorus.
Avip^, away, fltoajii,
To Comus' court repair.
There night outßimes the day.
There yields the melting fair. [^ExeuntJlnging.*
E. Bro. " She's;gone ! may fcompurfue her wan¬
ton arts,
" And aU thepaiased charms that vice can wear.
* Tho firll Aft ends here as now performed.
Act U. COMUS. 43
■" Y«t -oft' ©'«r credulous youth fach Sirens triuio^-,
" And lead their captive £én£èim chams as ftrong
" As links of adamant. Let us be free»
" And to fecnre our freedom, rirtuous. 35Ô
Z". Bro, " Bat Ihould our helpl^ tíiíber meet the
rage
'■ Of this iitfahing troop -what could tfhe do ?
" What h<^e, "what comfort, what fupport, were left?
" She meets not them; butyet, ifright I guefs,
" A harder trial on her virtue waits.
E, Bro. " Protefl her Heav'n! But whence this
fad conjefhire ?
Spt. " ThÍB'ev'ning-kte, bythenthe chewing flocks
" Had ta'en their fupper on the íáV'ry herb
" Ofknot-grafs dew-befprent, and were in fold,
" I fat me down to watch upon a bank 360
" With ivy caoopy'd, and interwove
" With flatmtiag honeyfuokle, and began,
•' Wrapp'd in a píeaííng fit of melancholy,
" To meditate my rural minftrelfy,
" Till Fancy had her fill ; but ere a clofe,
" The wonted roat was up amidfl: the woods,
" And fill'd the air with barbarous diflbnance,
" At which I ceas'd, and liften^d them a while.
Z", Bro. " What follow'd then ? O ! if our help-
lefs fifter—
■ " Strait an nnüíiial flop of fuddenfilencc 370
" Gave rclpite to the drowfy-flighted-fteeds
" Thai draw thelitter ofclofe-curtainM Sleep.
•' At laft afoft and folcmn breathing found
" Rofe like a fleam of rich diftill'd perfumes,
•" And flole upon the air, that ev'n Silence
44 COMUS. Act IT.
•' Was took ere ftie was 'wate, and wifhed (he might
" Deny her nature, and be never mote,
" Still to be fo dilplac'd. I was all ear,
And took in ftrains that might create afoul
" Under the ribs of Death—^but oh ! ere long 380
" Too well I did perceive it was the voice
'• Of my moll honour'd lady your dear filler.
7*. Ä-0. " O my foreboding heart! too true my
fears.
S^i. " Amaz'd I Hood, harrow'd with grief and
fear,
" And OI poor haplefs nightingale, thought I,
•' How fweet thou fing'ft, how near the deadly fnare I
" Then down the lawns I ran with headlong halle,
" Thro' paths and turnings often trod by day,
" Till guided by my ear I found the place
" Where the damn'd wizard, hid in fly dilguiíé, 390
" (For fo by certain figns I knew) had met
" Already, ere my bell Ipeed to prevent,
" The aidlefs innocent lady, his wilh'd prey,
" Who gently alk'd if he had feen fuch two,
" Suppofing him fome neighbour villager.
" Longer I durll not llay, but Ibon I guefs'd
" Ye were the two Ihe meant; with that I Iprung
" Into fwift flight till I had found you here ;
" But farther know I not.
2". Bro. " O night and lhades ! 400
How are ye join'd with hell in triple knot
" Againll th' unarm'd weaknefs of one virgin,
" Alone and helplefs 1 Is this the confidence
"You gave me brother ?
Act II. COMUS. 45
E.Sro. " Ves, andkeep itfl:ill>
" Lean on it fafely ; not a period
" Shall be unfaid for me. Againffdie threats
" Of malice or of forcery, or that poVr
" Which erring men call Chance, this 1 hold firm,
" Vtrtue may he affail'd hut never hurt, 410
" Surpris^ihy unjuß force hut not înthratt'd-,
" Tea, even thcA which mifchief meant moß harm
" Shall in the happytrial prove moß glory :
" But evU'on itßlfJhaU hoch recoil,
" yînd mix no more with goodnefs ; when at laß'
" Gathered lihe ßum', and fettled to itfelf,
" Itßall he in eternal reßlefs change,
" Self-fed and'felf-conftim'd: If this fail
" The pillar'd firmament is rottennefs.
And earth's hafe huilt on fiuhhle. But come, let's on ;
" Againft th' oppofing-will and arm of Heav'n 421
" May never this juft fword be lifted up ;
" But for that damn'd magician, let him be girt
" With all the griefly legions that troop
" Under the footy flag of Acheron,
" Harpies and Hydras, or all the monilrous forms
" 'Twixt Africa and Inde, I'll find him out,
" And force him to reftore his purchafe back,
" Or drag him by th« curls to a foul death,
" Curs'd as his life. 430
Spi. " Alas 1 good vent'rous youth,
" I love thy courage yet, and bold emprife ;
" But here thy fword can do thee little ftead :
" Far other arms, and other weapons muft
" Be thofe that quell the might of helliih charms.
C
46 COMüS. Act II.
He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints,
" And crumble all thy finews.
E. Bra " Why prithee, ihepherd,
" How dürft tliou then thyielf approach fo near,
" As to make this relation ? 440
S/>i. " A Ihepherd lad,
Of fmall regard to fee to, yet well ilcill'd
" In every virtuous plant and healing herb,
" That Ipreads her verdant leaf to the morning ray,
" Has ihewn me fimples of a thoufand names,
" Telling their ftrange and vigorous faculties.
" -Among the reft a fmall unlightly root,
" But of divine effeéV, he cull'd me out;
And bad me keep it as of fov'reign ufe
"Gainft all enchantment, mildew, blaft, or damp.
Or ghaftly fury's apparition. 451
" I purs'd it up. If you have this about you
" (As I will give you when you go) you may
" Boldly aflaiilt the necromancer's hall ;
" Where if he be, with dauntlefsiiardihood
And brandiihed blade ruih on htm, break his glais,
" And (hed the lufcious liquor on the ground ;
" But feize his wand, tho' he and his curs'd crew
" Fierce fign of-battle make, and menace high,
" Or like the fons of Vulcan vomit Imoke, 460
" Yet will they foon retire, if he but ihrink."
Act III.
COMUS.
47
ACT III.
" Scene opens, and eSfcovers" a magnificent Hall in Co-
Mus'/ Palace, "fet off <with all the gay decorations
*' proper for an ancient hanqueting-room." CoMUS
and Attendantsfiand on each Jide <f the Lady, <who is
feated in an enchanted choûr ; " and by her looks and
" gflvres expreffes greatftgns of unecfinefs and me-
" lancholy."
"CoMus ffeaks.
« Hence, loathed melancholy,
" Of Cerberus and blackeft midnight born,
" In Stygian cave -forlorn,
" 'Mongft horrid (hapes, and ihrieks, and fights un¬
holy,
*' Find out fome uncouth cell,
" Where brooding darknefs fpreads his jealous wings
" And the night-raven fings ;
" There, under ebon ihades, and low-brow'd rocks,
" As ragged as thy locks,
" In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell. lo
" But" come, thou goddefs fair and free,
In heaven yclep'd Euphrofyne,
And by men, heart-eafing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
C 2
43 COMirs.
With two fifter Graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore.
Hafte thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jeft and youthful jollity.
Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles.
Nods and becks, and wreathed fmiles.
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple fleek ;
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides.
And Laughter holding both his fides.
Come, and trip it as you go.
On the light fantaftic toe ;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, fweet Liberty.
\JVhilß thefe Unes are repeatingy enter a Nymph repreßnt-
ing Euphrosyne, t>r Mirth ; who aJvanees to the
Lady, andßngs the foUoivwg fang.
SONG.
Come, come, hid aeUeu to fear,
. Love and harmony live here, ¡o
No domeßie jealous jars,
Bu%%ingßasiders, tuordy ivars.
In my prefence "will appear ;
Love and harmony reign here.
Sighs to amorousßghs returmng,
Pulfes beating, lofoms burning,
Bofoms with warm wißses panting.
Words to /peak thofe wißes wanting.
Act in.
20
Act III.
COMUg.
47
jíre the otriy ttimnlh here,
AU the woes yen need tofear ; 40
Love and hartneny reign here.
Lady. How long mull I, by magick fetters chain'd
To this detelled feat, hear odious llrains
Of Ihamelefs folly, \j;liich my foul abhors ?
Com. Ye fedge-erown'd Naiades, by twilight feen
Along Masander's mazy border green.
At Comus' call appear in all your azure Iheen.
^He waves his Wand, the Naiads enter, and range them-
felves in Order to dance. J
Now foftly flow let Lydian meafures move.
And breathe the pleafiug pangs of gentle love.
[" The Naiads dance aßow dtínce ex^rejjive of thepaf-
Jion of Love.']
After this dance" the peßoral Nyrnph advances ßow,
with a melancholy and dejpondhtg lAr, tb theßde of the
ßage, and repeats, ly way of foUloquy, theßrßßx lines,
and then ßngs the hallad. Jn the mean time Jhe is ob-
ferved by Euphrosyne, who by hergßure expreßes
to the audience her dßerent fentiments of the ftdyeil of
her complaint, fuitably to the charaüer of their feveral
fongs.]
RECITATIFE.
How gentle was my Damon's air !
Like funny beams his golden hair,
50
50 COMUS. ACT III.
His voice was like the nightingale's,
More fweet his breath than flow'ry vales.
How hard fuch beauties to refign !
And yet that cruel talk is mine !
A BALLAD-
On every hill, in every grove,
Along the margin of eachßream.
Dear confcious fcenet of former love,
I mourn, and Daman is my theme.
The hills, the groves, theßrearns remain, dû
But Damon there I feek in vain.
" Now to the mojy eave I fly,
" Where to my fwain loft have fang,
" Wellpleas'd the Irowßng goats to fpy,
" As o'er the airyßeep they hung.
" The mojfy cave, the goats remain,
" But Damon there I feek in vain.
" Now through the winding vale Ipafs,
" Andßgh to fee the well-known Jbade ;
" I weep, and ktfs the bended grafs, 70
" Where love and Damon fondly play'd,
" The vale, theßade, the grafs remain,
" But Damon there I feek in vain."
Act m. COMUS, 5«
From hill, from dale^ each charm is fed.
Groves, ßoch, andfountainspleaß no more.
Each ßoiuer in pity droops its heady:
All nature does my hfs deplore^
All, all reproach the faithlefs fwaitiy
Tet Damon ßill I feek in vain.
RECITATIFE. By Euphrosyne.
Love, the gfeateft blifs below, 80
How to tafte few women know ;
Fewer itiil the way have hit
How a ñckie fwain to quit.
Simple nymphs then learn of me,
How to treat inco.nftancy.
BALLAD.
The wanton god, that pierces hearts.
Dips in gall his pointed darts ;
But the nymph difdmns to pine ;
Who bathes the wound with rofy naine.
Farewell lovers, when they're cloy'd ; 90
If I am fcorn'd, becaufe enjoy'd.
Sure the fqueamifls fops are free
To rid me of dull company.
They have charms wHiß mine canpleafe ;
I love them much, hut more my eafe ;
Nor jealous fears my love moleß.
Nor faithlefs vowsfiall break my reß.
Si COMÜS.
Wh^fßioMthey e'er give me pain,
IVbo to give me joy difdain ?
All I hope of mortal man.
It to love me whil/l he can.
CoMUS fpeais,
Cail thine eyes around, and fee
How from ev'ry element
Nature's fweets are cull'd for thee.
And her choiceft bleffings fent.
" Fire, water, earth, and air, combine
"To compofe the rich repaft,
" Their aid the diftant feafons join
"To court thy fmell, thy fight, thy tañe.""
Hither fummer, autumn, fpring, 110
Hither all your tributes bring ;
All on bended Jmee be feen
Paying homage to your queen.
\_After this " they put on their chaplets and prepare for
" the feqfl : nvhik CoMUS is adwmtdng luith his cup,
" and one of his attendants .^ersaeàaplettothe Lady,
" (which fhe throws fin the ¿rauud with àuBgneUion)
" the preparation-far the feaß it iatersvpted hy lofty
" andfolemn mufick from above, whence" the fécond
Attendant Spirit enters 'graduedh) in a JpleneUd machine,
repeatingihefoHowing lints to the I.Mdy, andßngs, re¬
maining JHll invfäie #o Co m » s tend his crew.
Act III.
lOO
Act m. COMUS. S3
From the realms of peace above,
From the fburce of heavenly love,
From the ftarry throne of Jove,
Where tuneful Mufes in aglitt'ring ring
To the celellial lyre's eternal ftring
Patient Virtue's triumph fing ;
To thefe dim labyrinths where mortals ftray,
Maz'd in paifion's pathlefs way, 121
To fave thy purer breafl: from Ipot and blame
Thy guardian Spirit came.
SONG.
Nor on leds of fadingßowers.
Shedding foon their gaudy pride ;
Nor with fwains in Syren bowers^
Will true pleafure long reßde.
On awful •virtue's hillfublime.
Enthroned ft\ th' immortal fair ;
Who wins herheight, mußpatient cTimh, 130
Theßeps are peril, toil and care.
So from theßrß did Jove ordain.
Eternal htifs for trarßent pain.
{Exit the Spirit, the mißcplaying loudandfolemn.
Lady. Thanks, heav'nly fongfter ! whofoe'er thou
art.
Who deign'ft to enter thefe unhallow'd walls,
C3
54 COMUS, ACT III.
To bring the fong of virtue to mine ear !
O ceafe not, ceafe not the melodious ftrain,
Till my rapt foul high on the fwclling note
To heav'n afcend far from thefe horrid fiends !
Com. Mere airy dreams of air-bred people thefe ?
Who look with envy on more happy man, 141
*' And would decry the joys they cannot tafte.
" Qmt not the fubftance for a ftalking ihade
" Of hollow virtue, which eludes the grafp."
Drink this, and you will fcorn fuch idle tales.
\_He offers the cup, whichßie puts by, and attempts to rife.'}
Nay, lady, fit ; if I btrt wave this wand.
Your nerves are all bound up in alaballer.
And you a llatue : " or, as Daphne was,
" Root-bound, that fled Apollo."
Lady. Fool, donotboaft; 150
Thou can'ft not touch the freedom of my mind
With all thy charms, altho' this corp'ral rind
Thou haft immanacl'd, while heav'n fees good.
Com. Why are you vex'd, lady? why do you
frown ?
Here dwell no frowns nor anger ; from thefe gates
Sorrow flies far. See, here be all the pleafures
That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts,
•' When the frefh blood grows lively and returns
" Brille as the April buds in primrofe feafon."
And firft behold this cordial julep here, 160
That flames and dances in his cryftal bounds,
" With fpirits of balm and fragrant fyrups mix'd,
" Not that Nepenthes, which the wife of Thone
Act III. COMUS. 3S
" In jEgypt gave to Jove-born Helena,
" Is of fuch pow'r to ftir up joy, as this,
"To life fo friendly, or fo cool to thirft."
Lady. Know bafe deluder, that I will not taile it.
Keep thy detefted gifts for fuch as thefe.
[_Points to his crew,
SONG. By a Man.
Mortak, learn your lives to meafurei
Not by length of time, hut f leafure } 170
Soon your fpring muß have a fall ;
Loftngyouth, is lofingall:
Then you'll qß, hut none will give.
And may linger, hut not live.
Com. Why Ihou'd you be fo cruel to yourfelf.
And to thofe dainty limbs, which Nature lent
For gentle^ufage and foft delicacy ?
" But you invert the cov'nants of her truft,
" And harihly deal, like an ill borrower,
" With that which you receiv'd on other terms, 180
" Scorning the unexempt condition,
" By which all human frailty muft fubfift,
" Refreihment after toil, eafe after pain
That have been tir'd all day without repaft.
And tirnely reft have wanted. But, fair virgin.
This will reftore all foon.
Lady. 'Twill not, falfe traitor !
'Twill not reftore the truth and honefty
That thou haft baniih'd from thy tongue with lies.
Was this the cottage and the fafe abode, 190
^6 COMUS. Act IIJ.
Thou told'ft me of? Hence widi thy brew'd enchant¬
ments.
" Haft thou betray'd my Credulous innocence
" Withvizor'd/ulfhPiOd, and bafe forgery ?
" And would'ft thou feek again to trap tne here
" With liqu'rifli baits, fit to enfnare a brute ?"
Were it a draught for Juno when ihe banquets,
I wou'd not tafte thy treas'nous offer—None,
Butfuch as are good men, can give good things ;
And that which is not good is not delicious
To a well-govern'd and wife appetite. 200
Com. " O, fooliihnefs of men ! that lend their ears
"To thofe budge doftors of the Stoic fur,
" And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub,
" Praifing the lean and fallow abftinence.
" Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth
" With fuch a full and un withdrawing baud,
" Cov'rlngthe earth with odours, fruits, and flocks,
" Thronging the feas with Ipawn innumerable,
" But all to pleafe and fate the curious tafte ;
" And fet to work millions of fpinning worms, 210
" That in their green ftjops weave the fmooth-hair'd
Clk,
" To deck, her fops ; and, that no corner might
" Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins
" She hutch'd th' all-worftiipp'd ore, apd precious
gems
"To ftore her children with ; if all the world
" Should in a pef of temp'rance feed on pulfe,
" Drink the clçar ftream, and nothing wear but frieze,
" Th' All-gitfcr would be unthank'd, would be ub-
prais'tj,
Act. nr. COMUS. 57
" Not helf his fiches known, and yet deipis'd,
" And we fliould ferve him as a grudging mailer,
" As a penurious niggard of his wealth, 221
" And live like Nature's ballards, not her fons ;
" Who would be quite furcharg'd with her own
weight,
" And ilrangled with her walle fertility.
Lai/jf. " I had not thought to have unlock'd my
lips
" In this unhallow'd air, but that this juggler
" Wou'd think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes,
" Obtruding falfe rules, prank'd in reafon's garb.
" I hate when vice can bolt her arguments,
" And virtue has no tongue to check her pride, 230
" Impoilor, do not charge moil innocent Nature,
" As if flie would her children Ihould be riotous
" With her abundance. She, good caterefe,
" Means her provilion only to the good,
" That live according to her fober laws,
" And holy didlate of fpare Temperance.
" If ev'ry juft man, that now pines with want,
" Had but a mod'rate and befeeming Ihare
" Of that which lewdly-pamper'd Luxury
" Now heaps upon ibme few with vaft excefs, 240
" Nature's full bieffings would be well difpens'd
" In unfuperfluous even proportion,
" And Ihe no whit encumber'd with her flore ;
" And then the Giver wou'd be better thank'd,
" His praife due paid. For fwiniih Gluttony
" Ne'er looks to heav'n amidil his gorgeous feaft,
" But with befotted, bafe ingratitude
s8 COMUS. Act Hi.
" Crams, and blafphcmes his feeder." Shall I go on?
Or have I faid enough ?
Com. Enough to ihew 250
That you are cheated by the lying boafts
Of ftarving pedants, that affeét a fame
From fcorning pleafures, which they cannöt reach.
Euphrosyne ßngs.*
Preach not to me your mufly rules.
Te drones that mould in idle cell;
The heart is wi/erthan thrfchools.
The fenfes always reafon well.
If ßort my /pan, I lefs can fpare
To pafs afingle pleafure by ;
An hour is long, if loß in care; 2 60
They only live, who life enjoy.
Com. " Thefe are the maxims of the truly wife,
" Of fuch as praâife what they preach to others.
" Here are no hypocrites, no grave difiemblers ;
" Nor pining grief, nor eating cares approach us,
" Nor fighs, nor murmurs but of gentle Love,
" Whofe woes delight ; What muil his pleafures then ?
" Euphrosyne^ngs.
" Te Fauns, and ye Dryads^ from hill, dale, and grove,
•' Trip, trip it along, conduñed by Love;
• Sung by Comns, as now performed at Covent-gardenTheatre.
Act III. COMUS, 59
" Swiftly refort to Cornus' gay court, 270
" jind in various meafures ßsew Love's various fport.
" Enter the Fauns and Dryads, and attend to the fol-
" lowing direSions. The tune is play'd a fécond time,
" to which they dance.
" Now lighter and gayer, ye tinkling ftrings, found ;
" Light, light in the air, ye nimble nymphs, bound.
" Now,nowwithquick feet the ground beat,beat,beat;
" Now with quick feet the ground beat, beat, beat, &c.
" Now cold and denying,
" Now kind and complying,
" Confenting, repenting,
" Difdaining, complaining,
•' Indifference now feigning, 280
" Again with quick feet the ground beat, beat, beat.
" \Exeunt Dancers."
Com. Lift, Lady, be not coy, and be not cozen'd
With that fame vaunted name Virginity.
" Beauty is nature's coin, muft not be hoarded,
" But muft be current, and the good thereof
" Conflfts in mutual and partaken blifs,
" Unfavory in th' enjoyment of itfelf :
" If you let flip time, like a neglefted rofe,
" It withers on the ftalk with languifli'd head.
" Beauty is nature's brag, and muft be fhown 290
" In courts, at feafts, and high folemnities,
" Where moft may wonder at the workmanfhip.
" It is for homely features to keep home,
" They had their name thence : Coarfe complexions,
«o COMUS. Act IÜ.
" And cheeks of forry grain, will ferve to ply
" The famplcr, and to teaze the houfewife's wool."
What need a vermeil tinétur'd lip for that.
Love-darting eyes, or trefles like the morn ?
There was another meaning in thefe gifts ;
Think what, and be advis'd ; you are but young yet ;
This will inform you foon. 301
Lady. "To him that dares
" Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words
" Againft the fun-clad power of chaftity,
" Fain would I Ibmething lay, yet to what purpofe î
" Thou haft not ear, nor foul to apprehend ;
" And thou art worthy that thou Ihould'ft not know
" More happinefs than this thy prefent lot.
" Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric,
" That has fo well been taught her dazzling fence :
" Thou art not fit to hear thylelf convinc'd, 311
" Yet Ihould I try, the uncontroled worth
" Of this pure caufe would kindle my rapt ipirits
"To fuch a flame of facred vehemence,
" That dumb things would be mov'd to lympathize,
" And the brute earth would lend her nerves, and
(hake,
" Till all thy magic ftruilures, rear'd lb high,
•' Were ihatter'd into heaps o'er thy falfe head.
Com. " She fables not, I feel that I do fear
" Her words let off by fome fuperior pow'r ; 320
" And tbo' not mortal, yet a cold Ihudd'ring dew
•' Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove
" Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus,
"To fome of Saturn's crew. I muft diffeaible,
" And try her yet mote ftrongly Come, no more,
Act im. COMUS. 6t
" Thk is meer moral babbd-e, and diiwä
" Againfl; the canon laws of our foandatton ;
" I muil not fuffer this, yet 'tis but the lees
" And fettlings of a melancholy blood ;
f But this will cure all ftrait," one fip of this 330
Will bathe the drooping fpirits in delight,
Beyond the blifs of dreams. Be wife, and tafte.
[ TheBrothenrufl) \n auithfwords drawn., wrefl the glafs
out of his hand, and break it agaitfl the ground ; his
rout make figns of refiflance, but are all driven in. J
Enter the Fitfl Spirit.
What, 'haTe you let the falfe enchanter fcape ?
O, ye miftook, yon fhould have fnatch'd his wand
And bound him fall ; without his rod revers'd,
" And backward mutters of dilTev'ring powV,"
We cannot free the lady, that fits here
In ilony fetters fix'd, and motion'lefs.
Yet Hay, be not dillurb'd j now I bfitbink me,
" Some other means I have, which may he us'd, 340
" Which once of Melibseas eld 1 karn'd,
" The foothélíl {hepherd thai e'er pip^ an plains :
" I learn'd 'em then, when with my fellow iwain,
" The youthful Lycidas, his flocks I fed. '
There is a ger^tlé nymph not far from hence,
Sabrina is her nanse, a virgio pure.
That fways the Severn fljream ;
" And, as the old fwaia feid," fhe can unlock
The clafping charm, and thaw the nund)ing ipell.
If Ihe be right invoked in warbled fong : 350
62 COMUS. Act
" For maidenhood ihe loves, and will be fwlft
" To add a virgin, fuch as was herfelf.
*' And fee the fwain himfelf in feafon comes."
Enter the Second Spirit.
Hafte, Lycidas, and try thy tuneful ftrain,
Which from her bed the fair Sabrina calls.
SONG. By Second Spirit.
Sabrina fair,
Lißen where thou art fitting
Under the glqfy, cool, tranßucent wave.
In twifled braids of lilies knitting
The locfe train of thy amher^rapping hair ¡
Lißen for dear honours fake,
Goddefs of thefiver lake,
Lißen andfave.
Sabrina rifes and fings.
By the rußy-fringed bank.
Where grows the willow and the ^er dank.
My fidiug chariot fays.
Thick fet with agate, and the azurefeen
Of Turkis blue, and em redd green.
That in the channelfrays ;
" Whilß from off the waters feet
" Thus I fet my printlefs feet
" O'er the cowfip's velvet head,
" That bends not as I tread
Gentle fwain, at thy recpsef,
I am here.
Act nr.
COMUS.
63
RECITATIVE. Second Spirit.
Goddefs dear,
We implore thy powerful hand
To undo the charmed band
Of true virgin here diftrefs'd,
Thro' the force, and thro' the wile, 380
Of unblefs'd enchanter vile.
RECITATIVE. Sabrina.
Shepherd, 'tis my office heft
To help enfnared chaftity :
Brighteft lady, look on me ;
Thus I Iprinkle on thy brealt
Drops, that from my fountain pure
I have kept, of precious cure j
Thrice upon thy finger's tip.
Thrice upon thy ruby'd lip ;
Next this marble venom'd feat, 390
Smear'd with gums of glutinous heat,
I touch with challe palms moift and cold ;
Now the fpell hath loll his hold ;
And I mull halle, ere morning-hour.
To wait in Amphitrite's bower.
[Sabrina defcends, and the Lady rifes out of her feat ¡
the Brothers embrace her tenderly.
E. Bro. " I oft had heard, but ne'er believ'd till now,
" There are, who can by potent magic fpells
" Bend to their crooked purpofe nature's laws.
64 COMUS. Act III.
•' Blot the fair moon from her refplendent orb,
•' Bid whirling planets fto|> their deftin'd courfe, 400
" And thro' the yawning earth from Stygian gloom
" Call up the meagre gholl to walks of light :
" It may be fo, for feme myfterious end !"
T. Bro. Why did I doubt ? Why tempt the wrath
of heav'n
To ihed juftTengeance on my weak diftruft ?
" Here ipotlefs innocence has found relief,
•' By means as wond'rous as her ftrange diilrefs."
E.Bro. The freedom of the mind, you fee, no
charm.
No Ipell can reach ; that righteous Jove forbids,
Lei): man ihould call his frail divinity 410
The flave of evil, or the Iport of chance.
Inform us, Thyrfis, if for this thine aid,
We aught can pay that equals thy deièrt.
Fitß Spirit difcovering himjelf.
Pay it to Heaven ! There my manllon is :
" But when a mortal, favour'd of high Jove,
" Chances to pafs thro' yon advent'rous glade,
♦* Swift as the Iparkle of a glancing ftar
" I ihoot from heav'n to give him fafe convoy."
That lent you grace to efcape this curfed place ;
To heaven, that here has try'd your youth, 420
Your faith, your patience, and your truth,
And fent you thro' thefe hard eilàys
With a crown of deathlefs praife.
Act III,
COMUS.
6S
\jrhen. the two firß Spirits aâoanceandJpeakahernately
the following lines, which Milton calls e^ilogufing.
To the ocemnoí^v I
And thofe cHmes that lye
Where day never (buts his eye
Up ia the broad êelds of the ôey ;
There, I fuck the liquid air.
All amidft the gardens fair
Of Heiperus, and his Daughters three, 430
That ling about the golden tree.
Along the crifped ihades and bowers
Revels the Ipruce and jocund Spring ;
The Graces and the rofy-bofom'd Hours
Thither all their bounties bring ;
There eternal Summer dwells.
And weft-winds with mulky wing
About the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and Gallia's balmy fmells.
Now my talk is fmoothly done, 440
1 can fly or I can run
Quickly to the green earth's end.
Where the bow'd welkin flow doth bend j
And from thence can foar as foon
To the corners of the moon.
Mortals that would follow me.
Love Virtue, Ihe alone is free ;
She can teach you how to climb
Higher than the fphery chime ;
66 COMUS. Act III.
Or, if Virtue feeble were, 4J0
Heaven itfelf would Hoop to her.
Chorus. Taught by virtue, you may cTtmb
Higher than the fphery chime ¡
Or, y Virtue feeble •were.
Heaven itfelf tvouldfloop to her.
THE END.
EPILOGUE.
írOKEN BT
Euphrosyne, with a Wand and Cup.
Some critic, or Pm much deceived, -will
" What means this nvild, this allegoric mafque ?
Beyond all hounds of truth this author Jhoots }
Can <wands or cups transform men into brutes ?
' Tis idleßuff!"—And yet PIlprove it true ¡
Attend; for fure I mean it not of you.
The mealy fop, that tqßes my cup, may try.
How quick the change from beau to butterfly ;
But o^er the Infeä fhould the Brute prevail.
He grins a monkey with a length of tail. lO
One ßroke of this,* as fare as Cupid's arrow.
Turns the warm youth into a wanton fparrow.
Hay, the cold prude becomes a ßave to love.
Feels a new warmth, and cooes a billing dove.
The ßy coquet, whofe artful tears beguile
Unwary hearts, weeps a falfe crocodile.
Dull poring pedants, ßock'd at truth's keen light.
Turn moles, and plunge again in friendly night ;
Mifers grow vultures, of rapacious mind.
Or more than vultures, they devour their kind ; 20
• The Wand.
EPILOGUE.
FkUtW-ers cameleenf, creeping on the ground.
With ev'ry changing-cohur changing round.
The party-fiot, Beneath hit heavy load,
Drudget a driven aft thro' dirty road.
While gunxling fots, their Jjpotfet fay, are hogs ;
Andfnarling critics, authors fivear, are dogs.
But to be grave, t hope •wt'Vepreidd-tH leefl.
All vice is folly, and makes man a beaft. 28
«22.
J7 9
V.I