to me.

Will. Was'n't I true to look in face you; my and say that. [Aloud.] I lov'd you very well once, Phoebe; but you are grown so cross, and have such vagaries

heart.

What do I see? Mr. Belville asleep? I'll steal softly-at this moment I may gaze on him with

cross to me.

Pha. [Holding up her hands.] O the father! I cross to you, William?

Will. Did not you tell me this very morning as how you had done wi' me?

Pha. One word's as good as a thousand. Do you love me, William ?

Will. Do I love thee? do I love dancing on the green better than thrashing in the barn? do I love a wake? a harvest-home?

Pha. Then I'll never speak to Harry again the longest day I have to live.

Will. I'll turn my back o' the miller's maid the first time 1 meet her.

Pha. Will you indeed, and indeed?

Will. Marry will I; and more nor that, I'll go speak to the parson this moment-[Kisses her.] I'm happier-zooks, I'm happier nor a lord or a squire of five hundred a year.

AIR.-Duet.

Phoe. In gaudy courts, with aching hearts,
The great at fortune rail:

The hills may higher honours claim,
But peace is in the vale.

Will. See highborn dames, in rooms of state,
With midnight revels pale;

No youth admires their fading charms,
For beauty's in the vale.

Both. Amid the shades of virgin sighs

Add fragrance to the gale:
So they that will may take the hill,
Since love is in the vale.
[Exeunt arm in arm.

Enter BELVILLE.

Bel. I tremble at the impression this lovely girl has made on my heart. My cheerfulness has left me, and I am grown insensible, even to the delicious pleasure of making those happy who depend on my protection. Since the sun rose, I have been in continual exercise; I feel exhausted, and will try to rest a quarter of an hour on this bank. [Lies down on a Bank.

[Gleaners pass the Stage with Sheaves of Corn

on their heads; ROSINA last, who comes forward singing.

AIR.

Light as thistle down moving, which floats on the air,

Sweet gratitude's debt to this cottage I bear:

[Lays down the corn and walks softly up

to him.

The sun points full on this spot; let me fasten these branches together with this ribbon, and shade him from its beams-yes-that will dobut if he should wake

[Takes the ribbon from her bosom and ties the branches together.

How my heart beats? one look more-ah! I have waked him.

[She flies and endeavours to hide herself against the door of the Cottage, turning

her head every instant.

Bel. What noise was that? [Half raise him self.] This ribbon I have seen before, and on the lovely Rosina's bosom

[He rises, and goes towards the Cottage. Ros. I will hide myself in the house!

[ROSINA opening the Door, sees CAPT. BELVILLE, and starts back. Heavens! a man in the house! Capt. B. Now love assist me ! [Comes out, and seizes ROSINA; she breaks from him, and runs affrighted cross the Stage-BELVILLE follows; CAPT. BELVILLE, who comes out to pursue her, secs his Brother, and steals off.

you

Bel. Why do you fly thus, Rosina ? what can fear? you are out of breath.

Ros. O, sir! my strength fails

[Leans on BELVILLE, who supports her in

his arms.

Where is he?-a gentleman pursued me— [Looking round. Bel. Don't be alarmed, 'twas my brother-he could not mean to offend you.

Ros. Your brother? why then does he not imitate your virtues? why was he here?

Bel. Forget this; you are safe. But tell me, Rosina, for the question is to me of importance; have I not seen you wear this ribbon ?

Ros. Forgive me, sir; I did not mean to disturb you. I only meant to shade you from the too great heat of the sun.

Bel. To what motive do I owe this tender attention?

Ros. Ah, sir! do not the whole village love you? Bel. You tremble; why are you alarmed?

Ros. When first-but in vain-I seek to explain,

What heart but must love you? I blush, fear, and shame

Bel. Why thus timid, Rosina? still safe by my side,

Let me be yoar guardian, protector, and guide.

Ros. My timid heart pants-still safe by your side,

Be you my protector,my guardian,my
guide.

Bel. Why thus timid, &c.
Ros. My timid heart pants, &c.

Bel. Unveil your whole heart to me, Rosina. The graces of your form, the native dignity of your mind, a thousand circumstances concur to convince me you were not born a villager.

A

Ros. To you, sir, I can have no reserve. pride, I hope an honest one, made me wish to sigh in secret over my misfortunes.

Bel. [Eagerly.] They are at an end.

my father's heart; a thousand times have I heard him lament his fate. [Aside.] Rosina's virtues shall not go unrewarded.

Dor. Yes, I know'd it would be so. Heaven never forsakes the good man's children.

Enter the first and second Irishmen.

1 Irish. [To DORCAS.] Dry your tears, my jewel; we have done for them.

Dor. Have you saved her? I owe you more than life.

1 Irish. Faith, good woman, you owe me nothing at all, I'll tell your honour how it was. My comrades and I were crossing the meadow, going home, when we saw them first; and hearing a woman cry, I looked up, and saw them putting her into a skiff against her will. Says I, Paddy," is not that the clever little crater that was glaning in the field with us this morning?"-"Tis so, sure enough," says he. "By St. Patrick," says I, "there's enough of us to rescute her." With that we ran for the

Enter DORCAS.

Dor. His honour here? good lack! how sorry I am I happened to be from home. Troth, I'm sadly tired.

Ros. Why would you insist on going? indeed, sir, she will kill herself.

Bel. Will you let me speak with you a moment alone, Dorcas?

Dor. Sure will I, your honour. Rosina, take this basket. [Exit.] Will your honour please to walk into our homely cottage?

Bel. I thank you, Dorcas, but 'tis pleasanter here. Rosina has referred ine to you, Dorcas, for an account of her birth, which I have long suspected to be above her present situation.

Dor. To be sure, your honour, since the dear child gives me leave to speak, she's of as good a family as any in England. Her mother, sweet lady, was my bountiful old master's daughter, 'Squire Welford of Lincolnshire.

Bel. And her father?

Dor. Was a brave gentleman too, a colonel: a charming couple they were, and loved one another so, it would have done your heart good to see them. His honour went to the Eastern Indies, to better his fortune, and madam would go wi' him. The ship was lost, and they with all the little means they had, went to the bottom. Young madam Rosina was their only child; they left her at school; but when this sad news came, the mistress did not care for keeping her! so the dear child has shared my poor morsel.

us bravely with our shillelays, knocked them out of the skiff, and brought her back safe: and here she comes, my jewel.

[ROSINA is followed by the Reapers, and throws herself into DORCAS's arms. Dor. I canno' speak-art thou safe? Bel. I dread to find the criminal. Rus. Your honour need not go far afield, I believe; it must have been some friend of the captain's for his French valet commanded the party.

Capt. B. I confess my crime; my passion for Rosina hurried me out of myself.

Bel. You have dishonoured me, dishonoured the glorious profession you have embraced.— But begone, I renounce you as my brother, and renounce my ill-placed friendship.

Capt. B. Your indignation is just; I have offended almost past forgivenesss. Will the offer of my hand repair the injury?

Bel. If Rosina accepts it, I am satisfied.

Ros. [To BEL.] Will you, sir, suffer?—this hope is a second insult. Whoever offends the object of his love, is unworthy of obtaining her.

Bel. This noble refusal paints your character. I know another, Rosina, who loves you with as strong, though purer ardour: the timidity inseparable from real love has hitherto prevented him from declaring himself—but if allowed to hope

Ros. Do not, sir, envy me the calm delight of passing my independent days with Dorcas, in whom I have found a mother's tenderness.

Dor. Bless thee, my child; thy kindness melts my heart-but you must marry.

Dor. Melville; Colonel Melville.

Bel. I am too happy! he was the friend of

source of exquisite happiness or misery. Bel. Do you refuse me then, Rosina? [ROSINA raises her eyes tenderly on BELVILLE,

lowers them again, and leans on Dorcas.

Dor. You, sir? you?—sure I am in a dream! Cap. B. What do I hear?

Bel. Rosina, may I hope?

Ros. My confusion-my blushesBel. 'Tis enough; I see I am rejected. Ros. 'Tis the first time in your life, I believe, that you ever were mistaken.

[Giving her hand timidly to BELVille. Bel. Then I am happy: my life! my Rosina!

Pha. Do you speak to his honour, William.
Will. No, do you speak, Phoebe.

Pha. I am ashamed-William and I, your honour-William prayed me to let him keep me company-so he gained my good-will to have him, if so be my grandmother consents.

[Curtseying, and playing with her Apron. Will. If your honour would be so good to speak to Dorcas.

Bel. Dorcas, you must not refuse me any thing to-day. I'll give William a farın.

Dor. Your honour is too kind-take her, William, and make her a good husband.

Will. That I will, dame.

Will. [TO BELVILLE.] Thank your ho

Pha.

nour.

[BELVILLE joins their hands; they bow and Tcurtsey.

Will. What must I do with the purse, your honour Dorcas would not take it.

Bel. I believe my brother has the best right. Capt. B. 'Tis your's William; dispose of it as yon please.

Will. Then I'll give it to our honest Irishmen, who fought so bravely for Rosina,

Bel. You have made a good use of it, William; nor shall my gratitude stop here.

Capt. B. Allow me to retire, brother, and when I am worthy of your esteem, I will return and demand my rights in your affection.

Bel. You must not leave us, brother; resume the race of honour; be indeed a soldier, and be more than my brother-be my friend.

AIR-Finale.

BELVILLE, and CAPT. BELVILLE.

To bless, and to be blest, be ours,
Whate'er our rank, whate'er our powers,
On some her gifts kind Fortune showers,
Who reap like us in this rich scene.

Yet those who taste her bounty less,
The sigh malevolent repress,
And loud the feeling bosom bless,
Which something leaves for want to glean.

ROSINA.

How blest um I! supremely blest
Since Belville all his soul exprest,
And fondly clasp'd me to his breast:
I now may reap, how changed the scene!

But ne'er can I forget the day,
When all to want and woe a prey,
Soft pity taught his soul to say,
"Unfeeling Rustic, let her glean!"

RUSTIC, DORCAS, WILLIAM and PHŒвɛ.

The hearts you glad your own display,
The heav'ns such goodness must repay ;
And blest through many a summer's day,
Full crops you'll reap in this rich scene =

And O! when summer's joys are o’er,
And Autumn yields its fruits no more,
New blessings be there yet in store,
For winter's sober hours to glean,

CHORUS OF ALL.

And O! when summer's joys are, o'er &c.

[The Reapers form dances, and present Nosegays of Corn-flowers and Poppies to BELVILLE and ROSINA. 22