SCENE III-A room in the mill; two chairs, with a table and tankard of beer. Enter FAIRFIELD and GILES. Fair. In short, farmer, I don't know what to say to thee. I have spoken to her all I can; but I think children were born to pull the grey hairs of their parents to the grave with sorrow. Giles. Nay, Master Fairfield, don't take on about it! belike Miss Pat has another love: and, if so, in heaven's name be't: what's one man's meat, as the saying is, is another man's poison; and tho'f some might find me well enough to their fancy, yet in case I don't suit her's, why there's no harm done. Fair. Well but, neighbour, I have put that to her; and the story is, she has no inclination to marry any one, all she desires is, to stay at home, and take care of me, Giles. Master Fairfield-here's towards your good health! Fair. Thank thee, friend Giles-and here's towards thine!—[_promise_thee, had things gone as we proposed, thou should'st have had one half of what I was worth, to the uttermost farthing. Giles. Why to be sure, Master Fairfield, I am not the less obligated to your good-will; but, as to that matter, had I married, it should not have been for the lucre of gain; but if I do like a girl, do you see, I do like her; ay, and I'd take her, saving respect, if she had not a second petti coat. Fair. Well said-where love is, with a little industry, what have a young couple to be afraid of? And, by the Lord Harry, for all that's past, I cannot help thinking we shall bring our matters to bear yet-Young women, you know, friend Giles Giles. Why, that's what I have been thinking with myself, Master Fairfield. Fair. Come, then, mend thy draught-Deuce take me if I let it drop so-— -But, in any case, don't you go to make yourself uneasy. Giles. Uneasy, Master Fairfield! what good would that do?-For sartin, seeing how things were, I should have been very glad they had gone accordingly but if they change, 'tis no fault of mine you know. : AIR. Zooks! why should I sit down and grieve? Some medicine to relieve. Here's what master's all disasters: What a murrain then should ail me! Fair. O the goodness, his lordship's honour! You are come into a littered place, my noble sir, -the arm-chair-will it please your honour to repose you on this till a better Lord Aim. Thank you, miller; there's no occasion for either. I only want to speak a few words to you, and have company waiting for me without. Fair. Without!—won't their honours favour my poor hovel so far Lord Aim. No, miller, let them stay where they are. I find you are about marrying your daughter-I know the great regard my mother had for her; and am satisfied, that nothing but her sudden death could have prevented her learving her a handsome provision. and all your family, have heaped favours on faFair. Dear my lord, your noble mother, you, vours on my poor child. Lord Aim. Whatever has been done for her, she has fully merited. Fair. Why, to be sure, my lord, she is a very good girl. Lord Aim. Poor old man!--but those are tears of satisfaction. Here, Master Fairfield, to bring matters to a short conclusion, here is a bill of a thousand pounds. Portion your daughter with what you think convenient of it. Fair. A thousand pounds, my lord! Pray excuse me! excuse me, worthy sir; too much has been done already, and we have no pretensions Lord Aim. I insist upon your taking it. Put it up, and say no more. Fair. Well, my lord, if it must be so-but indeed, indeed Lord Aim. In this I only fulfil what I am satisfied, would please my mother. As to myself, I shall take upon me all the expences of Patty's wedding, and have already given orders about it. Fair. Alas, sir, you are too good, too generous; but I fear we shall not be able to profit of your kind intentions, unless you will condescend to speak a little to Patty. Lord Aim. How speak! Fair. Why, my lord, I thought we had Lord Aim. Who, I lay my commands on her! to you. Lord Aim. Master Fairfield! [FAIRFILD goes out, and returns.]-What can be the meaning of this?-Refuse to marry the farmer! How, why? My heart is thrown in an agitation; while every step I take, serves but to lead me into new per- | gone: only believe me sensible of all your faplexities. vours, though unworthy of the smallest." Fair. She's coming, my lord; I said you were Lord Aim. How unworthy!-You merit every here; and I humbly beg you will tell her, you in-thing: my respect, my esteem, my friendship, sist upon the match going forward; tell her, you and my love! Yes, I repeat, I avow it: your insist upon it, my lord, and speak a little angrily beauty, your modesty, your understanding, have to her. [Exit. made a conquest of my heart. But what a world do we live in! that, while I own this; while I own a passion for you, founded on the justest, the noblest basis, I must at the same time confess, the fear of that world, its taunts, its re Enter PATTY. Lord Aim. I came hither, Patty, in consequence of our conversation this morning, to render your change of state as agreeable and happyproachesas I could but your father tells me, you have fallen out with the farmer: has any thing happened since I saw you last, to alter your good opinion of him? : Pat. No, my lord, I am in the same opinion with regard to the farmer now, as I always was. Lord Aim. I thought, Patty, you loved him. You told me Pat. Indeed, my lord, you take too much trouble upon my account. Lord Aim. Perhaps, Patty, you love somebody so much beneath you, you are ashamed to own it; but your esteem confers a value wheresoever it is placed. I was too harsh with you this morning: our inclinations are not in our own power; they master the wisest of us. Pat. Pray, pray, my lord, talk not to me in this style: consider me as one destined, by birth and fortune, to the meanest condition and offices; who has unhappily been apt to imbibe sentiments contrary to them! Let me conquer a heart, where pride and vanity have usurped an improper rule; and learn to know myself, of whom I have been too long ignorant. Lord Aim. Perhaps, Patty, you love one so much above you, you are afraid to own it-If so, be his rank what it will, he is to be envied: for the love of a woman of virtue, beauty, and sentiment, does honour to a monarch. What means that downcast look, those tears, those blushes? Dare you not confide in me? Do you think, Patty, you have a friend in the world would sympathize with you more sincerely than I? Pat. Ah, sir, think better of the creature you have raised, than to suppose I ever entertained a hope tending to your dishonour! 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 disturbance of a mind, that fears to inquire too minutely into its own sensations. I am unfortunate, my lord, but not criminal. Lord Aim, Patty, we are both unfortunate: for my own part, I know not what to say to you, or what to propose to myself. Pat. Then, my lord, 'tis mine to act as I ought: yet, while I am honoured with a place in your esteem, imagine me not insensible of so high a distinction; or capable of lightly turning my thoughts towards another. Lord Aim. How cruel is my situation ?—I am here, Patty, to command you to marry the man, who has given you so much uneasiness. Pat. My lord, I am convinced it is for your credit, and my safety, it should be so: I hope I have not so ill profited by the lessons of your noble mother, but I shall be able to do my duty, whenever I am called to it: this will be my first support; time and reflection will complete the work. Enter SIR HARRY SYCAMORE, THEODOSIA, and GILES. Sir Har. No justice of peace, no bailiffs, no Pat. What shall I answer ?—No, my lord, you have ever treated me with a kindness, a generosity, of which none but minds like yours are capable: you have been my instructor, my ad-headborough ! viser, my protector: but, my lord, you have been too good. When our superiors forget the distance between us, we are sometimes led to forget it too: had you been less condescending, perhaps I had been happier. Lord Aim. And have I, Patty, have I made you unhappy? I, who would sacrifice my own felicity, to secure your's? Pat. I beg, my lord, you will suffer me to be Lord Aim. What's the matter, Sir Harry? Sir Har. The matter, my lord!-While I was examining the construction of the mill without, for I have some small notion of mechanics, Miss Sycamore had like to have been run away with by a gipsey man. The. Dear papa, how can you talk so? Did not I tell you it was at my own desive the poor fellow went to shew me the canal ? Sir Har. Hold your tongue, miss? I don't know any business you had to let him come near you at all: we have staid so long, too; your mama gave us but half an hour, and she'll be frightened out of her wits-she'll think some accident has happened to me. Lord Aim. I'll wait upon you when you please. Sir Har. O! but, my lord, here's a poor fellow; it seems his mistress has conceived some disgust against him: pray has her father spoke to you to interpose your authority in his behalf? Giles. If his lordship's honour would be so kind, I would acknowledge the favour as far as in me lay. Sir Har. Let me speak-[Takes LORD AIMWORTH aside.]—a word or two in your lordship's ear? The quarrels of lovers, adds me! they're a jest ; Come hither, ye blockhead, come hi- So now, let us leave them together. For ever! I vow and protest, 'Twas kind of his honour, To gain thus upon her: We're so much beholden, it can't be I feel something here, A thousand distractions are rend O mercy! Oh dear! ACT III SCENE I.-The portico to LORD AIMWORTH'S gentleman's name; we have seen the gypsies; house. Enter LORD AIмworth, Sir HARRY, and Lady Syc. A wretch! a vile inconsiderate wretch! coming of such a race as mine, and having an example like me before her! and we know she has had a hankering ing?I Lady Syc. Sir Harry, my dear, why will you put in your word, when you hear others speakprotest, my lord, I'm in such confusion, I know not what to say, I can hardly support myself. Lord Aim. This gentleman, it seems, is at a little inn at the bottom of the hill. Sir Hur. I wish it was possible to have a file of musqueteers, my lord; I could head them myself, being in the militia: and we would go and seize him directly. Lord Aim. I beg, madam, you will not disquiet yourself: you are told here, that a gentleman lately arrived from London has been about the place to-day; that he has disguised himself like a gypsey, came hither, and had some conversation with your daughter; you are even told, Lord Aim. Softly, my dear sir; let us proceed that there is a design formed for their going off with a little less violence in this matter, I be together; but possibly there may be some mis-seech you. We should first see the young lady➡ take in all this. Where is Miss Sycamore, madam? Sir Har. Ay, but my lord, the lad tells us the Lady Syc. Really, my lord, I don't know; I saw her go into the garden about a quarter of an hour ago, from our chamber window. Sir Har. Into the garden! perhaps she has got an inkling of our being informed of this affair, and is gone to throw herself into the pond. Despair, my lord, makes girls do terrible things. 'Twas but the Wednesday before we left London, that I saw, taken out of Rosamond's pond, in St. James's Park, as likely a young woman as ever you would desire to set your eyes on, in a new callimanco petticoat, and a pair of silver buckles in her shoes. Lord Aim. I hope there is no danger of any such fatal accident happening at present; but will you oblige me, Sir Harry? Sir Har. Surely, my lord Lord Aim. Will you commit the whole direction of this affair to my prudence? Sir Har. My dear, you hear what his lordship faction. Lady Syc. Come in, Sir Harry. [Exit. Lord Aim. I am sure, my good friend, had I known that I was doing a violence to Miss Sycamore's inclinations, in the happiness I proposed to myself Sir Har. My lord, 'tis all a case-My grandfather, by the mother's side, was a very sensible man-he was elected knight of the shire in five successive parliaments; and died high sheriff of his county a man of fine parts, fine talents, and one of the most curious dockers of horses in all England (but that he did only now and then for bis amusement)-And he used to say, my lord, that the female sex were good for nothing, but to bring forth children, and breed disturbance. Lord Aim. The ladies were very little obliged to your ancestor, Sir Harry: but for my part, I have a more favourable opinion Sir Har. You are in the wrong, my lord: with submission, you are really in the wrong. AIR. To speak my mind of woman kind, Be they maids, be they wives, Lord Aim. How, now, Master Fairfield, what brings you here? Fair. I am come, my lord, to thank you for your bounty to me and my daughter this morning, and most humbly intreat your lordship to receive it at our hands again. Lord Aim. Ay!-why, what's the matter? Fair. I don't know, my lord; it seems your generosity to my poor girl has been noised about the neigbourhood; and some evil-minded people have put into the young man's head, that was to marry her, that you would never have made her a present so much above her deserts and expectations, if it had not been upon some naughty account: now, my lord, I am a poor man, 'tis true, and a mean one; but I and iny father, and my father's father, have lived tenants upon your lordship's estate, where we have always been known for honest men; and it shall never be said, that Fairfield, the miller, became rich in his old days, by the wages of his child's shame. Lord Aim. What then, Master Fairfield, do you believe Fair. No, my lord! no, Heaven forbid! but when I consider the sum, it is too much for us; it is indeed, my lord, and enough to make bad folks talk: besides, my poor girl is greatly altered; she used to be the life of every place she came into; but, since her being at home, I have seen nothing from her but sadness and watery eyes. Lord Aim. The farmer, then, refuses to marry Patty, notwithstanding their late reconciliation? Fair. Yes, my lord, he does indeed; and has made a wicked noise, and used us in a very base manner: I did not think farmer Giles would have been so ready to believe such a thing of us. Lord Aim. Well, Master Fairfield, I will not press on you a donation, the rejection of which does you so much credit: you may take my word, however, that your fears upon this occasion are entirely groundless. But this is not enough: as I have been the means of losing your daughter one husband, it is but just I should get her another; and, since the farmer is so scrupulous, there is a young manin the house here, whom I have some influence over, and, I dare say, he will be less squeamish. Fair. To be sure, my lord, you have, in all honest ways, a right to dispose of me and mine as you think proper. Lord Aim. Go then immediately, and bring Patty hither; I shall not be easy, till I have gi Enter FANNY, following RALPH. Fan. Ralph, Ralph! Ralph. What do you want with me, eh? Fan. Lord! I never knowed such a man as you are, since I comed into the world! a body can't speak to you, but you falls strait ways into a passion: I followed you up from the house, only you ran so, there was no such thing as overtaking you, and I have been waiting there at the back door ever so long. Ralph. 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 send the constable after you, and have you, every mother's skin, clapt into the county gaol. You are such a pack of thieves, one can't hang so much as a rag to dry for you: it was but the other day, that a ⚫ouple 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 brass candlesticks, and a pot lid. Ralph. Yes, I will be angry with you-what do you come nigh me for;-You shan't touch me -There's the skirt 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 knees! Ralph. I tell you I won't!-No, no; follow your gentleman; or go live upon your old fare, crows and polecats, and sheep that die of the rot; pick the dead fowl off the dung-hills, and squench your thirst at the next ditch; 'tis the fittest liquor to wash down such dainties-skulk Fan. How can you talk so unkind? Ralph. And see whether you will get what will keep you as I did, by telling of fortunes, and coming with pillows under your apron among the young farmers' wives, to make believe you are a breeding, with the Lord Almighty bless 'you, sweet mistress! you cannot tell how soon it may be your own case.' You know I am acquainted with all your tricks-and how you turn up the whites of your eyes, pretending you were struck blind by thunder and lightning! Fan. Pray, don't be angry, Ralph! Ralph. Yes, but I will though; spread your cobwebs to catch flies; I am an old wasp, and don't value them a button. Fan. I wish I had a draught of water. I don't know what's come over me; I have no more strength than a babe; a straw would fling me down. He has a heart as hard as any parishofficer; I don't doubt now, but he will stand by and see me himself: and we shall all be whipt, and all through my means.-The devil run away with the gentleman, and his twenty guineas too, for leading me astray! If I had known Ralph would have taken it so, I would have hanged myself before I would have said a word—but I thought he had no more gall than a pigeon. AIR. O! what a simpleton was I, To make my bed at such a rate! Now lay thee down, vain fool, and cry, Thy true love seeks another mate. No tears, alack! Will call him back, No tender words his heart allure; |