Lub. Flor. Lub. Flor. Lub. Flor. None: 'tis too late, that folly is o'er; My love's turn'd to hate, and I'll see her no more. The time has been when all our boast Was who should love the other most; I thought her mine for ever. Then I may e'en go back, I find: Never. Enter GILLIAN. Here she is; now let her speak for herself. Gil. Oh, Lubin! why would you not hear me speak to you yesterday? I did not sleep a wink all night for thinking on't. Lub. Why, had I not reason, Gillian, to be angry, when every one I met told me what a fool you had made of me? Gil. Why, what could I do? Floretta here, knows that I have done nothing but abuse old Steady from morning till night about it. Sol. I pray thee to pardon me; I shall soon cou quer them: but Rome was not built in a day. Flor. Oh! this making game of one. Sol. I protest I meant no ill. I shall forget them, I say. 'Tis a long lane that hath no turning. Gil. Poor Solomon! He can't help it. Flor. Have you any desire to marry me? Sol. Ask the vintner if the wine be good. Flor. Because I will have my way in this; and] think it very hard you won't strive to oblige me. Sol. I protest, I strive all I can; but custom is second nature; and what is bred in the boneVerily, I had like to have displeased thee again. Flor. Oh! what you found yourself out, did you? Then there's some hopes of amendment. Sol. It shall be amended. A thing resolved upon is half done; and 'tis an old saying-but what have 1 to do with old sayings. Flor. Very true. Sol. But I must attend on the green. Flor. Well, go; and by the time I see you next, take care that you get rid of all your musty old sayings. I wonder how so sensible a man as you could give in to such nonsense. Sol. Evil communications corrupt good manners; and a dog-Pies on the dog! Well, thou shalt be obeyed, believe me-Pies on the dog! [Erit. Gil. For goodness' sake, what excuse do you intend to make to him when he has left off his proverbs? Flor. Why desire him to leave off something and at the rate of one in a month, he won't have parted with all his particularities in seven years. Flor. Come, come, don't let us dispute about what's past, but make use of the present oppor-else; tunity; we have not a moment to lose. Get you to my master, make up a plausible story how ill you have been used by an old fellow, who has run away with your sweetheart; and tell him, that you come to complain to him, as you know 'tis a custom for every body to do when they are used ill. Gil. What a rare girl you are, Floretta. But are you sure he won't know him? Flor. No; I heard your father say he never saw him in all his life. Lub. That's lucky; leave me alone for a plausible story. Exit. Gil. Well, how we do use men in love with us, when we take it into our heads! Flor. And yet they are fools to be used so by us. But I am sure you will never use Lubin illhe will make you the happiest girl in the world. AIR.* The face which frequently displays Purs'd brows denote the purse-proud man, For ever in a dream. But features of ingenuous kind, SCENE II-A Hall. Lub. Your servant, Sir. [Exeunt Lub. I hope, Sir, you'll excuse my rudeness? Steady. I don't perceive thee guilty of any. Lub. May be not; but I made bold to ask, if I might not trouble your worship about a little affair concerning my being sadly used. Steady. Speak freely. Lub. Why, there's a covetous old hunks, an * This air is omitted in representation. like your worship, that, because he is rich, would fain take away a young woman that I was to be married to, without her consent or mine. Steady. Has the old hunks, thou speakest of, the consent of her friends? Lub. They have no consent to give, an please you. Steady. And why, I pray thee? Lub. Because, as I take it, if any body gives a thing, tis not theirs any longer: and they gave me their consent long ago. Steady. Thou speakest the truth. But what wouldst thou have me do in this business? Lub. Why please you, Sir, I have often heard it said of your worship, that there were three things you'd never suffer in our village if you could help it-The maidens to go without sweethearts-the industrious without reward-and the injured without redress-and to be sure it made me think, that if you were once acquainted with the rights of this affair, you would not suffer it to go on; "For," says I, "set in case it was his worship's own concern, how would he like to have the young woman taken away from him, that he is going to marry?" Steady. There thou saidst it. Lub. Why yes, I thought that was bringing the case home. Steady. Well, attend on the lawn; make thy claim known, and if the parties concerned are present, deliver to them what I now write thee for that purpose. [Goes to the Table. Lub. This is better and better still-How they'll all be laughed at.-He little thinks he is signing his consent to part with Gillian. Steady. Do thou direct it; thou knowest to whom it is to be given. Lub. Yes, I am sure the person will be upon the lawn. Steady. And fear not to tell him thy mind. Lub. Isha'n't be sparing of that, I warrant you. Steady. Urge thy ill usage. Lub. Never fear me. Steady. And tell him, that by endeavouring to prevent thy happiness, he hath done thee an injury he can never repair; for that riches are given us to comfort and not to distress those beneath us. Lub. With respect, Sir, to you be it spoken, He shall have it, and by the same token, Affairs happen better and better, Your worship; but mind the old put, [Exit. Flor. Yonder he goes-I wonder how he sucseeded. Steady. Come, Gillian, I was anxious to see thee--the time draweth near, and the sports will shortly begin upon the lawn. Gil. I long to be there as much as you do. Steady. I doubt it not.-And when thou seest thyself the queen of such a set of happy mortals, I know thou wilt consent that this shall be thy bridal-day. Flor. Yes, Sir, if you'll consent to her having Lubin. Gil. And I can tell you he 's to be there. Steady. Lubin, I'm sure, will not oppose what I decree. Gil. I'm sure he won't part with me quietly. Steady. Thou shalt see that he will not dare to murmur at my will and pleasure. But come, we are expected. Verily, I find myself exalted even to transport, in that I am going this day to make thee a bride. In verity, damsel, thou surely will find, That my manners are simple and plain; That my words and my actions, my lips ar my mind, By my own good-will never are twain. Relent then-umph! And take thy upright quaker. Though vain I am not, nor of fopp'ry possess'd, Wouldst thou yield to be wedded to me, Thou shouldst find, gentle damsel, a heart in my breast [Exil As joyful as joyful can be. I love thee, &c. Gil. Why, I don't see but that I am as bad ɔfl as ever, Floretta. Flor. I don't know what to make of it myself but however, if the worst comes to the worst, you must downright give them the slip, and run away. Gil. I'cod, and so I will! Lubin has got enough for us both. Re-enter LUBIN. Lub. Gillian, I had just watched the old quaker out, and slipped back to tell you that every thing goes well. I have got his consent, under his hand, to marry the young woman. Gil. And does he know 'tis me? Lub. Not a bit; but you know he never forfeits his word, so that we have him safe enough. But don't let us be seen together. I am going to the lawn-we shall have fine sport, I warrant you. Gil. Again I feel my bosom bound, [Exit. My heart sits lightly on its seat; Kind fate has pour'd a friendly balm; At length succeeds a smiling calm. SCENE III-A Lawn with a May-pole. Enter STEADY, EASY, LUBIN, SOLOMON,GILLIAN, FLORETTA, CICELY, Country Lads and Lasses. Steady. Friends and neighbours, it hath been my study, since I first came among you, to do whatever might procure me your love and esteem. I have instituted a custom, the salutary effects of which I view with great gladness; and each is well entitled to the reward he has received. I will now propose to you a question, to see which of you can make the most ready reply. What of all things in the world is the longest and the shortest, the swiftest and the slowest, the most precious. the most neglected, and without which nothing can be done? 1 Coun. The earth. Steady. No. 2 Coun. Ah, I knew you would not guess it, Light, an please your worship. Steady. Thou art as much mistaken as he, friend. Steady. How is this? Lub. Why, you know, you advised me to tell the old gentleman a piece of my mind. Steady. Thou shalt see the revenge I will take upon thee for this. I will comply with the contents of this paper to the utmost. Here, read this aloud. [To a COUNTRYMAN. Coun. [Reads.] "If the youth, Lubin,”Steady. Thou seest I knew thee then. Lub. I am afraid I have been too cunning for Lub. 'Tis my belief, 'tis time. Nothing can be longer, because it will last for ever-nothing can be shorter, because 'tis gone in a moment-noth-myself. ing can go slower than it does, when one's away from her one loves, and nothing swifter when one's with her. 'Tis an old saying Sol. Friend, I hate old sayings. Lub. 'Tis an old saying, that 'tis as precious as gold; and yet we are always throwing it away. And, your worship, as a proof that nothing can be done without it, if the old gentleman we were a talking about to-day, had not had the opportunity of my absence, he could not have run away with a certain young damsel. Steady. Thou hast solved my question aright, and art indeed an ingenious youth. If thou goest on as thou hast begun, I foresee that thou wilt win the dower. Give me now your several claims, sealed up as usual, and go on with the sports while I peruse them. [A dance. Steady. Hast thou nothing to give, young man? To LUBIN. Lub. Why, yes, please your worship, I have. Steady. This is addressed unto me! Let me view the contents-How! my own hand! Thou expectest, I find, to receive this damsel for thy wife; and thy plot, which thou didst so artfully carry on, was contrived to make my neighbours laugh at me. Lub. No, with respect to your worship, 'twas to keep them from laughing at you. Steady. You see, neighbours, how I am treat ed; and I request of you to be witness how much it behoveth us to resent such injuries. Go on. Coun. [Reads.] "If the youth, Lubin, will faithfully love and cherish the maiden, called Gillian, and make her a good help-mate, I de freely give my consent to her becoming his wife, and request her friends to do the same." Lub. How is this? Steady. This is my revenge. By thy ingenuity thou hast won the dower; and by thy truth and integrity, my friendship. Lub. Was ever the like? Gil. I never could abide you before, but now I shall love you as long as I live. Steady. Verily, my heart warmeth unto you both; your innocence and love are equally respectable. And would the voluptuous man taste a more exquisite sensation than the gratifying his passions, let him prevail upon himself to do a benevolent action. Let nimble dancers beat the ground; [Exeunt. ROSINA: AN OPERA, IN TWO ACTS. BY MRS. BROOK E. REMARKS. Tms pleasing and well-arranged petite piece has been a constant favourite since its original performance at Covent Garden in 1783.—The dialogue is natural and easy, and the morality unexceptionable; the airs, compiled by Shield, are happily adapted; and a more agreeable or effective afterpiece can scarcely be named in the varied productions of our modern writers. Mrs. Brooke, the amiable authoress, has thus explained her intentions, in her preface to the first edition :"The fable of this piece taken from the Book of Ruth, (a fable equally simple, moral, and interesting,) has already furnished a subject for the beautiful episode of Palemon and Lavinia, in Thomson's Seasons, and a pleasing opera of Mons. Favart: of both I have availed myself as far as the difference of my plan would allow; but as we are not, however extraordinary it may appear, so easily satisfied with mere sentiments as our more sprightly neighbours, the French, I found it necessary to diversify the story, by adding the comic characters of William and Phebe, which I hoped might at once relieve and heighten the sentimental cast of the other personages of the drama " 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 basin 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. DORCAS, seated on a bench, is spinning; Ro SINA and PHEBE, just within the door, are measuring corn; WILLIAM comes from the top of the stage; they sing the following trio. When the rosy morn, appearing, Paints with gold the verdant lawn, Bees, on banks of thyme disporting, Sip the sweets, and hail the dawn. Warbling birds the day proclaiming, See, content, the humble gleaner, Take the scatter'd ears that fall' [WILLIAM retures. Ros. See! my dear Dorcas, what we gleaned yesterday in Mr. Belville's field! [Coming forward, and showing the corn at the door. Dor. 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? Dor. Do, dear; the poor must be sparing. [ROSINA going to put out the lump, DORCAS looks after her, and sighs; she returns hastily. Ros. Why do you sigh, Dorcas? Dor. I canno' bear it: it's nothing to Phebe 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 linnet that tho" pick'dst up half-starved 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 the world, Dorcas; I want nothing; you have been a mother to me. Dor. Would I could! would I could! I ha' worked hard and arn'd money in my time: but now I am old and feeble, and am pushed about by every body.-More's the pity, I say: it was not so in my young time; but the world grows wickeder every day. Ros. Your age, my good Dorcas, requires rest; go into the cottage, whilst Phebe 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 hers would live to share my poor pittance. -But I wo' not grieve thee. [DORCAS enters the Cottage, looking back af fectionately at ROSINA. Phe. 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. When William at eve meets me down at the stile, How sweet is the nightingale's song; Of the day I forget all the labour and toil, Whilst the moon plays yon branches among. By her beams, without blushing, I hear him complain, And believe every word of his song; The morn returns in saffron dress'd, But not to sad Rosina rest. The blushing morn awakes the strain, Rust. [Without.] To work, my hearts of oak, to work; here the sun is half an hour high, and not a stroke struck yet. Enter RUSTIC, singing, followed by Reapers. Rust. See, ye swains, yon streaks of red, See! where harvest crowns your toil. Laughing Plenty fills her horn. Should the peasant's labour fail? Crown the year, and cheer the swain. Rust. Hist! there's his honour. Where are all the lazy Irishmen I hired yesterday at market? Enter BELVILLE, followed by two IRISHMEN and Servants. 1 Irish. Is it us he's talking of, Paddy? Then the devil may thank him for his good commenda 1 Irish. Bless your sweet face, my jewel, and all those who take your part. Bad luck to myself. if I would not, with all the veins of my heart, split the dew before your feet in a morning. [TO BELVILLE Rust. If I do speak a little cross, it is for your honour's good. [The Reapers cut the corn, and make it into sheaves. ROSINA follows, and gleans. Rust. [Seeing ROSINA] What a dickens does this girl do here? Keep back; wait till the reapers are off the field; do like the other gleaners. Ros. [Timidly.] If I have done wrong, Sir, I You know not how sweet 'tis to love the dear will put what I have gleaned down again. swain, Whilst the moon plays yon branches among. [During the last stanza, WILLIAM appears at the end of the scene, and makes signs to PHEEE; who, when it is finished, steals softly to him, and they disappear. Ros. How small a part of my evils is poverty! And how little does Phebe know the heart she thinks insensible! the heart which nourishes a hopeless passion. I blessed, like others, Belville's gentle virtues, and knew not that 'twas love. Unappy, lost Rosina! [She lets fall the ears she had gleaned Bel. How can you be so unfeeling, Rustic? She is lovely, virtuous, and in want. Let fall some ears, that she may glean the more. Rust. Your honour is too good by half. Bel. No more: gather up the corn she has let fall. Do as I command you. Rust. There, take the whole field, since his honour chooses it. [Putting the corn into her apron. Ros. I will not abuse his goodness. [Retires, gleaning. 2 Irish. Upon my soul now, his honour's no |