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[Aside.

Capt. B. Beauty like her's might find a thousand ources in London; the moment she appears re, she will turn every head.

Dor. And is your honour sure her own won't n at the same time?

Capt. B. She shall live in affluence, and take care you too, Dorcas. Dor. I guess your honour's meaning; but you mistaken, sir. If I must be a trouble to the ar child, I had rather owe my bread to her laur than her shame.

Goes into the Cottage, and shuts the door. Capt. B. These women astonish me; but I won't ve it up so.

Ros.

Bel.

Cho.

Capt. B.

Where the poplar trembles high,
And the bees in clusters fly,
Whilst the herdsman on the hill
Listens to the falling rill,
Pride and cruel scorn away,
Let us share the festive day.
Taste our pleasures ye who may,
This is Nature's holiday.
Simple Nature ye who prize,
Life's fantastic forms despise.
Taste our pleasures ye who may,
This is Nature's holiday.
Blushing Bell, with downcast eyes,
Sighs, and knows not why she sighs.
Tom is near her we shall know-
How he eyes her-Is't not so?

Taste our pleasures ye who may,
This is Nature's holiday.

He is fond, and she is shy;

He would kiss her!—fie !—oh, fie!

Mind thy sickle, let her be;

By and by she'll follow thee.

Busy censors, hence! away!

Cho.

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This is Nature's holiday.

Rust. For whom, sir?

Rust.

Capt. B. For yourself. And this purse.

Rust. For whom, sir?

Capt. B. For Rosina; they say she is in distress, d wants assistance.

Cho.

Taste our pleasures ye who may, This is Nature's holiday.

Pho.

Now we'll quaff the nut-brown ale,
Then we'll tell the sportive tale;
All is jest, and all is glee,
All is youthful jollity.

Rust. What pleasure it gives me to see you so
aritable? But why give me money, sir?
Capt. B. Only to-tell Rosina there is a person
o is very much interested in her happiness.
Rust. How much you will please his honour by

As! He takes mightily to Rosina, and prefers Cho.
r to all the young women in the parish.
Capt. B. Prefers her! Ah! you sly rogue!
Rust. Your honour's a wag; but I'm sure I
eant no harm.

Capt. B. Give her the money, and tell her she all never want a friend: but not a word to my rother.

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Rust. A vast deal, sir. Your brother begins to hake good use of his money; he has given me these Tive guineas for myself, and this purse for Rosina.

Bel. For Rosina! 'Tis plain he loves her. [Aside.] Obey him exactly; but as distress renders the mind aughty, and Rosina's situation requires the utmost elicacy, contrive to execute your commission in uch a manner, that she may not even suspect from whence the money comes.

Rust, I understand your honour.

Bel. Have you gained any intelligence in respect to Rosina?

Rust. I endeavoured to get all I could from the old woman's grand-daughter; but all she knew was, that she was no kin to Dorcas, and that she had had a good bringing-up; but here come the reapers. Enter Captain BELVILLE, followed by the Reapers.

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Rust. This purse is the plague of my life; I hate money when it is not my own. I'll e'en put in the five guineas he gave me for myself; I don't want it, and they do. They certainly must find it there. But I hear the cottage-door open.

[Puts the purse on the bench, and retires. Enter DORCAS and ROSINA, from the cottage. DoRCAS with a great basket on her arm, filled with skeins of thread.

Dor. I am just going, Rosina, to carry this thread to the weaver's,

Ros. This basket is too heavy for you; pray, let me carry it. [Sets the basket on the bench. [Peevishly.

Dor. No, no. Ros. If you love me, only take half; this evening, or to-morrow morning, I will carry the rest. [Takes part of the skeins out of the basket.] There, be angry with me if you please.

Dor. No, my sweet lamb, I am not angry; but beware of men.

Ros. Have you any doubts of my conduct, Dorcas? Dor. Indeed I have not, love; and, yet, I am uneasy.

Enter Captain BELVILLE, unperceived. Go back to the reapers, whilst I carry this thread. Ros. I'll go this moment.

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Dor. Come, and see; 'tis a purse, indeed.
Ros, Heavens! 'tis full of gold.

Dor. We must put up a bill at the church-gate,
and restore it to the owner. The best way is to
carry the money to his honour, and get him to keep
it till the owner is found. You shall go with it, love.
Rer. Pray excuse me, I always blush so.
Der. Tis nothing but childishness: but his honour
will like your bashfulness better than too much
courage.
|Erit,
Rot. I cannot support his presence; my embar
rassment-my confusion-a stronger sensation than
that of gratitude agitates my heart. Yet, hope, în
my situation, were madness.

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Pray, William, do you know of anybody that has lost a purse?

Will. I knows nothing about it.

Ros. Dorcas, however, has found one.
Will. So much the better for she.

Ros. You will oblige me very much, if you will carry it to Mr. Belville, and beg him to keep it till the owner is found.

Will, Since you desire it, I'll go: it sha'n't be the lighter for my carrying.

Ros. That I am sure of, William.

Enter PHOEBE.

[Erit.

Pho. I'm ready to choke w? man
not speak first, an’. I die for’L

WILLIAM sings, throwing up i
Penth catching

Will Her eyes are as black as the

Her face like the blossoms in May.
Pha. I can't bear it no longer; you vile,
ful, parfidious but it's no matter. I'
what I could see in you. Harry loves
thousand times more handsomer.

[ Sings, wooding at my a
Of all the gay wrestlers that sport on your
Young Harry's the lad for me.
Will. He's yonder a reaping: shall I call him!

Pha. My grandmother leads me the lig and it's all along of you.

Will. Well, then she'll be better temper'lum. Pha. I did not value her scolding of a bras de thing, when I thought as how you were tra Will Wasn't I true to you ! Look in my im and say that.

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Will, My heart begins to melt a little. [dade.]
I loved you very well once, Phoebe: bat you are
grown so cross, and have such vagaries.
Pho. I'm sure I never had no vagaries with you,

Pha. There's William; but I'll pretend not to William. But go; mayhap Kate may be angr

see him.

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AIR.-PHOEBE.

Henry cull'd the flow'ret's bloom,

Marian lov'd the soft perfume,

Had playful kiss'd, but prudence near
Whisper'd timely in her ear,
Simple Marian, ah! beware;
Touch them not, for love is there.
[Throws away her nosegay.

Will. And who cares for she? I never minded her anger, nor her coaxing neither, till you were cross to me.

Pho. O the father! I cross to you, William! Will. Did you not tell me, this very morning, 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 While she is sing-green better than threshing in a barn? Do I loren wake, or a harvest-home?

ing, WILLIAM turns, looks at her, whistles, and plays with his stick." Will. That's Harry's posy; the slut likes me still. [Ande. Pho. That's a copy of his countenance, I'm sartin; he can no more help following me nor he can be hanged.

[Aside-WILLIAM crosses again, singing. all. Of all the fair maidens that dance on the green, The maid of the mill for me.

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

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

Pho. Will you, indeed and indeed?

speak to the parson this moment: I'm happ Will, Marry will 1; and more nor that, I'llș Zooks! I'm happier nor a lord or a squire of i̇st hundred a-year. Wa

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Ere bright Rosina met my eyes,
How peaceful pass'd the joyous day!
In rural sports I gain'd the prize,

Each virgin listen'd to my lay.
But now no more I touch the lyre,
No more the rustic sport can please;
I live the slave of fond desire,

Lost to myself, to mirth, and ease.
The tree, that in a happier hour,

Its boughs extended o'er the plain,
When blasted by the lightning's power,

Nor charms the eye, nor shades the swain.

ce the sun rose, I have been in continual exer; I feel exhausted, and will try to rest a quarter an hour on this bank. [Lies down on a bank. Gleaners cross the stage; enter ROSINA.

AIR.-ROSINA.

ght as thistle-down moving, which floats on the air, beet gratitude's debt to this cottage I bear: ́autumn's rich store I bring home my part, he weight on my head, but gay joy on my heart. What do I see? Mr. Belville asleep? I'll steal oftly-at this moment I may gaze on him without lushing. [Lays down the corn, and walks softly up > him. The sun points full on this spot; let me asten these branches together with this riband, and hade him from its beams; yes, that will do. But If he should wake-Takes the riband from her bosom, and ties the branches together.-how my heart beats! One look more-ah! I have waked him.

[She runs to the door of the cottage. Bel. What noise was that? This riband I have seen before, and on the lovely Rosina's bosom. [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 across the stage; BELVILLE follows; Capt. BELVILLE, who comes out to pursue her, sees his brother and steals off at the other side. BELVILLE leads ROSINA back.

Bel. Why do you fly thus, Rosina?

Rot. Where is he? A gentleman pursued me.

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 riband?

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?

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Bel. Why thus timid, Rosina? still safe by my side,
Let me be your 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 mind to me, Rosina. The graces of your form, the native dignity of your mind which breaks through the lovely simplicity of your deportment, a thousand circumstances concur to convince me you were not born a villager.

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

Bel. They are at an end.

Ros. Dorcas approaches, sir; she can best relate my melancholy story.

Enter DORCAS.

Dor. His honour here? Good lack!

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

Dor. Rosina, take this basket.

[Erit ROSINA with the basket. Bel. Rosina has referred me 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. His estate was seiz'd for a mortgage of not half its value, just after young madam was married, and she ne'er got a penny of her portion.

Bel. And her father?

Dor. Was a brave gentleman, too, a colonel. His honour went to the Eastern Indies, to better his fortune, and madam would go with 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.

Bel. But her father's name?

Dor. Martin; Colonel Martin.

Bel. I am too happy; he was the friend of my father's heart; a thousand times have I heard him

lament his fate. Rosina's virtues shall not go unrewarded.

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

Be. I have another question to ask you, Dorcas. and answer me sincerely; is her heart free?

Dor. To be sure, she never would let any of our young men come a-near her; and yet

Bel. Speak; I am on the rack.

Dor. I'm afear'd, she mopes and she pines. But your honour would be angry; I'm afeard the Cap

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Dor. Have you sav'd her? I owe you more than life.

strong, though purer ardour-but if all set t hope

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

Bel. Do you refuse me too, then, Rosina?
Dor. You, sir? You?

Ro. My confusion, my blushes.—
Bel. Then I am happy! My life! my Rosina.
Pha. Do you speak to his honour, Wilkam
Will No; do you speak. Probe.

Pha. I am ashamed: William and I your
nour-William prayed me to let him keep me ca
pany; so he gained my good will to have him
be my grandmother consents.

Will. If your honour would be so good to spra to Dorcas.

Bel. Dorcas, you must not refuse me anything to day. I'll give William a farm.

Dor. Your honour is tor kind: take her, Wiham, and make her a good husband

Will. That I will, dame.

[BELVILLE joins their hands; they bow and curtsey, Will, and Phe. Thank your bonour.

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

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

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

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

Capt. B. Allow me to retire, brother. When 1 | 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.

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 look'd 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 bare life, waded up to the knees, laid about us bravely with Bel. our shillelaghs, knock'd them out of the skiff, and brought her back safe; and here she comes, my jewel.

Re-enter RUSTIC, leading ROSINA, who throws herself Capt.

into DORCAS's arms.

Dor. I canno' speak; art thou safe?
Bel. I dread to find the criminal.

Rust. Your honour need not go far a-field, I believe; it must have been some friend of the Captain's, for his French valet commanded the party.

Capt. B. I confess the 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-plac'd friendship.

Ros.

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

Bel. If Rosina accepts it, I am satisfied. Ros. To BELVILLE.] Will you, sir, suffer-This, bir, is a second insult. Whoever offends the object of his love, is unworthy of obtaining her.

Will.

Pho.

Bel. This noble refusal paints your character. Cho. I know another, Rosina, who loves you with as

FINALE.

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.

B. Yet those who taste her bounty lest,
The sigh malevolent repress,

And loud the feeling bosom bless,
Which something leaves for wani to give
How blest am I, supremely blest!
Since Belville all his soul expresi,
And fondly clasp'd me to his breast:
I now may reap how chang'd the scene!
But ne'er can I forget the day,
When all to want and wee a prey,
Soft pity taught kis soul to say,
"Unfeeling Rustic, let her glean "
The hearts you glad your own dispicy,
The heav'ns such goodness must repayi
And blest through many a summer's day,
Full crops you'll reap in this rich went ;
And O! when summer's joys are v'er,
And autumn yields its fruits no more,
New blessings be there yet in store,
For winter's sober hours to glean

And 0! when summer's joys are o'er, &e

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THOMAS AND SALLY;

OR, THE SAILOR'S RETURN:

A MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT, IN TWO ACTS

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

THE 'SQUIRE THOMAS.

SALLY DORCAS.

ACT I.

NE I.—A Village at the foot of a hill, with a tage more advanced than the rest, on one side.

SALLY discovered spinning at the door.
AIR. SALLY.

My time how happy once, and gay!
Oh! blithe I was as blithe could be:
But now I'm sad, ah, well-a-day!

For my true love is gone to sea.
The lads pursue, I strive to shun,
Though all their arts are lost on me
For I can never love but one,

And he, alas! is gone to sea.
They bid me to the wake, the fair,

To dances on the neighb’ring lea;
But how can I in pleasure share,

While my true love is out at sea?
The flowers droop till light's return,
The pigeon mourns its absent she;
So will I droop, so will I mourn,

Till my true love comes back from sea.
Enter DORCAS.

Forcas. What, will you never quit this idle trade?
Pl, still in tears? Ah! you're a foolish maid!
ime, have prudence, your own int'rest see;
with lasts not always; be advis'd by me.
AIR.-DORCAS.

That May-day of life is for pleasure,
For singing, for dancing, and shew;
Then why will you waste such a treasure
In sighing, and crying heigho?
Let's copy the bird in the meadows,

By her's tune your pipe when 'tis low;
Fly round, and coquet it as she does,
And never sit crying heigho!

Though when in the arms of a lover,
It sometimes may happen, I know,
That, e'er all our toying is over,
We cannot help crying heigho!
In age ev'ry one a new part takes,
I find, to my sorrow, 'tis so;

When old, you may cry till your heart aches,
But no one will mind you-heigho!

Sally. Leave me.

Dorcas. Go to. I come to make you glad, Odzooks! what's here? this folly sets me mad. You're grieving, and for whom? 'tis pretty sport! For one that gets a wife at ev'ry port."

Sally. Dorcas, for shame! how can you be so base ?

Or after this, look Thomas in the face?
His ship's expected-

Dorcas. Tell not me. The 'Squire-
As Tom is your's, you are his heart's desire.
Then why so peevish, and so froward still?
He'll make your fortune, let him have his will.
AIR. SALLY.

Were I as poor as wretch can be,
As great as any monarch he,

Ere on such terms I'd mount his throne,

I'd work my fingers to the bone.

Grant me, ye Pow'rs, (I ask not wealth,)
Grant me but innocence and health,
Ah! what is grandeur link'd to vice?
'Tis only virtue gives it price.

[Exit.

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Would I were young again! alas, the while!
But what are wishes? wishes will not do:
One cannot eat one's cake and have it too.
AIR.-DORCAS.

When I was a young one, what girl was like me?
So wanton, so airy, and brisk as a bee:
I tattled, I rambled, I laugh'd, and where'er
A fiddle was heard, to be sure I was there.
To all that came near I had something to say ;
'Twas this, sir, and that, sir, but scarce ever nay;
And Sundays, dress'd out in my silks and my lace,
I warrant I stood by the best in the place.
At twenty, I got me a husband—poor man!
Well, rest him, we all are as good as we can;
Yet he was so peevish, he'd quarrel for straws;
And jealous—though, truly, I gave him some catios.

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