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iDramatifif jpersortae*

DRURY- LANE.

Men.

Lord Aimworth - Mr. Kelly.

Sir Hab Ry Sycamore - Mr. Waldron.

Mervin ----- Mr. Williames.

Fairfield ----- Mr. Aickin.

Giles ------ Mr. Dignum.

Ralph ------ Mr. Sustt.

Women,

Lady Sycamore - - Mrs. Hopkins.

Theodosia ----- Mrs. Forster.

Patty ----- Mrs. Crouch.

Fanny ------ Miss Romanzini.

COVE NT- GARDEN.

Men,

Lord Aimworth - Mr. Johnstone.

Mervin ----- Mr. Duftey.

Fairfield ----- Mr. Hull.

Giles, - Mr. Bannister.

Sir Harry Sycamore - - Mr. Edwin.

Ralph ------ Mr. Blanchard.

Women.

Patty ------ Mrs. Billington.

Theodosia ----- Mrs. Mountain.

Lady Sycamore, - Mrs. Webb.

Fanny ------ Mrs. Martyr.

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A rural prospeB, with a mill at worh. Several people employed about; on one side a house, Patty reading in the window; on the other a barn, where Fanny tits mending a net; Giles appears at a distance in the mill; Fairfield and Ralph tahing sachs from a cart.

CHORUS.

FREE from sorrow, free from strife,

O how blest the miller's life!
Chearful worhing through the day,
Still he laughs and sings away.

Nought can vex him,

Nought perplex him,
While there's grist to mahe him gay.

DUET.

Let the great enjoy the blessings

By indulgent fortune sent:
What can wealth, can grandeur offer 10

More than plenty and content.

Fai. Well done, well done; 'tis a sure sign work goes on merrily when folks sing at it. Stop the mill there; and dost hear, son Ralph, hoist you sacks of flour upon this cart, lad, and drive it up to lord Aimworth's; coming from London last night with strange company, no doubt there are calls enough for it by this time.

Ral. Ay feyther, whether or not, there's no doubt but you'll find enow for a body to do. 20

Fai. What dost mutter? Is't not a strange plague that thou can'st never go about any thing with a good will; murrain take it, what's come o'er the boy? So then thou wilt not set a hand to what I have desired thee!

Ral. Why don't you speak to suster Pat to do something then? I thought when she came home to us after my old lady's death, she was to have been of some use in the house; but instead of that, she sits there all day, reading outlandish books, dressed like a fine madumasel, and the never a word you says to she. 34

Fai. Sirrah, don't speak so disrespectfully of thy sister; thou wilt never have the tithe of her deserts.

Ral. Why I'll read and write with her for what she dares; and as/or playing on the hapsicols, I thinks her rich good mother might have learn'd her something more properer, seeing she did not remember to leave her a legacy at last.

Fai. That's none of thy business, sirrah. 40

Ral. A farmer's wife painting pictures, and playing on the hapsicols; why I'll be hang'd now, for all as old as she is, if she knows any more about milking a cow, than I do of sewing a petticoat.

Fai. Ralph, thou hast been drinking this morning.

Ral. Well, if so be as I have, it's nothing out of your pocket, nor mine neither.

Fai. Who has been giving thee liquor, sirrah?

Ral. Why it was wind—a gentleman guve me.

Fai. A gentleman! 50

Ral. Yes, a gentleman that's come piping hot from London: he is below at the Cat and Bagpipes; I cod he rides a choice bit of a nag; I dare to say she'd fetch as good as forty pound at ever a fair in all England.

Fai. A fig's end for what she'd fetch; mind thy business, or by the lord Harry

Ral. Why I won't do another hand's turn to-day now, so that's flat.

Fai. Thou wilt not: 60

Ral. Why no I wont; so what argufies your putting yourself in a passion, feyther! I've promised to go back to the gentleman; and I don't know but what he's a lord too, and mayhap he may do more for me than you thinks of.

Fai. Well, son Ralph, run thy gait; but remember I tell thee, thou wilt repent this untowardness.

Ral. Why, how shall I repent it? Mayhap you'll turn me out of your service; a match; with all hearts —I cod I don't care three brass pins. 70

AIR.

If that's all you want, who the plague will be sorry,
'Twere better by half to dig stones in a quarry;

For my share I'm weary of what is got hy't:
Sflesh! here's such a rachet, such scolding and coiling,
You're never content, but when folhs are a toiling,
And drudging lihe horses from morning 'till night.

You thinh I'm afraid, but the difference to shew you; First yonder's your shovel; your sachs too I throw you;

Henceforward tahe care of your matters who will j They're welcome to slave for your wages who need 'em, Tol lol derol lol, I have purchas'd my freedom, 81

And never hereafter shall worh at the mill.

SCENE If.

Fairfield, Patty.

Fai. Dear heart, dear heart! I protest this ungracious boy puts me quite beside myself. Patty, my dear come down into the yard a little, and keep me company—and you, thieves, vagabonds, gipsies, out here, 'tis you who debauch my son.

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