ROSINA. The SCENE opens and discovers a rural prospect: on the left side a little hill with trees at the top; a spring of water rushes from the side, and falls into a natural bason below: on the right side a cottage, at the door, of which is a bench of stone. At a distance a chain of mountains. The manor-house in view. A field of corn fills up the scene. In the first act the sky clears by degrees, the morning vapour disperses, the sun rises, and at the end of the act is above the horizon: at the beginning of the second he is past the height, and declines till the end of the day. This progressive motion should be made imperceptibly, but its effect should be visible through the two acts. ACT I. SCENE I. The day begins to break, a few stars still ap pear; after the Trio the sun is seen to rise. The door of the cottage is open, a lamp burning just within. Dorcas seated on the bench, is spinning; Rosina and Phoebe, just within the door, are measuring a bushel of corn; William comes from the top of the stage; they sing the following trio: WILLIAM, ROSINA, PHŒBE. Warbling birds, the day proclaiming, Carol sweet the lively strain; They forsake their leafy dwelling, See, content, the humble gleaner, * [William retires. Ros. See my dear Dorcas, what we glean'd yesterday in Mr. Belville's fields! [Coming forward, and shewing the corn at the door. Dor. The Lord love thee! but take care of thyself: thou art but tender. Ros. Indeed it does not hurt me. Shall I put out the lamp? sparing. Dorcas looks after her and sighs; she returns hastily. Ros. Why do you sigh, Dorcas ? Dor. I canno' bear it: it's nothing to Phoebe and me, but thou wast not born to labour. [Rising and pushing away the wheel. Ros. Why should I repine? Heaven, which deprived me of my parents and my fortune, left me health, content, and innocence. Nor is it certain that riches lead to happiness. Do you think the nightingale sings the sweeter for being in a gilded cage! Dor. Sweeter, I'll maintain it, than the poor little * In the original it is "Nature, all her children viewing,' and so I have given it in all my Collections of Songs, under Cowper's Adea, that "Nature is but a name for an effect, "Whose cause is God." Task, B. VI. 1. 223. At the suggestion of a friend, however, in which I fully acquiesce, I have altered it. The personification, and the feminine pronoun her, is leading the mind too far from the Great First Cause. linnet which thou pick'dst up half-starv'd under the hedge yesterday, after its mother had been shot, and brought'st to life in thy bosom. Let me speak to his honour; he's main kind to the poor. Ros. Not for worlds, Dorcas, I want nothing: you have been a mother to me. Dor. Wou'd I cou'd! wou'd I cou'd! I ha' work'd hard, and 'arn'd money in my time; but now I am old and feeble, and am push'd about by every body. AIR. Because I, this summer, am turn'd of fourscore, Make faces and jeer; 'tis a shame to be seen. 'Where I go, I'm the jest of the lads and the lasses: ''Tis thus, in life's winter, a woman's time passes.' More's the pity, I say: it was not so in my young time; but the world grows wickeder every day. Ros. You are more observing of its vices.-Your age, my good Dorcas, requires rest: go into the cottage, whilst Phoebe and I join the gleaners, who are assembling from every part of the village. Dor. Many a time have I carried thy dear mother, an infant, in these arms: little did I think a child of her's would live to share my poor pittance.*—But I wo' not grieve thee. [Dorcas enters the cottage, looking back affectionately at Rosina. Pho. What makes you so melancholy, Rosina: mayhap it's because you have not a sweetheart? but you are so proud, you won't let our young men come a near you. You may live to repent being so scornful. See the Editor's Preface, p. 271. AIR. When William at eve meets me down at the stile, Of the day I forget the labour and toil, Whilst the moon plays yon branches among. By her beams, without blushing, I hear him complain, You know not how sweet 'tis to love the dear swain, [During the last stanza, William appears at the end Ros. How small a part of my evils is poverty! and how little does Phoebe know the heart she thinks insensible! the heart which nourishes a hopeless passion. Í blest, like others, Belville's gentle virtues, and knew not that 'twas love. Unhappy Rosina! AIR. The morn returns in saffron drest, The blushing morn awakes the strain, But sad Rosina ne'er again Shall strike the sprightly lyre. Rus. [Between the scenes.] To work, my hearts of oak, to work; here the sun is half an hour high, and not a stroke struck yet. [Enters singing, followed by reapers. AIR. See, ye swains, yon streaks of red Chorus of REAPERS. Late you till'd the fruitful soil: What would gilded pomp avail, Bending, see the waving grain Crown the year, and cheer the swain. Rus. Hist! there's his honor. Where are all the lazy Irishmen I hir'd yesterday at market? Enter BELVILLE,* followed by two IRISHMEN and SERVANTS. 66 1 Irish. Is it us he's talking of, Paddy? then we are The first appearance of Boaz in the Book of Ruth is very pleas-ing: "And behold, Boaz came from Bethlehem, and said unto the reapers, The Lord be with you: and they answered him,. The "Lord bless thee." (Ch. II. v. 4. See also Psalm cxxIx. 6-8.) BISHOP HALL's Contemplation on this passage is well worthy of a place in this note. "It was worth Ruth's journey from Moab, to meet with such a 66 man as Boaz; whom we find thrifty, religious, charitable."Though he were rich, yet he was not careless: he comes into the "field to oversee his reapers. Even the best estate requires careful "managing of the owner. He wanted" for "no officers to take "charge of his husbandry, yet he would rather be his own witness; "after all the trust of others, the master's eye feeds the horse. The "master of the great household of the world gives us an exam❤ "ple of his care, whose eye is in every corner of his large posses"sions. Not civility only, but religion, binds us to good husbandry. |