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MARIAN: A COMIC OPERA, IN TWO ACTS. PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.

By Mrs. BROOKES.

LONDON: Printed by A. Strahan, Printers-Street; FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1800. [Price One Shilling.]

[]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SCENE—A VILLAGE NEAR LINCOLN.
TIME—A Day in May.

[] MARIAN.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—A rural Scene; on the right hand Sir HENRY TRUMAN's Park-Wall juſt appears, with an iron Paliſade—Gate half open, and a Stile near the Gate.—At the back of the Scene a River; beyond which is a Road winding up the ſide of a Hill—A ſmall Houſe cloſe to the River, with a Window to the Stage—Near the Houſe, bending over the River, a Willow, to which the Boat is faſtened.—The Sun appears as juſt riſen.
PATTY, FANNY, and KITTY appear, walking up to the Boatman's Houſe, with Baſkets of Fruit and Flowers on their arms, as for the Market—THOMAS and WILLIAM following.
PATTY.

WHY, Robin! Robin! boatman! He's not awake yet, as I live; though he know'd we ſhou'd want to be ferry'd over early this morning.—Call him, Thomas.

(They all go up to the window.)
[4]

SONG.

Thomas.
The ſun gaily peeps o'er the hills;
Sweet airs from the jeſſamins blow;
Wake, Robin! blithe Robin; here's three pretty maids
A tapping at your window.
Patty.
Tap!
Fanny.
Tap!
Kitty.
Tap!
All three.
Here's three pretty maids,
Three pretty maids,
A tapping at your window.
Robin (at the window).

Holloa! Who calls there?

Patty.

We want, if you pleaſe, Robin, to be ferry'd over to market.

Robin.

That you ſhall, my pretty laſſes: I'll be wi' you preſently. Bear a hand, my lads, and be untying the boat.

(THOMAS and WILLIAM go up to the boat.)
Fanny.

Will you give us a ſong the while, Patty? I remember as how you ſung us a pretty one laſt week, all about the May.

SONG—PATTY.

Now the wintry ſtorms are o'er,
Spring unlocks her verdant ſtore;
Smiling pleaſure crowns the day;
Sweetly breathes the bluſhing May.
O'er the daiſy-painted mead
Now the wanton lambkins ſpread,
Ever playful, ever gay,
Fond to welcome in the May.
[5]
Now reſponſive through the grove,
Softer tun'd to ſpring and love,
Echo, with her ſportive lay,
Joins our carols to the May.
(During the laſt ſtanza ROBIN enters.)
Robin.

Zooks! Patty, you ſing like a ſky-lark; but come, we'll ha' it in the boat.

All.

Ay, ay, we'll ha' it in the boat.

(ROBIN hands PATTY into the boat; the others follow: they croſs the river ſinging the firſt ſtanza in chorus.)
Enter MARIAN with a baſket of fruit and flowers—ſhe looks after them, then ſits down on the ſtile.
Marian.

They are gone without me: the boat goes ſwiftly with the ſtream.—Heigho!—They ſing; they are merry; with me thoſe happy days are over.—Edward thinks me unfaithful, and has not been at the Grange theſe three days. He wove me this baſket as we ſat near the little holt of oſiers and willows by the river's ſide.

SONG—MARIAN.

By the oſiers ſo dank
As we ſat on the bank,
And look'd at the ſwell of the billow,
This baſket he wove
As a token of love,
Alas! 'twas the branch of the willow.
Now ſad all the day
Thro' the meadows I ſtray,
And reſt flies at night from my pillow:
The garland I were
From my ringlets I tore,
Alas! muſt I wear the green willow!

[6] I'll ſit down on the ſtile and wait Robin's return.

Enter Sir HENRY TRUMAN, and a SERVANT following.
(Sir HENRY looks back at the river.)
Serv.

They are only the girls of the village, Sir, ferrying over to market.

Sir H.

Here's one ſeems to be left behind.

Serv.

'Tis Marian, your Honor; Oliver Meadow's daughter at the Grange.

Sir H.

What do you do here, pretty Marian? Why are you not with your companions?

Marian (riſes and curtſies).

I was too late, Sir.

Sir H.

That's pity; but you ſhan't loſe your market; I'll buy your ſtrawberries; carry them up to the hall

(gives her money—She goes out through the park-gate).

How very lovely! the pure colouring of nature, with the artleſs ſmile of ſimplicity and truth; I have obſerv'd her more than once with admiration when dancing on the village green.

(To the SERVANT)

Let the huntſmen lead the hounds round to the other park-gate; we will throw off at the entrance of the heath: and let my horſes be brought this way.

[Exit SERVANT.

SONG—Sir HENRY.

To the chace, to the chace: on the brow of the hill
Let the hounds meet the ſweet-breathing morn;
Whilſt full to the welkin, their notes, clear and ſhrill,
Join the ſound of the heart-chearing horn.
What muſic celeſtial! when urging the race,
Sweet echo repeats, "To the chace, to the chace."
[7]
Our pleaſure tranſports us—How gay flies the hour!
Sweet health and quick ſpirits attend;
Not ſweeter when evening convenes to the bow'r,
And we meet the lov'd ſmile of a friend.
See the ſtag juſt before us! he ſtarts at the cry,
He ſtops—his ſtrength fails—ſpeak my friends—muſt he die?
His innocent aſpect, whilſt ſtanding at bay,
His expreſſion of anguiſh and pain,
All plead for compaſſion—your looks ſeem to ſay
Let him bound o'er his foreſts again.
Quick! releaſe him to dart o'er the neighbouring plain;
Let him live, let him bound o'er his foreſts again.

The gay expanſion of my heart this morning, and the flow of good humour which I can ſcarce expreſs, ſeem propitious to the poor ſtag, if a hunter's enthuſiaſm does not check it.

Enter MARIAN, but ſeeing Sir HENRY ſhe retires.
Sir H.

Come here, Marian.—What is the matter, my little girl? You don't ſeem ſo gay as uſual.

Marian (ſighing).

No. Sir.

Sir H.

Pray tell me: does anything vex you? A ſweetheart, perhaps.—

Marian.

No, Sir; he never vex'd me in his life.

Sir H.

Then you have a ſweetheart, pretty Marian?

Marian.

I had, Sir. There's nobody to blame but my father; he conſented I ſhou'd have Edward; and was impatient if he did not ſee him come running over the lea every evening at foldingtime; but now my father has changed his mind, and ſays I muſt hold my head higher.

Sir H.

And why has he chang'd his mind, Marian?

Marian.
[8]

Becauſe I am grown rich, Sir. My god-mother has left me three hundred pounds for a portion; and that is the cauſe of all my miſfortunes.

Sir H.

Where is your father, Marian?

Marian.

Gone to Lincoln with ſome ſheep, Sir; but I expect him home very early.

Sir H.

Perhaps I may be able to ſerve you, Marian—Send your father to me as ſoon as he returns.

Marian

If your Honor cou'd but perſuade my father to take the money and leave me Edward—But Edward no longer loves me, and it's all my father's fault.

SONG—MARIAN.

Too happy when Edward was kind,
My father agreed to our love;
No cares e'er diſorder'd my mind.
I ſung as I travers'd the grove.
Like the lark's was each note of my ſong;
Serene were my chearful days ſpent;
Whilſt eve brought my ſhepherd along;
My ſhepherd—fond love and content.
[Exit.
Sir H.

I'll ſhorten my chace to-day, to devote a few hours to the happineſs of this charming girl—But I will firſt ſpeak to Edward, and be certain he has conſtancy to deſerve her.

Enter SERVANT.
Serv.

Your Honor's horſes are juſt on the other ſide of the gate, Sir.

Sir H.
[9]

'Tis very well; let ſomebody go to Edward, the young man who writes for me, and deſire him to be at the hall at twelve.

[Exeunt.
ROBIN and THOMAS appear in and land from the boat—EDWARD enters, ſtands penſive—ROBIN taps him on the ſhoulder.
Robin.

Why ſo melancholy, my lad? I'll be bound for it Marian loves you, though ſhe ſeems a little ſhy at preſent.—Didn't I ſee her look back at you twenty times laſt night at folding of the lambs, as ſhe walk'd ſlowly towards home, leaning on her father's arm?

Edward.

I wiſh I cou'd believe you, Robin; and ſurely a mind like hers muſt be incapable of falſehood.

SONG—EDWARD.

Who can ſuſpect ſweet Marian's faith
That hears her ſoftly ſpeak?
Or doubt the candid bluſh of truth
Which mantles on her cheek?
Thoſe accents never can deceive;
No guile that boſom knows;
Pure as th' untainted breath of morn,
And chaſte as falling ſnows.
Unheeded paſs'd the dancing hours
Which ſaw our growing flame;
The grove, the dell, the fanning breeze,
The glow of noon the ſame.
But now no more the dell delights,
The grove or fanning breeze;
The taſte of nature's genuine charms
Demands the mind at eaſe.
Robin.
[10]

And why ſhou'dn't your mind be at eaſe? Odd's heart! you're enough to ſpoil all the girls in the pariſh—Now I'll tell you my way—I ax'd Patty what time I ſhou'd bring the boat; and ſhe ſaid as how ſhe had rather come round over the brig; ſo I ſhall e'en let her come round over the brig.

Thomas.

And repent it when you have done, like enough—I cou'dn't have ſerv'd my Fanny ſo—But where will you find two prettier laſſes than Patty or Fanny? or two truer ſuitors than Robin and I?—Nay, for that matter, who ſo happy as we country lads?

SONG—THOMAS.

How bleſt our condition! how jocund our day!
Ye ſwains, can our pleaſures be told?
To range in ſweet order the rows of new hay,
To lead the ſtray'd lamb to the fold.
To fetch up the kine for the maiden we love,
And guard her from noon's burning beam;
To guide her dear ſteps, when ſhe leads thro' the grove
The heifer which pants for the ſtream.
To carry her pail when with milk it o'erflows;
To wait while ſhe reſts on the ſtile;
To gather the king-cup, the woodbine, and roſe,
To make her a poſy the while.
'Tis Fanny, the lovely, who cauſes my ſmart;
'Tis ſhe does all maidens excel;
If you aſk her dear name who has conquer'd my heart,
'Tis Fanny, the pride of the dell.
'Tis Fanny, ſweet Fanny!
'Tis Fanny, ſweet Fanny, the pride of the dell!
Robin.

Here comes pretty Marian! Don't be ſhy, nor mind her vagaries! ſit down on the ſtile [11] and make as if you did not ſee her—Thomas and I will ſtep into the houſe the while.

[Exeunt ROBIN and THOMAS into the houſe.
(EDWARD ſits on the ſtile and plays on the flute.)
Enter MARIAN.
(She goes ſoftly up to him, throws flowers at him from her baſket—EDWARD turns—ſhe ſtops, looks confuſed, he runs to her and takes her hand.)
Edward.

Do you love me ſtill, Marian?

Marian.

Do you aſk me, Edward?

(hiding her face with her apron.)

—My father wants me to marry Robin, becauſe he has ten acres of land, beſides the ferry, and a vote in the country, and milks four cows; but I won't marry Robin, nor anybody but Edward.

Edward.

How could I be ſo unjuſt, Marian?

Marian.

My father values wealth; but for me, the kindneſs of my honoured godmother is only welcome in the hope of ſharing it with Edward!

(looking down and playing with the ſtrings of her hat.)
Edward.

I know my Marian's generous boſom well; therefore, though I was ſo unjuſt to doubt her conſtancy, I never had the meanneſs to ſuſpect any acquiſition of fortune could occaſion it.

Enter ROBIN from the Houſe.
Robin.

Yonder's your father, Marian, hobbling along towards the Grange—whip over the ſtile—go the neareſt way, and be at home before him.

[Exit MARIAN, led off by EDWARD.
[12] Re-enter EDWARD with THOMAS.
Robin (takes EDWARD's hand).

Didn't I tell you, my lad, that Marian loved you?—Why, you've got quite another face, man!

Edward.

How different looks the whole ſcene around me! Nature now reſumes all her charms.

SONG—EDWARD.

Ye happy pairs, ſincere and kind,
'Tis here you taſte each joy refin'd;
Fair truth and love delight to dwell
At yonder cottage on the dell.
Light as the fairy ſtep at morn,
Swift paſſing o'er, th' unbending corn;
All other pleaſures weakly move
The heart awake to generous love!
How dear ſweet Marian's artleſs ſighs!
Hers the mild eloquence of eyes;
When conſtancy's all-cheering ray
Drives ev'ry jealous thought away.
Far hence be doubt and tender fears;
How bleſt the life which love endears!
When truth informs the glowing cheek,
O Love! thy tranſports who can ſpeak?
Enter SERVANT, whiſpers EDWARD, and exit.
Robin.

Where did you leave the laſſes, Thomas?

Thomas.

In the market, but they'll ſoon be here; they only ſtop at the cherry-holt on the other ſide of the water to get ſome freſh cherries and poſies to ſell at the fair. William and I promiſed to meet them at the brig.

Robin.

You ſee, Thomas, every one to his liking; Edward is inveigled by Marian's brown [13] locks—You love Fanny the Pindar's daughter, and I'm in love with Patty Clover; we fancied one another when bairns—I lik'd her afore I knew what liking was.

SONG—ROBIN.

When little on the village-green
We play'd, I learnt to love her;
She ſeem'd to me ſome fairy queen,
So light tripp'd Patty Clover.
With every ſimple childiſh art,
I try'd each day to move her;
The cherry pluck'd, the bleeding heart,
To give to Patty Clover.
The faireſt flowers to deck her breaſt,
I choſe, an infant lover:
I ſtole the goldfinch from its neſt
To ſing to Patty Clover.
[Exeunt through park-gate.
Robin.

Thomas, let's have a drink; 'tis a main good thing after a walk—I've a brave barrel of ale juſt broach'd for the fair.—Come, Thomas.

[Exeunt into houſe.
Enter Sir HENRY and EDWARD.
Edward.

As you command me to ſpeak, Sir, your tenants have but one wiſh, that you wou'd bring down a lady to replace your honor'd mother.

Sir H.

Be aſſured, Edward, I ſhall marry the moment I am tired of being a batchelor: in the meantime, my tenants may be perfectly eaſy:—[14] pleaſure without remorſe, the roſe without the thorn, is my purſuit.—Yet I cannot convince the girls of this; even the lively Patty, whom I ſhou'd think leſs apprehenſive, if ſhe meets me alone, darts from me with the ſwiftneſs of a lapwing: ſhe reminds me of that beautiful Ode of Horace, which a very ſlight alteration makes exactly to my purpoſe.

AIR—Sir HENRY.

Patty flies me like a fawn,
Which, thro' ſome ſequeſter'd lawn,
Panting ſeeks the mother deer
Not without a panic fear
Of the gently breathing breeze
And the motion of the trees—
O'er the cool ſequeſter'd lawn
Patty flies me like a fawn.
If the curling leaves but ſhake,
If a lizard ſtir the brake,
Frighted it begins to freeze
Trembling both at heart and knees;
Thus alarm'd with cauſeleſs fear
Fancy paints a lover near:
Whilſt along the dewy lawn
Patty flies me like a fawn.
Enter ROBIN with a jug, and THOMAS at the door, bowing.
Sir H.

Come here, Robin.—What time does your little fair on the green begin?—I intend to be there, and give the girls fairings.

Robin.

At one o'clock, your Honor, and ends at milking time. We have been drinking your Honor's good health

(ſhews the jug).
Sir H.

I'll return your compliment, Robin; I am this moment returned from the chace, and [15] ſhall have no objection to a draught of your family liquor.

Robin.

How kind your Honor is!—

(To EDWARD)

One may know his Honor to be a gentleman born, by his not having a morſel of pride.—I remember hearing his Honor bear a bob once in the very ballad we were going to ſing.

Sir H.

You ſhall hear me again, Robin.—I wiſh you to call at the hall about two o'clock, Edward, as I have ſomething particular to ſay to you.

QUARTETTO.

Sir HENRY, EDWARD, ROBIN, and THOMAS.
Sir HENRY.
Truth exalts the generous ſoul!
EDWARD.
Seek him in the ſocial bowl.
Sir HENRY.
Seek him.
EDWARD.
Seek him.
Sir HENRY.
Seek him.
EDWARD.
Seek him.
ALL.
Seek him in the ſocial bowl.
EDWARD.
Mirth's the med'cine of the ſoul!
Sir HENRY.
Find him in the ſocial bowl.
EDWARD.
Find him, &c.
ROBIN.
[16]
Carking care conſumes the ſoul.
THOMAS.
Drown him in the ſocial bowl.
ROBIN.
Drown him, &c.
ROBIN.
Sorrow wears the weary ſoul!
THOMAS.
Sink him in the ſocial bowl.
ROBIN.
Sink him, &c.
Sir HENRY.
Seek him.
EDWARD.
Find him.
ROBIN.
Drown him.
THOMAS.
Sink him.
ALL.
Sink him in the ſocial bowl.
[Exeunt.
THE END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

[17]
SCENE—The Village-Green—Stalls ſet out for a Country Fair—A different and more diſtant view of the River, with the Bridge over—On each ſide Cottages interſperſed, and a clump of Trees at a little diſtance—A Public Houſe high up the Stage, with a Bench at the Door: ſome Villagers ſitting on it, others walking about cheapening Ribbons, &c.
Enter PATTY, KITTY, FANNY, THOMAS and WILLIAM over the bridge ſinging.

QUINTETTO.

Yon poplars which wave in the gale
Bid the ſwain be as active as day:
Let the poplar's example prevail,
All nature is blithſome and gay.
PATTY, KITTY, and FANNY.
How ſweet is the ſong in the vale!
The ſong which makes vocal the grove:
Let the blackbird's example prévail;
Her notes are the language of love.
[18] (ROBIN juſt appears, but retires; PATTY ſees him, whiſpers THOMAS and WILLIAM: they form a trio-groupe on one ſide.—ROBIN comes forward, takes FANNY and KITTY under each arm, and form a trio-groupe on the other—PATTY coquetting with the men—ROBIN with the girls.—All ſix repeat the laſt ſtanza.)
PATTY.
Young William is conſtant as light,
And Thomas has truth on his brow,
Whilſt Robin reſembles the blight
Which mildews the bud on the bough.
(Gives a noſegay to each.)
ROBIN.
Falſe Patty is changeful as air,
Inconſtancy ſits on her brow,
Whilſt Robin ſtill true to the fair,
Leaves its ſweets to the bud on the bough.
(Gives a ribbon to each.)
THOMAS, WILLIAM, KITTY, and FANNY come forward ſinging.
No longer repine and complain,
Nor fill with your murmurs the grove;
For pleaſure, ſweet pleaſure, not pain—
The fond boſom was faſhion'd to love.
ROBIN and PATTY advance, and all ſix repeat the laſt ſtanza.
No longer repine, &c.
(ROBIN offers to take PATTY's hand—ſhe draws it back.)
Patty.

No, Robin, I can't forget it; to let me come round over the brig in the broiling ſun, when the boat was idle at home!

Robin.
[19]

Why, I ax'd if I ſhou'd bring the boat, but you ſaid no.

Patty.

But you knows young maidens often ſay no when they mean to ſay yes.

Robin.

But how ſhould I know that?

Patty.

You ſhould ha' found it out.

Robin.

You joke, Patty—you know I loves you.

Patty.

I knows nothing, but that I'll go meet my mother in the Thirty Acres afore I go to the fair; now don't you be following me

(goes, but looks back on ROBIN).
[Exit.
Robin.

How pretty ſhe looks! I'll follow her if ſhe goes to the Thirty Acres, and twenty miles beyond.

[Exit.
JAMIE and PEGGY come forward followed by the bagpipes.

SONG—PEGGY.

Ken ye not my blithſome bairns
My love is Scottiſh Jamie,
Wha'ſe luking for a bonny child
That's wander'd fra' his mamy.
Wander'd fra', &c.
O'er hill and dale, through bog and mire,
I gang'd alang wi' Jamie;
In bonnet blue and tartan plaid
He woo'd me fra' my mamy.
Woo'd me fra', &c.
Come bring, come bring your ſiller here
For ribbons, garters, glaſſes:
Here's Jamie freſh fra' bra' Dundee
Wi' gear for pratty laſſes.
Geer for pratty, &c.
[20]
Come buy, come buy, my pratty maids,
And bring your ſiller here;
Here's Jamie freſh fra' bra' Dundee,
Wha' brings you mickle gear.
Brings you, &c.
CHORUS.
Ken ye not, &c.
Peggy.

Iſe unco weary, Jamie.

Jamie.

I ken a gude auld wife ſitting by her door—ſhe looks kind—ſit thee down by her, Peggy, whilſt I open my warehouſe o' geer.

(PEGGY goes up to the old Woman, who invites her into the Cottage—JAMIE opens his pack on the bench by the public houſe, and PEGGY ſings—the Villagers gather round him.)
PEGGY.
Come buy, come buy, my pratty maids,
And bring your ſiller here;
Here's Jamie freſh fra' bra' Dundee,
Wha' brings ye mickle gear.
Jamie (to THOMAS and WILLIAM).

I ha' gang'd to London and a' about—I do' no' like the laſſes o' the ſooth; they are a' unco proud, and the laſſies cheeks ruddled o'er laike a ſheep after ſheering—They lack wit too; lack the ſharp air o' the north to quacken their underſtandings—then they gabble fic gibberiſh, it gars me laugh to hear them; but a' hereabout you ſpeak the language in a' its purity, almoſt as weel as we do in Scotland. Your Lincoln is for a' the world laike our Dundee; and the laſſies are ſa pratty, and the lads ſa kind and ſa courteous, I almoſt fancied myſelf at haime.

William.

We have rare land, my lad, and a kind landlord, and that makes our hearts merry.

Jamie.
[21]

Eh! Jamie can be as merry as the beſt o' ye—When I hard the ſweet twang o' the bagpipe, and ken'd ſic bra' lads and laſſies, my heart danc'd aboot as leight as a feather.

[Exit into the houſe.
EDWARD and MARIAN come forward.
Edward.

Do you remember, Marian, the firſt time I ever ſaw you? I came a ſtranger from the diſtant banks of Tyne—you were preparing to dance on the green—I offered my hand, you kindly gave me yours; you had a garland of flowers on your head, which, during the dance, you placed on mine.

Marian.

How my heart beat when you ſpoke to me! You were ſo different from the young men of our village; ſo genteel and yet ſo modeſt—then you ſpoke ſo kind! your words were like the honey dew—Yes, Edward, I remember well!

DUETTO—EDWARD and MARIAN.

EDWARD.
Marian ſcorns each ſordid pleaſure,
Joys which fortune can impart;
Love alone is real treaſure,
Treaſure of the feeling heart.
MARIAN.
All you fruitful vales poſſeſſing,
Were their flocks thy Marian's part,
Only valu'd were the bleſſing,
Giv'n to Edward with my heart!
EDWARD.
[22]
Giv'n to Edward with thy heart!
MARIAN.
Giv'n to Edward with my heart!
BOTH.
Only valu'd were the bleſſing.
Giv'n to Edward with thy / my heart.
[She leans on his arm and they exeunt.
Enter PATTY.
Patty.

I hard it all; hard him tell old Suſan as how he would have me if ſo be I was willing, and feoff me in ten acres of as good freehold land as any in the county. Nay, if he'll feofft me he certainly loves me, for I've ne'er a penny o' portion—but he mus'n't know I liſten'd; I'll ſteal away afore he comes.

DUETTO—PATTY and ROBIN.

PATTY.
I hard it all behind you tree;
My Robin only proves me;
No more I'll grieve, my heart's at eaſe;
I'll ſteal away, he loves me.
[23] Enter ROBIN.
ROBIN.
I was to blame to be ſo wild;
My Patty only proves me;
I ſaw her hide, ſhe look'd and ſmil'd,
I ſure believes ſhe loves me.
PATTY.
I'll fetch my pail and milk my kine
Since Robin only proves me;
He ſtill is true, his heart is mine,
No more I'll grieve, he loves me.
(ROBIN takes PATTY's hand.)
ROBIN.
My Patty is the ſweeteſt laſs,
Her pouting only proves me;
I ſaw her hide, ſhe look'd and ſmil'd—
I ſure believes ſhe loves me.
BOTH.
I'll fetch my / her pail and milk my / her kine,
Since Robin / Patty only proves me;
How blithe our days! I'll ne'er repine,
Since Robin / Patty truly loves me!
Robin.

You owes me a kiſs, Patty, ever ſince laſt Tueſday, when I gave your mother a new churn; you promiſed to pay me o' Saturday, and this is Friday afternoon!

Patty.

And what then, Robin?

Robin.

Why then, I'll have it to-day; there's no harm in a day more or leſs between true ſweethearts! [24]

(kiſſes her.)

Zooks! I believe you have bewitched me, Patty.

Enter Sir HENRY—then goes into the Cottage, and enters with PEGGY, talking to her.
Patty.

For ſhame, Robin! there's his Honor!

Robin.

His Honor's a brave gentleman; but ain't I a freeholder; and mayn't I kiſs who I pleaſe? Howſomever, let's go chuſe our fairings, Patty!

[They retire up.
Sir H.

Why do you fly me, my pretty laſſie? I mean you no harm.

Peggy.

I donna know that—I donna laike when great lairds are ſa free wi' poor laſſies; I wonna be woo'd; I'ſe Jamie's bride, and my gude will is a' for him—I ha' lov'd him lang; he's a neighbour's bairn, and I ken his bringing up.

Sir H.

Only take this ribbon, my pretty laſſie, to tie on your boſom.

Peggy.

I'ſe none o' your gear, gude Sir; there's planty o' laſſies on the green, and a' bra' and bonny.

SONG—PEGGY.

I canno' laike ye, gentle Sir,
Altho' a Laird ye be:
I laike a bonny Scottiſh lad
Wha brought me fra' Dundee.
(Sir HENRY offers to take her hand.)
Haud away! haud away!
Wi' Jamie o'er the lea
I gang'd alang wi' free gude will,
He's a' the world to me.
[25]
I'ſe gang'd wi' Jamie fra' Dundee
To cheer the laneſome way,
His cheeks are ruddy o'er wi' halth,
He's frolick as the May.
The laverock mounts to hail the morn,
The lintwhite ſwells her throat,
But neither are ſa ſweet, ſa clear
As Jamie's tunefu' note.
Haud away, &c.

O that Peggy were in her ain country! But I'll ſit me down by Jamie; his heart is kind, and he has na mair guile than a maiden—He's mair than a brother to me: he wadded me at the auld kirk, afore he wou'd let me gang wi' him—Bonny are the days ſince I call'd him my ain

(ſhe goes to the bench and ſits by JAMIE—The bell rings the girls all together.)
Thomas.

A milking! a milking!

All the Girls.

A milking! a milking!

[Exeunt all—different ways.
Enter MARIAN haſtily, and OLIVER following.
Oliver.

Don't hurry on ſo, Marian; you won't hear me: I tell you again and again he's a rover; wanders about the country, and has a ſweetheart wherever he comes—He ſends all his earnings to a wench in the North country.

Marian.

Indeed, my dear father, they ſlander him; his heart is as free from guile as my own.

Oliver.

Boddikins! when will women be wiſe? But I can tell you more: I ſaw him a little agone in the wood; he took a ſort of picture out of his pocket, a little wee thing, no bigger nor a crownpiece; I ſtole ſoftly, peep'd over his ſhoulder, and [26] ſaw it with my own eyes: 'twas as feat a laſs as one ſhall ſee on a ſummer's day; he kiſſed it, and ſeem'd ready to cry.—Yes, he kiſs'd it, and put it to his boſom, juſt for all the world as if it had been a live ſweetheart.

Marian.

'Tis impoſſible! father, you muſt have been miſtaken—

Oliver.

Miſtaken! Why, there it is then: he dropp'd it, and I pick'd it up

(ſhe looks at the picture, throws it down, leans on OLIVER's ſhoulder, and wipes her eyes with her apron).

Will you believe your father now?

Marian.

Wou'd to Heaven I always had! Can you forgive me, father?

Oliver (taking up the picture).

Haud away! Don't be coaxing o' me. Come with me to his Honor; he ſhall know all.

Marian.

Oh, Edward! if truth is a ſtranger to that breaſt—

Oliver.

Truth, quotha!

Marian.

If Edward is indeed falſe, I may grieve, but can never change; he firſt won my heart, and I can never love another.

Oliver.

Come, come away, girl.

[Exit.

SONG—MARIAN.

How can I forget the fond hour
When Edward firſt offer'd his heart?
At eve on the green, in the bow'r,
I trembled for fear we ſhou'd part.
You left me, dear Edward! forlorn,
When night ſent the ſhepherds to reſt;
I watch'd the firſt ſtreaks of the morn,
I ſaw you return, and was bleſt.
[Exit.
[27] Enter the Girls from milking, with pails on their heads, and Sir HENRY talking to them—they offer him milk from their pails.
Sir H.

You are very kind, my little girls; but why ſo fearful?

Patty.

If your Honor wou'd but bring us down a lady—

Sir H.

Your apprehenſions make me ſmile: you are all very pretty; but I have not the remoteſt deſign on any of you—You will find me the protector, not the invader of innocence!

[Exeunt Girls.
Enter OLIVER, bowing to Sir HENRY.
Oliver.

If I cou'd ſpeak three words to your Honor—

Sir H.

Certainly, Oliver: I wanted alſo to ſpeak three words to you.

Enter EDWARD leading in MARIAN, who ſtruggles to get from him.
Edward.

I will be juſtified, Marian. Your father's ſuſpicions, for I will not call 'em yours, have drawn from me a ſecret which the wealth of worlds ſhou'd not! This picture he ſhew'd you is the lively image of a mother, dear to me as the life-blood which warms my heart; and the money I ſent was to her.

[28]

SONG—EDWARD.

With truth on her lips ſhe my infancy form'd,
A ſtranger to falſehood and art;
She charg'd me to ſpeak to the maid of my choice
No language but that of the heart.
I heard her—obeyed; and when Marian's ſoft voice,
Mild as love, added wings to the dart,
Sincere my expreſſion, though ardent, I ſpoke
No language but that of the heart.
Marian.

Take my three hundred pounds for her, Edward; we are both young enough to work.

Oliver.

Why, you are a fool, Marian; what argufies all he has ſaid?—A pretty choice you have made!

Marian.

I can never make a ſecond.

Sir H.

You ſhall not, my good girl—I have talked with Edward, and find he deſerves you; in the ſtation of a cottager, he has the ſentiments and the manners of a gentleman.—Oliver, I will place Edward in a reſpectable ſituation, and make him more than an equal match for Marian.

Enter JAMIE, ROBIN, and PATTY.
Jamie (throws down his pack, runs haſtily up to EDWARD and embraces him).

You ſha' na need, gude Sir.—My bonny chiel, art here?

Edward.

Jamie here! Then I need no other vindication—Do you know that picture, Jamie?

Jamie.

Eh! 'Tis thy gude Mamy; her mild eyne, and her pratty kind lucks! She has been unco ſad for thee: ſhe ſands me now to ſeek thee, and to tall thee a' the gude tidings.—The auld [29] carle is deed that made a falſe will for her uncle: his conſcience prack'd him at laſt, and he has left her her ain.—Do you ken you hooſe by the hillſide? 'Tis now your gude Mamy's, wi' a thooſand acres of bra' land, and ſiller beſides planty—She pines to ſhare it wi' thee, and wi' the kind laſſie wha choſe thee wi'out means.

Edward.

Then I indeed am happy! A fortune, the gift of a beloved parent, and ſhared with Marian, who choſe me in poverty, is bliſs beyond my fondeſt hopes.

Jamie.

Eh! She's a paragon of a Mamy!

Edward.

How ſhall I thank you for your kind intentions, Sir?

Sir H.

By making Marian happy.—Oliver, are you now ſatisfied with your ſon-in-law?

Oliver.

I am ſo aſham'd, Sir—and ſo overjoy'd—Edward a 'Squire, and Marian a 'Squire's lady!—Nay, I always ſaid Marian lov'd his young Honor.

Edward.

Your kindneſs, Sir Henry, makes me ſpeak more of myſelf than I meant to do. My parents were both of good birth, but little indebted to fortune: my father died too young to provide for, and my mother retired on a ſmall annuity to the banks of Tyne: unable to give me a learned education, ſhe gave me, in the nobleſt ſenſe of the word, a liberal one; and inſpired me with her own and my father's virtues.

Sir H.

Worthy young man!—Oliver, you ſhall have the farm I promis'd Edward; and to ſtock it you will permit to be my care, Sir.

Oliver.

You are all too kind to me, your Honor.

Sir H. (to EDWARD.)

I have been thinking the little adventures of this day might be thrown into a [30] drama—On that idea we'll venture at a Finale, and ſuppoſe it addreſſed to an indulgent and candid Audience.

Enter THOMAS, FANNY, &c.

FINALE.

Sir HENRY.
Still from grave to lively changing,
When the poet quits his eaſe,
O'er the wilds of fancy ranging,
How his boſom pants to pleaſe.
Still from grave, &c.
ROBIN.
Though our love to one is bounded,
Love, the ſmiling child of eaſe;
Yet by pretty maids ſurrounded,
How delightſome 'tis to pleaſe.
Though our love, &c.
PATTY.
Though I love my Robin dearly,
More than holidays or eaſe;
Yet when lads will court me chearly,
Sure it is no harm to pleaſe.
EDWARD.
Fond I mark the ſwell of pleaſure,
When I ſee the tender dove
Fluttering round his heart's beſt treaſure,
Emblem of my conſtant love.
MARIAN.
Edward's faithful heart my treaſure,
Deareſt object of my love!
Poor to me all other pleaſure,
Fondly conſtant as the dove.
Sir HENRY and EDWARD.
[31]
One ingenuous paſſion fires us,
Scorning ev'ry meaner toil,
When ambition's hope inſpires us,
'Tis meet to your favouring ſmile.
MARIAN.
If there is a joy tranſcending,
Dear as truth, content, or eaſe;
When to gain your ſmile contending,
This bright circle 'tis to pleaſe.
(The laſt ſtanza is repeated by the whole chorus.)
THE END.

Appendix A PLAYS printed for LONGMAN and REES.

[]

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