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THE
DRAMATIC AND POETICAL
WORKS
OF THE LATB
LIEVT. GEN. J. BURGOYNE
TO WillClI IS PREFIXED,
MEMOIRS OF THE AUTHOR.
EMBELLISHED WITH COPPER-PLATES.
VOL. L
LONDON.-
I'RINTED-BY C. WHirriNCMAM, '
CMtielt Street,
tOM SCATCUERD AND LEITERMAN ; LONGMAN, HURST. REES, AVT)
ORME; R.SCHOLEY, P. AND W. WYNNE ; J.BOOKER; J. J. STOCK
DALE ; J. BOOTH ; J. CARPENTER ; R. RYAN ; G. RICHARDS ; C
CHAPPLEi U. EBEKS ; W. OIRIDCE AND SON ; R. fLOYER ; J. CAW
THORNE : WINCHESTER AND SON; MAlllEWS AND LEIGH; J
HATCHARD; J. BIDGWAY; GRAY AND SON; W. LINOSELL; J.RICH
ARDSON; J. ASHtRNE; BLACK, PAKKY, AND KINGSBURY; LACKING
ION, ALLEN, AND CO. ; J. TIPPER; H. D. SVMONDS ; E. LLOYD ; AN I
R. U. WLSrLEY.
1808.
i~- r^. -^j r - -
CONTENTS.
Pa^r,
Sketch of the Life of Lieuteiiant-Gciieral
Burgoyne 5
The Maid of the Oaks 37
The Lord of the Manor 123
(D
CQ
A
SKETCH OF THE LIFE
OF
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL BURGOYNE.
(J) r EW circumstances have more frequently, or with
f"* more reason, been lamented, by Avriters of biogra-
phy, than the deficiency which they have found
M of materials, for enabling them to trace the pro-
H gress of celebrated but originally obscure charac-
^ ters, at their first entrance into a state of active
existence. The early life of many who steadily
worked their way up to distinguished eminence is
buried in total darkness. This blank in the history
of individuals, though to superficial observers its
occurrence may be thought of little moment, is
undoubtedly a subject of regret, as it would be
O LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
not less useful than curious to know throughout
what slow gradations, and by what continued
struggles, worth and genius eventually surmounted
all those obstacles which had been opposed to
them by the malignity of fortune. The lesson of
patience and perseverance, thus practically taught,
would be of more avail than all the volumes of
reasoning upon these virtues, which have been, or
Avhich ever can be, written by sages and by mo-
ralists.
Among those, no memorial of whose youth re-
mains, is to be numbered John Burgoyne, a man
who rose to no mean celebrity, as a writer, a se-
nator, and an officer. The time and place of his
birth are unknown. Even his parentage is doubt-
ful. He is said, but upon what authority does not
appear, to have been the natural son of Lord
Biugley, who died, at an advanced age^ in 1774.
That his education was of the most liberal kind
is sufficiently testified by subsequent evidence.
It is not improbable, also, that he was either des-
tined for, or resolved upon, the profession of arras,
at a very early period. The dates of his subal-
tern promotions elude discover}', and are not,
perhaps, in themselves of much importance; but.
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. J
on the lOlh of May, 1758, lie was raised to the
rank of lieutenant-colonel. In the August of
1759, he was appointed lieuteuant-colonel-com-
mandant of the sixteentli light dragoons. With
this regiment he served, in 1 761, at Belleisle,
where, during the siege of Palais, he was entrusted
with a negotiation for an exchange of prisoners.
A more busy service awaited him upon his re-
turn home. Spain had now acceded to the family
compact, and, after vain endeavours to draw over
Portugal from its alliance witli England, had re-
solved to attack that country in the hope of an
easy conquest ; a hope which arose from her con-
viction of the weak and undisciplined state of tlie
Portuguese army. In this exigency Great Britain
hastened to the succour of an ally, who had pre-
ferred the chance of utter ruin to the shame of
having violated her faith.
Tlie troops destined for this service arrived in
the Tagus on the 6th of May. They were im-
mediately marched to join the Portuguese army,
under the command of the Count de la Lippe
Buckehurg, and took the field in the course of July.
The campaign had been commenced by the Spa-
niards on the side of Tr<u os Monies, in which
S LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
province Miranda, Braganza, and some other tov\'ns
had fallen into their hands. They next resolved
to proceed against Oporto, but this design was
frustrated by the bravery of the peasants, who
took possession of tlie defiles, and compelled the
Spanish army to a disorderly retreat. Disappointed
in this quarter the enemy turned their steps to-
wards the province of Bcira, and laid siege to the
frontier town of Almeida, which, after a short de-
fence, fell into their hands through the imbecility
and cowardice of its governor. Their army now
approached the Tagus, the only direction in which
an invader can penetrate to the capital, all other
access being rendered nearly, if not quite imprac-
ticable, by immense chains of mountams, and other
natural obstructions.
To second the operations' of this army, by an
incursion into Alemtejo, or by advancing on the
opposite side of the Tagus, and thus to distract
the attention of the Portuguese, already but too
feeble in point of numbers, a body of troops was
beginning to assemble in Spanish Estramadura, at
the town of Valencia de Alcantara. It consisted
at present of about 1200 men. Well knowing that
if this force were suffered to increase, it would
embarrass him very considerably, the Count de la
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 9
Lippe, who was encamped at Abrantes, formed
the bold design of attacking and dispersing it be-
fore it assumed a more formidable aspect.
The execution of this plan was confined to
Burgoyne, who tJien held tlie rank of brigadier.
No inconsiderable difficulties stood in tlie way of
(his enterprise ; but the spirit of the commander
was not of a nature to be depressed by such con-
siderations. He crossed the Tagus, at midnight
on the 23d, with 400 of his own regiment, was
joined as he advanced by one or two small de-
tachments, and after a laborious march of more
than fifteen leagues, performed through bad roads,
and without halting, he arrived on the morning of
tJie 20th at some distance from the town of Alcan-
tara. His intention had been to surprise the
place before break of day, but he now found that
from the delay, occasioned by the ignorance of
the guides, the tiawn was at hand, and his scheme
would be frustrated if he waited till his whole di-
vision could co-operate in the attack. Pie, there-
fore, boldly pushed forward with his dragoons
alone. 7'his audacity was favoured by fortune.
At tlie iiead of his handful of soldiers he entered
tile town with such determined resolution, that (he
* OL. I. B
10 LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
guards in the square were all killed or made pri-
soners before they could take arms, and the ends
of the streets were secured after a trifling resist-
ance. Some parties, having rallied, attempted to
return to the charge ; but their lives paid the for-
feit of their temerity. A firing was for a short
time kept up from the windows. It was, however,
piit a stop to, by the menace of setting the town
in flames, at the four corners, if the doors and
windows were not instantly thrown open. Parties
were immediately sent out to pursue such of the
enemy as had escaped into the country, and in this
service their success was very considerable.
In this gallant action the loss of the English
was scarcely worthy of notice ; while, on the other
hand, that of the Spaniards was remarkably severe.
Many prisoners were taken, among whom was the
Spanish general, and the regiment of Seville was
totally destroyed. Three standards, with a large
quantity of arms and ammunition, fell into the
hands of the victors. In consequence of the strict
tliscipline observed by the British very little was
suffered by the town or the inhabitants. The ge-
nerosity and gallantry of Burgoyne were indeed
subjects of praise among the Spanish ofticers them-
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNK. 11
selves. From the Count de la Lippe they receive
d, in the public orders of the day, tlic highest
<;nconiiums.
All danger was thus t an end on the side of
Alemtejo; but it was not so on the other bank of
the Tagus, wliere tlieir immense superiority of num-
bers enabled the Spaniards to obtain a footing,
tiiough but a trifling one, in Portuguese Estrama-
dura, and make a somewhat nearer approach to
the capital. Early in October they attacked the
old Moorish castle of Villa Vellia, and the defiles
of St. Simon. The castle was, for a considerable
time, supported across the river by Brigadier Bur-
goyne, who was posted between Nissa and the
Tagus. It was, however, at last comjwlled lo sur-
render, the enemy having contrived to turn the
position.
\ lKdy of two thousand Spaniards now en-
camped in the neighbourhood of Villa Vellia. It
was soon perceived by Burgoyne, that this corps,
prouci of its late successes, was a little more care-
less than was proper in the neighbourhood of a
^igilant and enterprising adversary. Tor tliis un-
soldier-like negligence he soon inflicted iij)on them
nn ex''n)j)lary <liastiscnu'nt. IJiuh-r his order''.
12 LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
Lieutenant-Colonel Lee crossed the Tagus, on the
night of the 3th of" October, with a detachment of
350 British soldiers, and succeeded in completely
surprising the Spanish camp. A considerable
slaughter took place, with a very trifling loss to
the assailants. Some magazines were burned, six
cannons spiked, and sixty artillery mules, and a
large quantity of baggage taken. After this deci-
sive blow, the detachment recrossed the Tagus,
and resumed its original quarters, without inter-
ruption.
Here closed the campaign. Harassed, dispirit-
ed, and reduced to almost one half of their origi-
nal numbers, the Spanish troops retired within
their own frontier. Peace was shortly after con-
cluded between the belligerent powers, and the
subject of this memoir returned to his own couu-
tiT, with the reputation of an enlightened, intre-
pid, and active othcer. On the 8th of October,
previously to his embarking for England, he had
been raised to the rank of colonel.
At the general election in 1761, he had been
chosen member for JNIidhurst, and he accordingly,
on his arrival from Portugal, took his seat in the
House of Commons. He does not, however,
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 13
appear to have been, at tliis j)eriod, a very active
member. On the next election, in 1768, he was
returned for the borough of Preston. Some cir-
cumstances arising from this event, and from his
presumed connection with the Duke of Grafton,
drew upon him the hostility of Junius, who, in
several of his letters, adverts to him in language
of great severity. The same year he was aj>-
pointed governor of Fort William. His commis-
sion as major-general is dated in J 772, ten years
after his attaining the rank of colonel.
In the debates of Parliament he now took a
more frequent part than he had before done.
Administration having accepted, in 1771, from
the Spanish government, a very inadequate satis-
faction for the insult which had been offered to
Great Britain, by the seizure of the Falkland
Islands, he arraigned their conduct in a speech of
much eloquence and vigour. But his efforts, and
those of his friends, were unavailing; an address
approving the convention between the two powers
was carried by a large majority.
The next year he was not less strenuous in en-
deavouring to detect and bring to punishment the
corruption and delinquency which disgraced the
li LIFE OF GENERAL BLRGOYNE,
characters of those to wliom authority was deie-
gated in our Eastern empire. It was on his mo-
tion that a committee was appointed " to enquire
*' into the nature, state, and con{htion of the East
" India Company, and of t!ie British affairs in the
" East Indies." His speech, on this occasion, is
highly honourable to him, both as a man, and as
an orator. As cliairman of the committee, he
found himself repeatedly called upon to defend
the measures and intentions of himself and his col-
leagues, and he was not backward in tlie perform-
ance of this duty.
But, amidst the pressure of senatorial and pro-
fessional avocations, he found time for pursuits of
a more light and amusing nature. A marriage
took place in June 177-1-j between Lord Stanley,
the present Earl of Derby, and Lady Betty Ha-
milton, daughter of the Duke of Hamilton. On
this occasion a fete ciiampetre was given at the
Oaks, which in taste and splendour far exceeded
every thing of the kind that had been seen before.
The superintendance of the whole was committed
to Burgoyiie. It was for this festival that he
wrote his first dramatic piece, entitled The Maid
of the Oaks. This elegant comic entertaiiunent
was aftervvtirds, with some additions, it is said.
LIFE OP GENERAL BURGOYNE. 15
from the jien of Garrick, sticcessfuUy brought for-
ward on the boards of Drury Lane Theatre. Nor
has it yet lost its attractions with the public,
though Mrs. Baddely and Mrs. Abingdon, the ori-
ginal representatives of Maria and Lady Bab Lar-
doon, have never been equalled by later perfor-
mers of tliose characters.
His attention, however, was soon called off from
letters to arms. He embarked in 1775, with Ge-
nerals Howe and Clinton, for America, and arrived
at Boston early in June. Some of the official
paj>ers issued there, at that period, are attributed
to Ills |>en. His stay this time in America was
short, as he returned to England during the win-
ter. But in the spring of 1776, having previously
l>een promoted to the rank of lieutenant-general,
he sailed for Canada, where he had some share in
assisting Sir Guy Carleton to expel the rebels,
who had for many months held a footing in that
province, and even reduced its capital, Quebec, to
the greatest extremity. The campaign iK'ing at
an end, he again, at the close of the year, landed
in his native country.
During his absence in America he suffered t!)e
loss of his wife, Lady Charlotte Burgoyne, who
16* LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNn.
died at Kensington Palace, on the 5th of June,
1776. His marriage with this lady, a daughter of
the Earl of Derby, is said to have been contracted
when he was only a subaltern at Preston, and to
have at first excited the resentment of her father,
against whose wishes it had taken place, and who
declared his resolution never to admit the offend-
ers to his presence. .As-4ime, however, disclosed
to him the amiable qualities, and great talents of
lis son-in-law, the anger of the Eiirl died away,
and was succeeded by a warm and lasting affec-
tion. By Lady Charlotte the General had no
children.
Private affliction was soon compelled to give
way to the claims of the public upon his services.
Government resolved to make, in the summer of
17775 '* decisive effort against the revolted colo-
nies. A large force was to penetrate towards
Albany from Canada, by the way of the lakes,
while another considerable body advanced up the
Hudson's river, for the purpose of joining the
Canadian army. By this means it \\ as hoped that
all communication would be cut off between the
northern and southern colonies, and that each of
them, being left to its own means of defence, and
attacked by superior numbers, would inevitably be
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 17
reduced with little trouble. To distract the at-
tention of the enemy, a detachment was at the
same time to attack Fort Stanwix on the Mohawk
river. .
For an expedition like this, which required cou-
rage, promptitude, perseverance, and a mind fer-
tile in resources, no chief could be more proper
than General Burgoyne. To him, therefore, it
was decided by government that it should be
committed ; and he accepted the charge. Eiglit
thousand regulars, two thousand Canadians, and
one thousand savages, was the strength which he
considered as necessary to eftect the march to
Albany.
Upon his joining the army, however, he found,
that it consisted of barely seven thousand regulars,
that not more than a hundred and fifty Canadians
could be got together, and that the number of
Indians could not be increased beyond four Inm-
dred. This defalcation in point of numbers was
of no small consequence. By a fatal error in
judgment of the ministers at home, he Mas also
tied up from acting on the side of the Comiecticut
river, a measure which he had suggested, as being
18 LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE,
advisable under certain circumstances: his orders
were peremptory to force his way to Albany.
The army set out from St. John's on the 14th
of June, 1777, and encamped at the river Bouquet,
on the western side of Lake Champlain, near
Crown Point. At this place, five days after his
departure from St. John's, the General met the
Indians in congress, and, according to the usual
custom, gave them a war feast. To repress their
native barbarity, he addressed them in a speech
recommending humanity to the enemy, and promis-
ing rewards for prisoners, but assuruig them that
all claims they might make for scalps would be
looked into with a very suspicious eye. His next
step was to issue a manifesto to the Americans, in
which their hopes and fears were alternately
worked upon, in order to induce their return to
obedience.
Havuig made some stay at Crown Point, for the
purpose of establishing a hospital and magazines,
and for other necessary services, the army advanced
towards Ticonderoga. Every exertion had been
made by the Americans, to render this position
impregnable. All approach was, from the very
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. Ip
situation of the place, a matter of diHiculty, and
in aid of its intrinsic strength, numberless redoubts
and lines had been raised, the whole of which
were crowded with artillery. The river was closed
by a bridge and boom, on the construction of
which mcredible labour had been bestowed. For
more than ten mouths the whole of the works had
been carrying on.
Great as these advantages were they could not
give spirits to the garrison of the place, before
which the royal army appeared on the 2d of July,
and immediately made preparation for commenc-
ing the siege. After three days of hesitation,
during which the British army made incredible
exertions in opening roads and levelling ground
for the erection of batteries, tlie American com-
manders took the resolution of abandoning Ticon-
deroga, iu which they left behind them a prodi-
gious train of artillery. Their retreat was disco-
vered at the dawn of the 6tli. A rapid pursuit
was instantly begun, and continued with such vi-
gour that the naval force of the enemy was come
up with near Skenesborough falls. An action en-
sued, in which their vessels were totally destroyed.
Hoj)eless of making any stand at Skenesborough,
tlie American troops retired, after destroying, as
20 LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
well as they could, the various works which had
been raised for its defence. They were followed
by the British, and defeated in two engagements,
with great slaughter.
At Skenesborough, General Burgoyne was com-
pelled to wait several days for the arrival of tents,
baggage, and provisions. While the army re-
mained here it was incessantly employed in open-
ing roads, by the way of Fort Amie, to advance
against the enemy. The difficulty of this task is
not easily described. In itself a wilderness, the
country was rendered still more impracticable by
the number of trees which had been felled in all
directions, and piled upon each other, and which
must of necessity be removed before a step could
be taken. So intersected too was the ground with
creeks and marshes, that no less than forty bridges
were obliged to be constructed in the course of a
few miles, independently of the repairs of others.
In spite of every obstacle the array, towards the
end of July, arrived near Fort Edward, which was
abandoned by the enemy, who retired to Sara-
toga. Here, notwithstanding the most strenuous
endeavours were used to for\vard the service, a
halt of fifteen days was found mdispeusable for
LIFE OP GENERAL BURGOYNE. 21
tlie purpose of bringing forward batteaux, provi-
sions, and ammunition, from Fort Anne. Neither
oxen nor horses were to be procured, and the
country was besides inundated with continued
rain. InteUigence was here received that Colonel
St. Leger had begun the siege of Fort Stanwix.
General Burgoyne, therefore, determined to cross
the Hudson's river. But, though every nerve had
been strained, the provision in store was very
trifling. A supply, however, must absolutely be
obtained. The rebels had established a magazine
at Bennington, and it was hoped that by surpris-
ing it, a large proportion of what was wanted
might be secured to the army. On this service
Lieutenant-Colonel Baum was dispatched, with
about five hundred men. The army, at the same
time, moved along the Hudson, and threw a bridge
over it opposite Saratoga. Baum had not reached
Bennington, when he received advice that the
enemy were in great force at that place. He ac-
cordingly halted, and sent off to the English camp
for assistance. It was dispatched, but before its
arrival Baum had been attacked, and his whole
party killed or made prisoners. Ignorant of hii
defeat the detachment which had been sent to his
succour continued to advance, was unfortunately
surrounded by the victorious Americans, ajid suf-
^2 LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
fered very severely in making its retreat. Six
hundred men were lost to the army by these two
engagements. Shortly after, Colonel St. Leger was
compelled to retire from before Fort Stanwix.
Nearly thirty days provision having been col-
lected the army crossed the Hudson, about the
middle of September, and encamped at Saratoga.
The enemy's force was at Stillwater. The British
advanced to attack them in that position, and an
obstinate battle ensued, in which much honour,
but no solid advantage, was gained by the assail-
ants. The field of battle, it is true, remained in
our possession, but nothing more, and it was
dearly paid for by the fall of a number of brave
men. Nothing could be done against the hostile
camp, all approach to which was rendered imprac-
ticable by natural obstacles, as well as by nume-
rous fortifications. Every day also swelled the
force of the Americans, and lessened that of the
British.
Still hoping that, by the aj)prcach of an army
Tip the Hudson from New York, he should be
enabled to accomplish the purjjose of the cam-
paign, General Burgoyne decided upon liolding
his position as long as possible. Groat exertions
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 23
were accordingly made to secure it l)y strong lines
and redoubts. Disgusted at the difficulty of the
service, and the little share to be met with of
plunder, the Indians were daily deserting the
army ; nor was much more reliance to be placed
on the Canadians and Provincials. The hardships
to which the troops were exposed became conse-
quently greater every hour ; but not a complaint
nor murmur was heard from a single individual.
While the General was sufficiently occupied in
front, by the army of Gates and Arnold, a daring
attempt was made to shut him up in the rear.
From the head of the Connecticut a body of fif-
teen hundred men marched, with the utmost se-
cresy, and without being discovered, against Ti-
conderoga, and succeeded in surprising some of
the outposts of that place. They made reiterated
assaults upon the fortress itself, for four days;
but, being every time repulsed, they at last thought
it prudent to retire.
The month of October opened, and no assist-
ance was at hand to extricate the General from
his perilous situation. He now found it expedient
to put tlie troops upon a shorter allowance. The
2-i LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
cheerfulness with which they submitted to this
measure is deserving of the highest praise. The
force of the enemy was by this time increased to a
most formidable magnitude. It consisted, indeed,
of not less than eighteen thousand men. In this
state of things the British General judged it ad-
visable, on the 7th of October, to make a move-
ment towards tlie enemy's left, to discover whether
it was possible to open a passage forward, or, if
that could not be done, at least so far to dislodge
him as would facilitate a retreat. This motion
was also designed to cover a forage of the army.
Fifteen hundred men, with eight cannon and
two howitzers, were destined for this puq:)ose.
The General himself commanded them, and was
seconded by some of his best officers. But Ar-
nold, who had perceived how critical his situation
would be if he were turned, did not wait to re-
ceive an attack. With far superior numbers to his
adversary he quitted his position, and gave battle
to the division which was advancing against him.
Constantly reinforced by fresh battalions he suc-
ceeded, after a desperate conflict, in driving the
British to their camp, which was immediately as-
saulted in various parts. Arnold himself was
tIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 25
finally repulsed, but the Americans broke into
tlie lines in that quarter which was defended by
Colonel Breyman. An opening was thus made on
the right and the rear.
The position being no longer tenable it was re-
solved to abandon it, and take post on the heights
above the hospital, by which the front would be
changed, luid the enemy compelled to form a new
disposition. This delicate and dangerous move-
ment was effected in the night without loss or dis-
order. Battle was nevt day oftered to the Ameri-
cans, but was prudently declined.
Tlie march of the enemy to turn the right of
the British obliged the latter to leave their favour-
able ground, and retire towards Saratoga. By the
morning of the tenth the whole of the army had
crossed the fords of the Fislikill, near that place,
and posted itself in a strong situation. It was fol-
low ed there by the Americans, who took every
step which could preclude the possibility of cs-
caiK'. For a moment they entertained the idea
of attacking the lloyal army in its camp, and pre-
parations to this intent were actually made, but
on consideration the scheme was reliiiiuishcd, as
VOL. I. c
26 LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
fraught with hazard, and likely to produce the
most fatal consequences. Mad it been pursued
an entire defeat of the assailants would, in all pro-
bability, have been the result.
Far from ail succour, surrounded in the most
difficult of countries by an army more than four
times his own in numbers, provisions growing
short, the regiments mouldering away, every part
of the camp exposed to grape and rifle shot, and
without power to compel the enemy to an action,
the General assembled a council of war to delibe-
rate upon the measures to be taken in so painful
an exigency. Such were the circumstances of the
case, that to advance, retreat, or engage, was
equally impossible. The unanimous voice of the
council, therefore, was for entering upon a nego-
tiation.
The first proposals drawn up by General Gates
were rejected with indignation, as oppressive and
dishonourable. He was informed iiiat, sooner than
accept them, the army, to a man, would perish
with their weapons in their hands. To this inflex-
ibility of Burgoyue, Gates yielded ^^ith a good
grace. It was finally settled that the Britisii army
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 27
should march out of its camp with all the honours
of war, and should be sent to Europe, on condi-
tion of not serving in America during the present
war. The officers, previous to embarkation, were
to keep their swords, and on no account to be
separated from their men, private property was to
be held sacred, and the baggage neither to be
searched nor molested.
Though foiled in his efforts, and obliged at last
to capitulate, the reputation of General Burgoyne
was considerably increased, in the eyes of unpreju-
diced military men, by this unfortunate expedition.
Unable to command success, he had omitted no-
thing by which he could deserve it. All that man
could (\o or suffer had been done and suffered
by him to ensure an ultimate triumph; and, had
he not first been tied down by peremptory orders,
and then left to make his way, through a thousand
obstacles, with a force at once iusutlicient and un-
supported, there is little or no doubt that the
great puri)ose for which the enterjirise was origi-
nally planned would have been accomplished iu
the fullest manner.
The news of the Saratoga convention was re-
ceived by the ministers ui England with the mo^^t
2S LIFE DF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
bitter vexation. Pressed already beyond endur-
ance by tlie opposition, they were well aware that
this additional heavy misfortune would be urged
against them in parliament with all the powers of
argument and eloquence. To throw the blame
on the General was the best means of escaping
reproach that suggested itself to their minds. No
open attack was indeed immediately made in
either house, but insinuations and hints were not
spared. The herd of pensioned writers acted
with more boldness, and scattered about invec-
tives and calumnies against the General with a libe-
ral hand.
Early in 1778 he arrived in England. An au-
dience with his sovereign was requested, and re-
fused. A court of enquir\', appointed to examine
his case, declared him, as a prisoner on parole, to
be out of its cognizance ; and a court martial,
which he next insisted upon, was denied him on
the same ground. Parliament alone remained
upon which he could throw himself for a hearing.
After a short stay at Bath, for the restoration of
his health, he accordingly, on the 26th of May,
attended his duty in the House of Commons, and
vindicated his conduct in a long, animated, and
satisfactory speech. Two days after this he made
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 29
another of equal, or perhaps still greater merit, in
which he arraigned with pointed severity the
weakness and incapacity of those who held the
reins of goveranient. Some management had been
observed towards him by ministers during the first
debate, but they were now goaded into the most
determined hostility. To get rid entirely of all fur-
ther trouble from him, a weak attempt was made
by some of them to exclude him from the house,
under pretence that, as a prisoner of war, he could
have no right to speak or vote. Much personality
was used upon the occasion. This miserable at-
tack lie indignantly repelled, and the Speaker
beujg ai>i>ealed to for his opinion on tlie subject,
his decision was given in favour of the General.
As this mode of getting rid of him had failed it
was resolved to try another. A lucky opportunity
of effecting this had, it was thought, occurred, in
the circumstance of Congress having, upon the
most frivolous pretexts, declined to ratify the
convention, until advices of its having been ap-
proved of by tlie English ministry had arrived in
America. An order from the secretary of war was
accordingly sent him in the beginnuig of June to
repair to New England, his presence there being
30 LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
necessary to the troops. Obedience to this order
lie very properly declined. A long correspondence
took place on this subject, in which he appears to
great advantage. The business ended by his vo-
luntary resignation of all his appointments, amount-
ing, it has been said, to <3,500 a year. His rank
in the army he, however, retained, in order to
render him amenable to a court martial hereafiter,
and to enable him to fulfil his personal faith with
the enemy.
The long-desired time for defending his calum-
niated character at length arrived. A committee
had, on the repeated demands of Sir WilUam
Howe, been appointed in 1771 5 to enquire into
his own conduct during the American war. Be-
fore the sittings of this committee were closed,
Burgoyne succeeded in procuring evidence to be
examined before it with respect to the proceedings
of the army under his command. The result was
such as could not but be higlily flattering to his
feelings. Every officer that v^as examined gave
the strongest testimony to his bravery and supe-
rior talents. It tlid not appear that a single fault
had been found with any of his plans or move-
ments by the most enlightened judges who were
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 31
611 service with him'; hut it did clearly appear
that he enjoyed the entire confidence of his army,
and that, in situations of the most tning nature,
in tlie face of disaster, of danger, and oTdeatli, he
was looked up to by his troops with the warmest
affection, and the most undoubting reliance ; that
they were at all times ready to sufter, to fight, and
to perish with him. The committee was shortly
after suddenly dissolved, without having passed a
single resolution upon the momentous subject
which had been referred to its consideration.
In I7SO he appeared before the pu!)lic with
two productions of very dissimilar iratures. The
first of these was A State of the Expedition from
Canada, as laid before the House of Commons,
and verified bi/ Evidtnce. It was inscribed, in an
elegant and affectionate address, to the officers of
the army which he had commanded against the
Americans, and is conclusive in his behalf. lie
narrates, in a concise and pcrsi)icuous manner, yet
with great spirit, the whole of tlie transactions
which took place ; and he supports his narrative
by incontestable ^locunients. His other literary
effort was a comic ojjcra, in three acts, called
The Lord of the Manor, which was received with
32 LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
much applause. It is a light, but lively and well-
conducted little piece, far superior in merit to
many later favourites of the same kind. In the
course of it, many severe and witty sarcasms are
aimed at the administration which was then hi
power. The music is by Jackson, of Exeter, and
in some parts is entitled to more than common
praise.
The party which had so long and so eloquently
opposed the ruinous war with America having at
last been called to share in the toils and the ho-
nours of government, General Burgoyne was not
forgotten. He was on the iGth of April, 1782,
appointed Commander in Chief of His Majesty's
Forces in Ireland, and a few days after, a member
of the privy council of that country. The rank
of commander in chief, however, he retained not
quite two years. His friends having been dis-
placed, his situation was tilled, on the entrance into
office of the late Chancellor of the Exchequer, by
Lieutenant-General William Augustus Pitt.
The new administration soon found itself vigo-
rously attacked by the party in opposition. No
pains were spared to render it an object of hatred
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 33
and contempt. To accomplish these ends the
powers both of wit and argument were incessant-
ly employed. Of the weapons used in the lighter
of these two modes of hostility, the Criticisms on
the RoUiad, and the Probationary Odes was,
perhaps, the most oftensive to the minister and
liis friends. These exquisitely witty and satirical
compositions are in possession of an established
fame, w hich has not often fallen to the lot of par-
ty writings. Since their tirst appearance in 1785,
no less than twenty-one editions of them have been
published. The Westminster Guide, and one of
the Probationary Odes, was contributed by Ge-
neral Burgoyne. Both these pieces are reprinted
in the present collection of his Works.
These sportive eftusions were a prelude to a
composition of a more dignified nature, which af-
fixed the seal to his reputation as a dramatic
author. In 1786" appeared the comedy of The
Heiress. It was welcomed, by crowded audiences,
with that distinguished applause which it so well
merited. Nor was it less attractive in the closet.
The sale of ten editions in one year bore ample
testimony to its merits, as a chaste, a spirited, and
polished coinj)osition.
34. LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE.
He not long after gave to the stage an adapta-
tion of Sedaine's liistorical romance of Richard
Cceur de Lion, and was again successful in his
claim to pulilic approbation. The piece had a
very flattering run, and has been since revived at
Drury Lane Tlieatre, where it originally ap-
peared.
At an early period of his parliamentary career,
we have seen him active in the pursuit and expo-
suie of Indian delinquency. After a lapse of thir-
teen years he was now tailed upon to assist others
in the performance of a similar task. He was
chosen in 178/, one of the committee of managers
for conducting the impeachment of Mr. Hastings.
Under this character he, during the course of the
trial, moved the censure of the house upon Major
Scott, for a libel on the conduct of the committee.
The motion was carried. His steady perforinance
of his duty as a manager exposed him to a ma-
lignant bat pointless attack, from an anonymous
libeller, who published a collection of epistles,
the poetical style of which wa> in humble imita-
tion of that which has been long and justly ad-
mired in the New Bath Guide. The conclusion
of Mr. Hastings's trial the General did. not live to
LIFE OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 35
witness. His death took place on the 4th of June,
from a sudden attack of the gout, at his house in
Hertford Street, May Fair, and was an unexpected
stroke to his friends, as he liad been out, in appa-
rent good health, the preceding day. He was
buried, in a very private maimer, on the 13th, in
tJie cloisters of Westminster Abbey. Only one
coach, containing four gentlemen, attended his
funeral. No memorial, not even a simple stone,
marks the spot where his remains are interred.
Fortunately, however, genius and valour are not
com|>elled to rely upon the weak assistance of
either brass or marble for the perpetuation of their
memorv.
THE
MAID OF THE OAKS.
A
DRAMATIC ENTERTAINMENT
IN FIVE ACTS,
WRITFEX BV
JOIiy BURGOYNE, ES3.
AS Pf:Rro:(MED at the
THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE.
PROLOGUE.
Unlike to ancient Fame, all eyes, toniines, ears, "j
See modern Fame, dressM cap-a-pce, apjjears, ^
In Ledgers, Chroitkks, Gazettes, and Gazetteers: j
My soaiina; \vin;;s arc fine Election speeches,
And puffs of Candidates supply my breeches:
My Cap is Satire, Criticism, Wit;
Is there a head that wants it in the Pit? [Offering it.
No tlowin'^ robe and tnmipet me adorn;
I wear a jacket, and I wind a horn.
Pi})e, Sonsr, and Pastoral, for five months past,
Puff'd well by me, have been the een'ral taste.
Now jMarvbone shines forth to frapinj; crowds!
Now His,\\';:utop;littcrs from her hill of clouds!
St. Georfie's Fields, with taste and fashion stinck.
Display Arcadia at the Dog and Duck !
And Dnuy Misses ' here in carmine pride:
Are there Pastoras by the fountain side*!'
To frowsy bow'rs they reel throuL'Ii midnight damps.
With Fauns half drunk, and Dryads breaking lamps,
BotJi far and near did this new whimsy run,
One night it fri.->k'd, forsooth, at Islington:
And now, as for the pidlic bound lo cater,
Our Manager must have his File Champi'tre
Arcnrlin'' ('oiinre^.i lierc hi trinilie pnr/f
Ji [Utii J'ciituici Ay ujountain adi.. -I'OPH.,
40 PROLOGUfi,
How is tlie weather? pretty clear and bright ? [Looking about,
A storm's the devil on Champetre night I
Lest it should fall to spoil the Autlior's scenes,
I'll catch this gleam to tell you what he means :
He means a show, as brilliant as at Cox's
Laugh for the Pit and may be at the Boxes-
Touches of passion, tender, though not tragic,
Strokes at the times a kind of lantern Magic;
Song, chonis, frolic, dance, and rural play,
The merry-making of a wedding-day.
Whose is tliis piece? 'tis all surmise suggestion
Is't his? or her's? or you7''s, sir? that's the question:
Tlie parent, baslifiil, whimsical, or poor,
Left it a puling infant at the door :
'Twas laid on flowers, and wrapt in fancied cloaks.
And on tlie breast was written Maid o' th' Oaks.
The actors crowded round ; the girls caress'd it,
* Lord ! the sweet pretty babe ! ' they prais'(
bless'd it,
Tiie Master peep'd smil'd took it in and dress'c
Whate'er its Ijirth, protect it from the curse
Of being smother'd by a parish nui-se !
As you're kind, rear it if you're curious praise it,
And ten to one but vanity betrays it.
iis'd and f
;ss'd it. y
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Mr. Oldworth Mr. Aickin
OldGroveby Mr. King
Sir Harry Groveby Mr. Palmer
Mr. Du|>eley Mr. DoDD
Hurry Mr. Suett
Painter Mr. Moody
Architect Mr. Wrighten
Druid Mr. Bannister.
Shepherds.
Lady Bab Lardoon Mrs. Abingdon
Maria Mrs. Crouch.
Shepherdesses.
Gardeners, Carpenters, Painters, S<c.
VOL. T.
THE
Mx\ID OF THE OAKS.
ACT I.
SCENE I. Part of an ornamented Farm.
Enter Sir Harry Groveby and Mr. DurE-
LEY, meeting.
Sir Harry.
JJear Charles, welcome to England, and doubly
welcome to Olduorth's Oaks Friendiship I see has
wings, as well as love you arrive at the njoment I
wished : I hope in your haste you have not forgot
a fancy dress.
Ditpeleif. No, no ; I am a true friend, and pre-
par'd for all your whimsies, amorous and poetical.
Your summons found me the day after my arrival,
and I took post immediately next to my eagerness
to see you, was that of being in time for the Fete
Champetre Novelty and pleasure are the beings I
pursue They have led me hall" the world overal-
44 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act I.
ready, and for ouglit I know they may sometime or
other carry me to Otalieite.
Sir Harry. You have pursued but their sha-
dows here they reign, in tlie manners of this New
Arcadia, and the smiles of tlie sweet Maid of the
Oaks.
Dupeley. Who, in the name of curiosity, is she
that bears this romantic title ? for your letter was
a mere eclogue; the devil a thing could I make out,
but a rhapsody upon rural innocence, and an invi-
tation from a gentleman I did not know, to an en-
tertainment I never saw What, are we to have a
representation of the Pastor-fido in a garden ?
Sir Harry. The Pastor-lido is before you in
propria persona ; the business of the day is a wed-
ding, and Charles Dupeley is invited to see his friend.
Sir Harry Groveby, united to the most charming
of her sex.
Dupeley. The devil it is ! What, a young fellow
of your hopes and fortune, sacrificed to a marriage
of romance ! But, pr'ythee, reheve my im])atience,
and tell me who she is.
Sir Harry. An orphan ward of the worthy old
gentleman, at whose seat jou now are: his charac-
ter is singular, and as amiable in its way as her's.
Inheriting a great estate, and hberally educated, his
disposition led him early to a country life, where
Act I. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 45
his benevolence and hospitality are boundless; and
these qualities, joined with an imagination bordermg
upon tlie whijnsical, have given a peculiar turn to
the manners of the neighbourhood, that, in my opi-
nion, degrades the polish of courts but judge of
the original.
Enter Oldworth.
INIr. Oldworth, I i)resent you my friend ; he is just
arrived from abroad ; I will not repeat how much
he is worthy of your friendship.
Oldworth. To be worthy of your's. Sir Harry,
is the best recommendation. [To DupehyJ] Sir,
your friend is going to receive from my hands a
lovely girl, whose merit he has discern'd and lov'd
for its own sake: such nuptials should recal the
ideas of a better age; he has permitted me to cele-
brate them upon my own plan, and I shall be happy
to receive the judgment of an accompHsh'd critic.
Dupeley. Sir, by what I already see of Old-
worth's Oaks, and know of the character of the mas-
ter, I am persuaded the talent most necessary for
the company will be that of giving due praise.
Enter Hurry.
ilurry. Lord, sir, come down to the building
directly all the trades are together by tlie ears
45 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act A
it is for all the world like the tower of Babylon
they have drove a broad-wheel waggon over two
hampers of wine, and it is all running among lilies
and honeysuckles one of the cooks stumbled over
one of the clouds, and threw a ham and chickens
into a tub of white-wash a lamp-lighter spilt a gal-
lon of oil into a cream'd apple-tart, and they have
sent for more roses, and there is not one left within
twenty miles.
Oldworik. Why, honest Hurry, if there is none
to be had, you need not be in such haste about 'em
: Mercy on us ! my fete has turn'd this poor fellow's
head already, he w ill certainly get a fever.
Hurrij. Get a favour, sir ! why there has not
been one left these three hours; all the girls in the
parish have been scrambling for them, and I must
get a hundred yards more Lord a mercy ! there
is so much to do at once, and nobody to do it, that
it is enough to moider one's head.
[Oldu'orth and TJurri/ talk together.
Dupeley. Ha, ha, ha! is this one of the exam-
ples you produce, Sir Harry, to degrade the polish
of courts?
Sir Ifarrjj. If I did, have you never met with a
courtier in your travels, as busy, as important, and
as insignificant, upon yet more trifling occasions .-'
Wiiy, my friend Hurry is the true bustle of an
/id I. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 47
anti-cliamber, with this difference, tliat tliere is
rather more attachment and fidelity to the master at
the bottom of it.
[During this speech Hurri/ is expressin"^ hyhis
action his impatience for Oldworth to ^o.
Hurri/. La, sir, if you loiter longer, I tell you
they will all be at loggerheads they were very near
it when I came away. [Exit.
Oldworth. Mr. Dupeley, you'll excuse me
Hurry convinces me my presence is necessary else-
where this is a busy day !
Dupeley. The greatest compliment you can pay
me, is not to look upon me as a stranger.
Oldworth. I forgot to tell you, Sir Harrj-, that
Lady Bab Lardo(tn is in the neighbourhood,
and I exj^cct her every moment she promised to
be with us long before the hour of general invi-
tation.
Dupeley. Who is she pray ?
Sir Harry. Oh, she's a superior ! a j)lin!nix !
more worthy your curiosity than any object of your
travels! She is an epitome, or rather a caricature
of what is call'd very fine life, and the first female
g-aniester of the time.
Oldworth. For all that, she is amiable one ran-
n>t help discerning and admiring the natural exccl-
kiice of her heart and understanding; though she
48 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act I.
is an example, that neither is proof against a false
education, and a rage for fashionable excesses But
when you see her, she will best explain herself
This fellow will give me no rest.
Hurry. [Returns.'] Rest, sir, why I have not slept
this fortnight ; come along, sir, pray make haste
nothmg's to be done without it.
Oldworth. Nor with it, honest Hurry.
{Exit with Hurry.
Dupeley. A cunning old fellow, I warrant !
with ' his ward, and his love of merit for its own
sake' ha, ha, ha ! pry 'thee, how came your ac-
quaintance in this odd family ?
Sir Harry. Don't sneer, and I will tell you By
mere chance, in a progress of amusement to this side
the country : the story is too delicate for thy relish,
suffice it that I came, saw, and lov'd I laid my
rank and fortune at the fair-one's feet, and would
have married instantly; but that Oldworth opposed
my precipitancy, and insisted upon a probation of
six months' absence It has been a purgatory !
Dupeley. All this is perfectly en regie for a man
of home education I should like to see the woman
that could entangle me in this manner.
Sir Harry. There is not a fellow in England has
a more susceptible heart ; you may have learnt in
your foreign tour to disguise it, but if you have lost
Act I. THE MAID OF THF OAKS. 4^
it, put all your acquisitions together, and the ba-
lance will be ag-.iinst you.
Dupeley. I have learned at least, not to have it
imposed ujMjn : shew nie but a woman from an Ita-
lian princess to a figurante at the French opera ; or
change the scene, and carry me to the rural nymphs
from a vintage in Burgundy, to a dance round a
maypole at OUhvorth's Oaks and at the first glance
I will discover the whole extent of their artifice,
find their true lure, and bring them to my hand as
easily as a tame sparrow.
Sir Harry. And pray, my sagacious friend, upoq
what circumstances have you formed your suspi-
cions that I am more likely to be impos'd upon than
yourself?
Dupeley. Upon every one I have seen and heard;
but above all upon that natural propensity of eveiy
true homebred Englishman, to think one woman
different from another Now I hold there is but
one woman in the world.
Sir Harry. I perfectly agree, and Maria is that
charming one.
Dupeley. Ay, but Maria, and Lady Bab, and Pa-
mela Andrews, and Clarissa llarlowe, and the girl
that steals a heart in a couutry church, or she that
picks your pocket in Covcut-gardeu, are one and
so THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act I.
the same creature for all that I am always too
quick for them, and make fools of them first Oh,
do but try them by tlie principle I have laid down,
you'll find them as transparent as glass.
Sir Harry. My own principle will answer my
purpose just as uell; with that perspective I have
looked through the woman, and discovered the
angel ; and you will do the same when you see her,
or never brag of your eyesight more.
Diipeley. Rhapsody and enthusiasm ! I should
as soon <liscover Mahomet's seventh heaven; but
what says your uncle, Old Groveby, to this match?
Sir Harry. Faith I have asked him no questions,
and why should I .? when I know what must be his
answer.
Dnpeley. Oh, he can never disapprove a passion
that soars above the stars !
Sir Harry. Ilehasall the prejudicesofhis years,
and worldly knowledge; the common old gentle-
man's character You may see it in every drama
from the days of Terence to those of Congreve ;
though not j)erhaps with quite so much good hu-
mour, and so little obstinacy as n'.y uncle shews.
He is ever most impetuous, when most kind ; and
I dare trust his resentment will end v\ilh a dramatic
forgiveness. Should it not, I may have pride in the
Act F. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 51
sacrifice of his estate, hut no regret So much for
fortune, Charles are there any other means to re-
concile me to your approbation?
Dtipeleif. 'Gad I know but one more Have you
laid any plan for succeeding at the divorce-shop
next winter ? It would be some comfort to your
friends, to see you had a retreat in your head.
Sir Harri/. Charles, I have listened to your rail-
lery with more palience than it deserves, and should
at last be out of humour with such an importation
of conceit and atlectation, if I was not sure your
good sense would soon get the better of it. This
is called knowing the world to form notions with-
out, perhaps, ever seeing a man in his natural cha-
racter, or conversing with a woman of principle;
and then, for fear of being imposed upon, be really
(liip'd out of the most valuable feelings in human
nature, contidence in friendship, and esteem in
love.
Enter Hurry.
Unrrfi. Lord, sir, I am out of breath to find
\ou ; w hy almost every thing is rea<lv, except vour-
self; and Madam Maria is gone to the Cirove, and
she is so dress'd, and looks so charming!
Sir Uarrij. Propitious be the hour ! here,
Hurry, tiiid out this gentleman's servant, and shew
him where he is to dress. {Ihit.
52 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act I,
Diipeley. Oh, take care of yourself, Covydon the
first, I shall be thne enough: Hurry shall tirst shew
me a little of the preparation what is going for-
ward here? [Approaching the side-scene.
Hurry. Hold, sir, not that way ; ray master lets
tiobody see his devices and ligaries there.
Dupelcy. Why, what is he doing there. Hurry ?
Hurry. Doing ! as you are a gentleman, I will
tell you what he is doing I hope nobody hears us.
[Looking about. ^ Why^ he is going to make the sun
shine at midnight, and he is covering it with a thou-
sand yards of sail-cloth, for fear the rain should put
it out Lord, such doings ! here, this way, your
honour.
Dupeley. But hark'ee, honest Hurry, do stand
still a moment to oblige me.
Hurry. Stand still, sir! Lord, sir, if I stand
still, every thing stands still : and tlien what a fine
Sham-Peter should we make of it ! [Always restless.
Dupeley. You seem to know every thing here ?
Hurry. To be sure I do I am no fool I believe
What think you, sir ?
Dupeley. He that takes you for a fool, is not
over wise, I warrant him ; therefore let me ask you
a question or two.
Hurry. To-morrow, sir, with all my heart; but
I have so many questions to ask myself, and so
Act J. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 53
many answers to give, that I have not five minutes
to spare.
Dnpeley. Three minutes will do my business :
who is this Maid of the Oaks, friend Hurry?
Hurry. A young lady, sir,
Diipeley, I thought as much. [Smiling.] You
are a courtier, friend Hurry.
Hurry. I court her! Heaven forbid! she's
going to l)e married, sir.
Dnpeley. Well said, Simplicity ! If you won't tell
me who she is, tell me what she is ?
Hurry. She is one of the most charmingest,
sweetest, delightfulest, mildest, beautifulest, mo-
destcst, genteelest, never to be prais'd enough,
young creature in all the world!
Dupeley. True courtier again! Who is her
father, pray?
Hurry. It is a wise child that knows its own
father; Lord bless her! she does not want a father.
Dupeley. Not while Mr. Oldworth lives.
, Hurry. Nor when he is dead neither; every
body would l>e glad to he her father, and ever) body
wishes to be her husband; and so, sir, if you have
more questions to ask, I'll answer them another
lime, for I am wanted here, and there, and every
"here. [Bustles about.
54 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. j4ct I.
Dvpehy. Shew me my chamber to dress, and I'll
desire no more of you at present.
Hurry. Bless your honour for letting me go ; I
have been very miserable all the while you were
talking to me this way, this way, sir, \^Exit.
Dupeky. What a character ! yet he has his cun-
ning, though the simplest swain in this region of
perfect innocence, as Sir Harry calls it ha, ha, ha !
[Encit.
SCENE II. An outside Building, Workmen of all
sorts passing to-and-fro.
Architect. \_As speaking to persons at work be-
hind the side-scene^ Come, bustle away, my lads,
strike the scaffold, and then for the twelve o'clock
tankard ; up with the rest of the festoons there on
the top of the columns.
First Gardener. Holloa ! you sir, where are you
running with those flowers?
Second Gardener. They're wanted for the Ar-
cades; we can have no deceit there if you want
more here, you may make them of paper any
thing will go off by candle-light.
First Lamp-lighter. [Running.] They want
above a hundred more lamps yonder, for the illu-
mination of the portico.
Act I. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 55
Second Lamp-lighter. Then they may get tallow-
candles; I shan't have enough to make the sky
clear in the saloon that danni'd Irish painter has
uiaile his ground so dingy, one might as soon make
his head transparent as his portico.
Enter Irish Painter.
Painter. Arrah ! what is that you say of my
head, Mr. Lamp-lighter?
Second Lamp-lighter. I say you have spoil'd
the transparency, by putting black where you
should have put blue.
Painter. [Dabbing his brush across his face.]
There's a black eye for you; and you may be
thankful you got it so easily Trol away with your
ladder upon your shoulder, or the devil fire me
but you shall have black and blue both, my dear.
Architect. [Returning.] Good words, good
words, gentlemen ; no quarrelling Your servant,
Mr. O'Daub ; upon my word you have hit off those
ornaments very well the first painter we have here
could not have done better.
Painter. No, faith, I believe not, for all his
hard name ; sure O'Daub was a scene-painter be-
fore he was born, though I believe he is older
than I too.
/Architect. You a sccne-paiuter !
56 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act I.
Painter. Ay, by my soul was I, and for foreign
countries too.
Architect. Where was that pray ?
Painter. Faith, I painted a whole set for the
Swish, who carries the Temple of Jerusalem about
upon his back, and it made his fortune, though he
got but a halt]5enny a-picce for his show.
Architect. [Ironicalli/.] I wish we had known
your merits, you should certainly have been em-
ploy 'd in greater parts of the work.
Painter. And, by my soul, it would have been
better for you if you had I would have put out
Mr. Lanterbug's stars with one dash of my pencil,
by making them five times more bright Ho ! if
you had seen the sign of a setting sun, that I paint-
ed for a linendraper, in Bread-street, in Dublin
Devil burn me but the Auroree of O'Guide was a
fool to it.
Architect. O'Guide! Who is he? Guid-o, I
suppose you mean.
Painter. And if he has an O to his name, what
signifies whether it comes before or behind Faith,
I put it like my own of O'Daub, on the right side,
to make him sound more like a gentleman beside?
it is more melodious in the mouth, honey.
Act I. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 57
Enter Carpenters, ^'c.
First Carpenter. Well, sir, the scaffold's down,
and we are m oundy dry we have toil'd like horses.
Architect. Rest you merry, Master Carpenter
take a draught of the 'Squire's liquor, and welcome,
you shall swim in it, when all is over.
Painter. Faith let me have one merry quarter of
an hour before we at it again, and it will be no loss
of time neither we will make the next quarter af-
ter, as good as an Iiour and so his honour and the
sham-peter will gain by the loss.
First Gardener. Well said, O'Daub! and if you
will give us the song you made, the quarter of an
hour will be merrier still.
Architect. Can you rhyme, O'Daub?
Painter. Yes, faith, as well as paint all the
difference is, I do one with a brush, and t'other with
a })en; I do one with my head, and both with my
hands and if any of the poets of 'em all can pro-
duce better rhymes and raisins too within the gtir-
dens, I'll be content to have one of my own brushes
ramm'd down my throat, and so spoil me for a
singer as well as a poet hereafter.
Architect. Well said, Master Painter!
VOL. I. F.
58 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act I.
Enter the several Tradesmen.
SONG.
By the Irish Painter, to an Irish Tune.
Then away to Champetre, Champetre come all away,
To work at Clianipetre is nothing at all but play;
As I know nothing of it, no more, my dear, will I
say,
But Champetre for ever, for ever, and ay, I say !
You may guess what a sight, for it never has yet
been seen,
Heav'n bless her sweet face ! 'tis a sight for the
lovely queen ;
For lords, and for earls, and for gentlefolks too.
And the busy beau monde, who have nothing to do.
Then away to Champetre, &c.
While 'tis light you'll see nothing, when darker, O
then you'll see.
That the darker it is, the more light it will quickly
be;
The moon and the stars, they may twinkle and go
to bed.
We can make better sun-shine, than such as they
ever made.
Then away to Champetre, &c.
Act I. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 59
Such crowds and confusions, such uproar and sucli
deh'ght,
With lamps liung by thousands, to turn day into
night ;
There will be Russians, Turks, Prussians, and
Dutchmen, so bright and gay,
And they'll all be so fine, they'll have nothing at all
to say.
Then away to Champetre, &c.
Then let's take a drink to the 'Squire of the Jolly
Oaks,
May no crabbed critics come here with their gibts
or jokes;
If they did, I could make the dear creatures soon
change tlicir notes,
With ray little black brush I could sweep clean
their noisy throats!
Then away to Champetre, &c.
[Exeunt singing.
60 THE MAID OF THE OAKS, Act II.
ACT II.
SCENE I. The Oaks.
Maria, sitting; under a great Tree.
C OME sing round my favourite tree,
You songsters that visit the grove,
'Twas the haunt of my sheph.erd and me,
And the baik is a record of love.
RecHn'd on tlie turf by my side,
He tenderly pleaded his cause;
I only with blushes replied.
And the nightingale fill'd up the pause.
Da ('apo. Come sing, &c.
E7iter Oldworth.
Oldivorfh. Joy to my sweet Maria! may long
succeedingyears resemble this, her bridal hour! may
health, and peace, and love, still inspire her song,
and myke the harmony of her voice an emblem of
her life ! But come, my girl, if there is a wish re-
maining in your heart within my power to gratify,
I hope, in this last hour of my cares, I shall not be
a stranger to it.
Act II. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 6l
Maria. If I have a wish \ou have not indulged,
sir, I fear it must be an iiuproper one, or it would
not have escaped you.
Oldworth. You seem disconcerted, Maria; be
more exphcit.
Maria. My mind is incapable of reserve with
you; the most generous of men is on the point of
giving his hand to your what shall I call myself?
I am almost nameless, but as the creature of your
bounty and cares, this title gives me a value in my
own eyes; but I fear it is all I have to boast. The
mystery you have kept, makes me apprehensive
there is something in my origin ought to be con-
cealed what am I to interpret from your smiles?
(Jldworlh. Every thing that is contrary to your
surmises: be patient, sweet Maid of the Oaks; be-
fore night all mysteries shall be cleared. It is not
an ordinary wedding I celebrate, I prepare a feast
for the heart Lady Bab Lardoon, as I live ! the
princess of dissipation ! Catch an observation of her
w hile you can, Maria ; for though she has been but
three days out of London, she is as uneasy as a mole
in sun-shine, and would exj)ire, if she did not soon
dive into her old element again.
Enter Ladij BAn.
Lady Bab, Dear Maria, I am iiaj)py to be the
62 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act II.
first of your company to congratulate you Well,
Mr. Oldwortli, I am delighted with the idea of your
Fete ; it is so novel, so French, so expressive of what
every body understands, and no body can explain ;
then there is something so spirited in an undertaking
of expence, where a shower of rain would spoil it
all.
Oldworth. I did not expect to escape from so fine
a lady, but you and the world have free leave to
comment upon all you see here.
* Laugh wliere you must, be candid where you can.'
I only hope that to celebrate a joyful event upon
any plan, that neither hurts the morals nor polite-
ness of the company, and at the same time sets thou-
sands of the industrious to work, cannot be thought
blame-worthy.
Laibf Bab. Oh, quite the contrary, and I am sure
it \\ ill have a run ; a force upon the seasons and
the manners is the true test of a rciined taste, and
it holds good from a cucumber at Christmas, to an
Italian opera.
Maria. Is the rule the same among the ladies,
Lady Bab ? Is it also a detiuition of their relinement
to act in all things contrary' to siature?
Lady Bab. Not absolutely in all things, though
more so than people are apt to imagine ; for even
Act IT. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 63
in circumstances that seem most natural, fashion
prompts ten times, where iuchnation prompts once ;
and there would be an end of gallantry at once in
this country , if it was not for the sake of reputation.
Old worth. What do you mean?
Ladi/ Bab. Why, that a woman without a con-
nection, grows every day a more awkward person-
age ; one might as well go into company without
powder if one does not really despise old vulgar
prejudices, it is absolutely nece^ary to affect it, or
one must sit at home alone.
Oldivmth. Indeed !
Lady Bah. Yes, like Lady Spfose, and talk mo-
rals to the parrot.
Maria. This is new, indeed ; I always supposed
that hi places where freedom of manners was most
countenanced, a woman of unim|)eached conduct
carried a certain respect.
Lady Bab. Only fit for sheep-walks and Oake-
ries! I beg your pardon, Mr. Old worth in town
it would just raise you to the whist-party of old
Lady Cypher, Mrs. Squabble, and Lord Flimzey;
and at every public place, you wou'd stand amongst
tlie footmen to call your own chair, while all the
macaronies passed by, whistling asong through their
tooth-picks, and giving a shrug ' Dem it, 'tis a pity
64 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act II.
that so fine a woman shou'd be lost to all conuiiou
decency.'
Maria. [Smiling.] I believe I had better stay in
the Oakery, as you call it ; for 1 am afraut I shall
never procure any civility in town, upon the terms
required.
Lady Bah. Oh, my dear, you have chose a
horrid word to express the intercourse of the bon
ton; cidliiy may be very proper in a mercer, when
one is choosing a silk, hut fajniliarity is the life of
good company. 1 believe this is quite new since
your time, Mr. Oklworth, but 'tis by far the great-
est improvement the beau monde ever made.
Old worth. A certain ease was always an essen-
tial part of good breeding; but Lady Bab must ex-
plain her meaning a little further, before we can de-
cide upon the improvement.
Lady Bab. 1 mean tliut participation of society,
in which the French used to excel, and we have now
so much outdone our models I maintain, that
among thc?/^fcr/orset niind,! only speak of ihem
our men and women are put more upon a foot-
ing together in London, than they ever were before
in any age or country.
Oldworth. And pray how has this hapj)y revolu-
tion been efiected .''
Act IT. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 65
Ladi/ Bab. By the most charming of all institu-
tions, wherein we shew the world, that liberty is as
well understood by our women as by our men; we
have our Bill of Rights and our (.'onstitirtion too,
as well as they we drop in at all hours, play at all
parties, pay our own reckonings, and in every cir-
cumstance (petticoats excepted) are true, lively,
jolly fellows.
Maria. But does not this give occasion to a
thousand malicious insinuations ?
Ladi/ Bab. Ten thousand, my dear but no
great measures can be effected without a contempt
of popular clamour.
Oldworth. Paying of reckonings is, I confess,
new since my time ; and I should be afraid it might
sometimes be a little heavy upon a lady's pocket.
Lady Bab. A mere trifle one generally wins
them Jack Saunter of the guards, lost a hundred
and thirty to me upon score at one time ; I have
not eat him half out yet he will keep me best part
ofnextwinter; but, exclusive of that, the club is the
greatest system of economy for married families
ever yet established.
Oldworth. Indeed! but how so, pray?
Lady Bab. Why, all the servants may be put to
board wages, or sent into the country, except the
C6 THE MAID OF TltE OAKS, Jct It.
footman no plunder of house-keepers, or niaitres
d'liolel, no long butcher's bills Lady Squander
protests she has wanted no provision in her family
these six months, except potatoes to feed the chil-
dren, and a few frogs for the French governess
then our dinner-societies are so amusing, all the
doves and hawks together, and one converses so
freely ; there's no topic of White's or Ahnack's, in
nhicli we do not bear a part.
Maria. Upon my word I should be a little
afraid, that some of those subjects might not always
be managed with sufficient delicacy for a lady's ear,
especially an unmarried one.
Lady Bab. Bless me ! why where's the differ-
ence ? Miss must have had a strange education in-
deed, not to know as much as her chaperon: I hope
you will not have the daughters black-ball'd, when
the mothers are chose r Why it is almost the only
place where some of them are likely to sec each
other.
Enter Sir Harry Groveby.
Sir Harry. I come to claim my lovely bride
here at her favourite tree I claim her mine! the
hour is almost on the point, the whole country is
beginning to assemble; every preparation of Mr.
Oldvvorth's fancy is preparing.
Act If. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Gf
And while the priests accuse the bride's delay,
Roses and myrtles shall obsti-uct her way.
Maria. Repugnance would be affectation, my
heart is all your own, and I scorn the look or aclioa
that does not avow it.
Old worth. Come, Sir Harry, leave your protes-
tations, which my girl does not want; and see a
fair stranger.
Ladi/ Bab. Sir Harry, I rejoice at your happi-
ness and do not think me so tasteless, Maria, as
not to acknowledge attachment like your's prefer-
able to all others, when it can be IvddJilfr le par-
fait amour, is the first happiness in hfe : but tliat
you know is totally out of the question in town ; the
matrimonial comforts in our way are absolutely re-
duced to two ; to plague a man, and to bury him ;
the glory is to plague him first, and bury him after-
wards.
Sir Harry. I heartily congratulate Lady Bab,
and all who are to partake of lier conversation,
upon her being able to bring so much vivacity into
the country.
Lady Bab. Nothing but the FCte Champetre
could have effected it, for I set out in miserable spi-
rits I had a horrid run before I left town I sup-
pose you saw my name in the papers?
gS THE MAIO OF THE OAKS. Act IT.
Sir IJarry. I did, and therefore concluded there
was not a word of truth in the report.
Maria. Your name in the papers, Lady Bab !
for what, pray .?
Lady Bab. The old story it is a mark of insig-
nificance now to be left out : have not they begun
with you yet, Maria.?
Maria. Not that I know of, and I am not at all
ambitious of the honour.
Lady Bah. Oh, but you will have it the Fete
Chanipetre will be a delightful subject: ^To be
complimented one day, laugh'd at the next, and
abused the third; you can't imagine how amusing
it is to read one's own name at breakfast in a morn-
hig paper.
Maria. Pray, how long may your ladyship have
been accustomed to this pleasure?
Lady Bah. Lord, a great while, and in all its
stages: they first began whh a modest hmueiido,
' We hear a certain lady, not a hundred miles from
Hanover-square, lost at one silting, some nights
ago, two thousand guineas O tempora! O mo^
res !'
Oldivorlh. [Laughing.] Pray, Lady Bab, is
this concluding ejaculation your own, or was it the
printer's?
Lady Bab. His, you maybe sure: a dab of Latin
Act II. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 69
adds surprising force to a paragraph, besides
shewing the learning of the author.
Old worth. Well, but really I don't see such a
great matter in this; why should you suppose any
body applied this panigraih to you ?
Ladij Bab. None but my intimates did, for it
was applicable to half St. George's parish; but
about a week after they honoured me with initials
and italics: ' It is said. Lady B. L.'s ill success still
contiiujes at the quinze table : it was observed, the
same lady appeared yesterday at court, in a riband
collier, having laid aside her diamond necklace,
(diamond in italics) as totally bourgeoise and un-
necessary for the dress of a woman of fashion.'
Oldu'orth. To be sure this icas advancing a little
in familiarity.
Lady Bab. At last, to my infinite amusement,
out I came at full length: ' Lady BabLardoon has
tumbled down three nights successively ; a certain
colonel has done the same ; and we hear that both
parties keep house with sprained ancles.'
Oldworth. This last paragraph sounds a little
enigmatical.
Maria. And do you really feel no resentment at
all this ?
iMdy Bab. Resentment! poor silly devils, if
they did but know with what thorough contempt
70 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act II,
those of my circle treat a remonstrance but hark,
I hear the pastoral's beginning. [Music behind.]
Lord, I hope I shall find a shepherd 1
Old worth. The most elegant one in the world,
Mr. Dupeley, Sir Harry's friend.
Ladj/ Bab. You don't mean Charles Dupeley,
who has been so long abroad?
Sir Harry. The very same; but I'm afraid he
will never do, he is but half a macaroni.
Lady Bab. And very possibly the worst half: it
is a vulgar idea to think foreign accomplishments
fit a man for the polite world.
Sir Harry. Lady Bab, I wish you would under-
take him ; he seems to have contracted all the com-
mon-place affectation of travel, and thinks himself
quite an overmatch for the fair-sex, of whom his
opinion is as ill founded as it is degrading.
Lady Bab. O, is that his turn ? what, he has
been studying some late posthumous letters I sup-
pose? 'twould be a delight to make a fool of such
a fellow ! where is he?
Sir Harry. He is only gone to dress ; I appoint-
ed to meet him on the other side the Grove ; he'll
be here in twenty minutes.
Lady Bab. I'll attend him there in your place
I have it I'll try my hand a little at naivete he
never saw me the dress I am goiiig to put on for
Act II. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 71
the F^te will do admirably to impose upon him :
I'll make an example of his hypocrisy, and Im graces,
and his usage du monde.
Sir Hnrri/. My life for it he will begin an ac-
quaintvuice with you.
Lady Bab. If he don't, I'll begin with him :
there are two characters under which one may say
any thing to a man ; that of perfect assurance, and
of perfect innocence: Maria may be the best critic
of the last; but under the appearance of it, lord
ijave mercy ! I have heard and seen such things !
Enter HuRRY, [running.'^
Iftirri/. Here they come! here they come ! give
them room ! pray, sir, stand a little back a little
further, your honourable ladyship, let the happy
couple stand foremost here they come !
Oldworlh. And, pray, when you can find breath
to be understood, who or what is coming, Hurry?
Hurry. All the cleverest lads and girls that
could be picked out within ten miles round: they
have garlands in one hand, and roses in another,
and their pretty partners in another, and some are
singing, and all so merry!
Oldworth. Stand still. Hurry; I foresaw you
would be a sad master of the ceremonies; why they
should not have appeared till the Lawn was full of
72 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act II.
company ; they were to have danced there you
let them in too soon by an hour.
Hurry. Lord, su- ! 'twas impossible to keep
them out.
Oldworth. Impossible I why, I am sure they did
not knock you down.
Hurry. No, but they did worse; for the pretty
maids smiled and sn)irked, and were so coaxing ;
and they called me dear Hurry, and sweet Hurry,
and one call'd me pretty Hurry, and I did but just
open the door a moment, flesh and blood could not
resist it, and so thqy all rushed by.
Oldworth. Ay, and now we shall have the whole
crowd of the country break in.
Hurry. No, sir, no, never be afraid; we keep
out all the old ones.
Sir Hari-y. Ay, here they come cross tlie lawn
I agree with Hurry, flesh and blood could not
stop them Joy and gratitude are overbeanng ar-
guments, and they must have their course.
Hurry. Now, Sir Harry ! now, your ladyship !
you shall see such dancing, and hear such singing !
Jet If. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 73
Enter Jirst Shevheyu), rerj/ gail^, followed hy
a s^roup of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
SONG.
Shepherd.
Hither, ye swains, with dance and song,
Join your bands in sportive measure ;
Hither, ye swaius, with dance and song,
Merrily, merrily, trip it along:
'Tis holiday, lads, from the cares of your tillage,
Life, health, and joy, to the lord of the village.
Scenes of delight,
Round you invite,
Hannony, beauty, love, and pleasure :
Hitlier, ye swains, with dance and song,
Join your bands in sportive measure,
Chorus. Hither ye swaius, &c.
Shepherdess.
Hither, ye nymphs, and scatter around
Every sweet the spring discloses ;
Hither, ye nymphs, and scatter tliem round.
With the bloom of the hour enamel the groinsd ;
The feast of the day is devoted to beautv,
Sorrow is treason, and pleasure a duty :
VOL. 1. F
74? THE MAID OF THE OAKS. j4ct II.
Love shall preside,
Sovereign guide!
Fetter his winks with links of roses :
Hither, ye nymphs, and scatter around
Every sweet the spring discloses.
Chorus. Hither ye nymphs, &c.
Both.
Lasses and lads, with dance and song.
Join your bands in sportive measure :
Lasses and lads, \\ith dance and song,
Merrily, merrily trip it along :
An hour of youth is worth ages of reason,
Tis the sunshine of life, take the gift of the season;
Scenes of delight.
Round you invite.
Harmony, beauty, love, and pleasure.
Chorus. Lasses and lads, Ike.
Hurry. So much for singing, and now for danc-
ing; pray irive 'em room, ladies and gentlemen.
[ Here a grand dance of Shepherds and
Shepherdesses.
/icl Iff. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 75
ACT III.
SCEXE I. The Garden Gate.
Noise without.
iNDEEn, sir, we can't! it is as much as our places
are wortii : pray don't insist upon it.
Enter OWGroveby, booted and splashed, push-
ing; in Hurry.
Grorehy. I must see Sir Harry Groveby, and I
will see him. Do ye think, ye Jackanapes, that I
come to rob tiie house?
IJurrij. Tliat is not the case, sir; nobody visits
my master to-day without tickets ; all the world will
be here, and how shall we find room for all the
^\orld, if people were to come how they please, and
when they please ?
Grorehy. What, have you a stajje-play here, that
one cannot be admitted without a ticket?
Hurry. As you don't know what we have here
to-day, I must desire you to come to-morrow Sir
Harry won't see you to-day, he has a i;reat deal of
business uj)on his hands ; and you can't be admitted
without a ticket; and moreover you are in such a
76 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act Iff.
pickle, und nobody will be admitted but in a ianci-
t'ul dress.
Grovehy. This is a dress after my own fancy,
sirrah; and whatever pickle I am in. 1 will put you
in a worse, if you don't immediately shew nieto Sir
Harry Gro\eby [Shaking his whip.
Hurry. Sir Harry's going to be married \\ hat
would the man have ?
Groveby. I w ould have a sight of him btfore he
goes to be married. I shall mar his marriage, I be-
lieve. \_Aside.'] I am his uncle, puppy, and ought
to be at the wedding.
Hurry. Are yon so, sir? Bless my heart! why
would you not say so .? This way, good sir ! it was
impossible to know you in such a figure; I could
sooner have taken you for a smuggler than his
uncle; no offence, sir If you will j>lease to walk
in that grove there, I'll lind him directly I'm sorry
for what has hajipened ]>iit you did not say you
were a gentleman, and it was impossible to take you
for one no offc nee, I hope ?
Groveby. None at all, if you do as I bid you.
Hurry. Tiiat I will, to be sure. I liojie you are
come to be merry, sir? [Exit.
Groveby. O, ay to be sure It is true, I see; I
come at tiie very instant of his perdition whether
I succeed or not, I shall do my duty, and let other
Act III. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 77
folks be merry if they like it Going to be married !
and to whom? to a young girl, without birth, for-
tune, or witJiont any body's knowing any thing
about her; and without so much as saying to me,
his uncle, with your leave, or by your leave: if he
will prefer the indulgence of a boy isk passion, to my
affection and two thousand pounds per annum let
him be as merry as he pleases. I shall return to
Gloomstock-hall, and make a new will directly.
[Exit,
SCEii'E 11. changes to a Grove.
Enter Maria.
ALiria. I \> ish I may have strength to support
my happiness: I cannot get the better of my agita-
tion ; and thougli this day is to complete my w islies,
my heart, I don't know how, feels something like
distress But what strange person is coming this
way? How got he admitted in that strange dress?
Enter Grove by.
Groveby. Madam, your servant ; I hope I don't
intrude : I am waiting iiere for a young gentleman
If I disturb yon, I'll walk at tlic other end.
Maria. Indeed, sir, you don't disturb mo.
Shall I call any body to }nn, sir?
78 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
Grovebi/. Not for the world, fair lady ; an odd
kind of a pert, bustling, restless fellow, is gone to
do my business; and if I might be permitted to say
a word or two, in the mean time, to so fair a crea-
ture, I should acknowledge it a most particular fa-
vour : but I intrude, I fear.
Maria. Ini^eed you don't, sir I should be
happy to oblige you.
Groveby. And you make me ht'ppy by such ci-
vility This is a most lovely creature ! [Aside.
Maria. Who can this be ? [Aside.
Grovehy. I find, madam, there is going to be a
wedding here to-day.
Maria. Yes, sir; a very splendid one, by the
preparations.
Groveby. A a ery foolish business, to make such
a fuss about a matter which both parties may have
reason to curse this time twe!\emonlh.
DIaria. I hope not, sir Do you know tlie par-
ties ?
Groveby. One of them too \\ell, by being a
near relation Do you know the bride, young
lady r
Maria. Pretty well, sir ; my near acquaintance
with her makes me attend here to-day.
[Maria stems confused.
Groveby. Might 1, without being impertinent.
Act in. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. jg
beg to know souiethiiig about her but you are par-
tial to her, and won't speak your mind.
Maria. I am indeed partial to her ever}' body
is too partial to her her fortune is much above her
deserts.
Groveby. Ay, ay, I tliought so sweet lady,
your sincerity is as lovely as your person you
really think then, she does not deserve so good a
match ?
Maria. Deserve it, sir ! so far from deserving it,
that I don't know that human creature that can de-
serve Sir Harry Croveby.
Groveby. WImt a sensible sweet creature this is !
[Aside.'] Young lady, your understanding is very
extraordinary for your age you sincerely think
then, that this is a very unequal niatcli ?
Maria. Indeed I do, very sincerely
Groreby. And tiiat it ought not to be.
Maria. Ought not to be, sir ! [Hesitating.]
That, sir, is another question If Sir Harry has
promis'd and tlie young lady's altections
Groreby. Ay, to be sure, the young lady's affec-
tions ! they are more to be consider'd than tlie
young man's credit, or the old man's happiness
But pray, fair young lady, what are your real sen-
timents of this incognita?
Maria. Upon my word, sir [ llesilales.] I scarce
80 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
know how to answer your question [Much con-
fused.
Groveby. Your delicacy to your friend won't let
you speak out; but I understand your objections
Nay, I feel 'em so nuich, that I am come on purpose
to break the match.
Maria. [Astonished^ Indeed, sir!
Grorehy. Pi.\, indeed am I a silly young puppy !
without acfjuainting me with it, to go so far I sup-
pose some interested creature, with a little beauty
and more cunning, has laid hold of this precious
fjol of a nephew of mine
Maria. Your nephew, sir!
Grorehy. Yes, yes, my nephew ; but he must
give up his girl, or renounce the relationship.
Maria. But consider, sir, what the poor young
w Oman must suffer !
Grorehy . She ought to suffer, a designing bag-
gage! I'll be hang'd if it is not some demure look-
ing chit, with a fair skin, and a couple of dimples
ill her cheeks, that has done all this mischief; \ou
think so too, but you won't s]>eak out.
Maria, But if Sir Harry is contented with such
small accomplishments
Grovrby. He contented, a simpleton ! don't say
a word in his favour; have not you confessed,
though her friend, that she does not deserve him?
Act in. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 81
I'll take your word for it; you have good sense,
and can see his folly : you can't give up your friend
to be sure ; I see your aflection struggling with your
understanding; but you have convinced me that the
fellow's undone.
Maria. For heaven's sake, sir ! I convuired you !
Groveby. Had the young blockhead but half <m
eye he would have fallen in love with you ; and if
he had, tliere had been some excuse for his folly ;
in my word you are so sensible and sincere, I could
fall in love with you myself don't blush, maiden
I protest I never was half so much smitten in so
short a time, when I was as young a fool as my ne-
phew don't blush, damsel
Maria. You overpower me with your goodness:
but, sir, pray let nie plead for him.
(irovebij. Nay, nay, sweet young lady, don't con-
tradict yourself; you spoke your sentiments at first
truth is a charming thing, and you're a charm-
ing creature, and you should never be asunder. My
nephew, (as you hinted at first) is a very silly fel-
low, and in short it is a damn'd match.
Enter Sir Harry, who starts at seci/iii- his
Uncle, and looks ashamed.
Maria. I cannot stand this interview. [Exit.
82 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
Grovehy. O, your humble servant, Sir Harry
Groveby.
Sir Harry. My dear uncle, I am so happy
Grovehy. O, to be sure you are very happy
to see me here. \_Sir Harry looks confused.^ O,
ho, you have some modesty left And so you are
going to be married, aud forgot that you had an
uncle living, did you ?
Sir Harry. Indeed, sir, I was afraid to trust
your prudence with my seeming indiscretion ; but
were you to know the object of my choice
Grovehy. Ay, to be sure, I shall be bamboozled
as you have been ; but where is the old fox, that
has made a chicken of you ? I shall let him know a
piece of my mind.
Sir Harry. Mr. Oldworth, sir, is all probity;
he knew nothing of my having an uncle, or he
would never have given his consent, without
yours.
Grovehy. Ay, to be sure, they have set a simple-
ton-trap, and you have popp'd your head into it ;
but I have but a short word to say to you give up
the lady, or give up me.
Sir Harry. Let me intreat you to sec her first.
Grovehy. I have seen a young lady ; and I am
so put upon my mettle by your ingratitude, that if
Act III. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 83
she would but talk to me half an hour longer, I'd
take her without a petticoat to Gloouistock-Hall,
and have my Clianipitre-wedding too.
Sir Harry. You are at liberty, sir
Grovehi/. To play the fool, as you have done
her own friend and companion told me she was un-
deserving !
Sir Harrif. That Maria was undeserving! where
is she who told you so? who is she?
(irovehy. Your aunt, sir, that may be, if I could
get to talk to her again so don't be in your
airs
.Sir llarri). Should she dare to hint, or utter the
leact injurious syllable of my Maria, I would forget
her sex, and treat her
Ciroirbt/. And if you should dare to hint, or
mutter the least injurious syllable of my passion, I
should forget our relationship, and treat you
zounds ! I don't know how I should treat you.
>'/> 1 lurry. Rut, dear sir, who is the slanderer?
she has deceived you.
(iroveby. I don't know her name, and you must
not rail her names.
Sir Hurry. WIk re did you see her ?
(iroieby. Here, here.
Sir Hurry. When, sir?
(iroirby. 'I'liis moment, sir.
S'i' THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Ait III.
Sir Harry. As I came in, sir?
Groveby. Yes, sir, yes she could not bear the
sight of you, and went away.
Sir Harry. Dear sir, tlrat was Maria herself.
Groveby. Maria! what?
Sir Harry. Maria, the Maid of the Oaks, my
bride that is to be.
Groveby. That's a fib, Harry, it can't be, and
shan't be.
Sir Harry. It can be no other, and she is the
only person upon earth that could speak without
rapture of herself.
Groveby. And she is the person you are going to
marry ?
Sir Harry. I cannot deny it.
Groveby. If you did, you ought to be hanged
follow me, sir, follow nie, sir siicw me to her Ibis
moment don't look with that foolish face, but
lead the way, and bring me to her, I say.
Sir Harry. What do you mean, sir?
Groveby. What's that to you, sir shew me the
girl, I say ; she has bamboozled you and me too,
and I will be revcng'd.
Sir Harry. But, dear sir
Groveby. Don't dear me ; I \\ on't rest a moment
'till I have seen her ; either follow me or lead the
way, for I must, I will see her directly, and then you
Act III. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 85
sliall know, and she too, that I am zounds ! I'll
shew you what I am and so come along, you
puppy you. [Exeunt.
SCEXE III. A Floicer Garden.
Enter Lady Bab, dressed as a Shepherdess,
pas.sin^ over the Stage, Oldworth fol-
lowing.
Oldworth. Hist, liist, I^dy Bab. Here conies
your prize ; for the sake of mirth, and the revenge
of your sex, don't miss the opportunity.
Lady Bah. Not for the world; you see I am
dress'd for the purpose. I have been out of my
wits this half hour, for fear the scene should be lost,
by intermption of the company what, is that he ?
Oldworth. Yes, he is looking out for us.
Lady Bah. Step behind that stump of shrubs,
and you shall see what an excellent actress I should
have made, if fortune had not luckily brought me
into the world an earl's daughter.
Oldworth. Don't be too hasty, for it is a pity
Sir Harry should not be a witness ; he owes him
vengeance too.
J^Mdy Bah. Away, away.
{Exit Oldworth. Lady Bab retires to a
corner oj the stage.
86 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
Enter Dupeley.
. Dupeley . Where the devil is Sir Harry ? this is
certainly the place where 1 was appointed to find
him ; but I suppose I shall spring him and his bride
from under a rose-bush by and by, like two phea-
sants in pairing-time [Observing Lady Bab.] Hah!
I wish that was a piece of game, she should not
want a mate : is that a dress now for the day, or is
she one of the natives of this extraordinary region ?
Oh ! I see now, it is all pure Arcadian ; her eyes
have been used to nothing but daisy hunting ; they
are as awkward to her, when she looks at a man, as
her elbows would be in a French Berline,
Lady Bab. [Aside.] My spark does not seem
to want observation, he is only deficient in expres-
sion ; but I will help him to that presently. Now
to my character. [Settles herself.
Dupeley. [Adde.] What a neck she has! how
beautifully nature \^ orks, when she is not spoil'd by
a damn'd town stay-maker ; w hat a pity she is so
awkward ! I hope she is not foolish.
[During this observation, he keeps his eye
Jixediipon her nee/,'; Lady Bab tooksjirf't
at him, then at herself; unpins her nose-
gay, and with an air of the most perfect
naivete;, presents it to him.
Act III. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 87
Lady Bab. You seem to wish for my nosegay,
sir, it is much at your service.
[Offers the flowers, and curtseys awkwardly.
Dupeley. Oh, the channing inuocent! my
wishes extend a little further. A thousand thanks,
my fair one ; I accept it as a faint image of your own
sweets. To whom am I so mucii obhged?
Lady Bab. To the garden-man, to be sure ; he
has made flowers to grow all over the garden, and
tliey smell so sweet ; pray smell 'em, they are
charming sweet I assure you, and have such fine co-
lours law! you are a fine nosegay yourself, I
think. [Simpers and looks at him,
Dupeley. Exquisite simplicity \[Halfaside.] sweet
contrast to fashionable affectation Ah, I knew at
first glance you were a compound of innocence and
sensibility.
Lady Bab. Lack-a-dazy heart ! how could you
hit upon my temper so exactly ?
Dupeley. By a certain instinct I have, for I have
seen few, or none of the sort before; but, my dear
girl, \s hat is your name and situation ?
J^dy Bab. Situation!
Dupeley. Ay, what are you .-'
I^dy Bab. I am a bridemaid.
Dupeley. But, my sweet image of simplicity,
8S THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
when you are not a brklemaid, what is your way
of lite r how do you pass your time ?
Lady Bab. I rise with the lark, keep my hands
always employ 'd, dance upon a holiday, and eat
brown bread with content.
\}Vith an innocent curtsey.
Dupeley. O, the delicious description ! beachen
shades, bleating flocks, and pipes, and pastorals.
[Aside.] What an acquisition to my fame, as well as
pleasure, to carry ofl'this cjuintessence of Champetre !
'tis but an annuity jo!) I'll do it.
[During this soliloquy she examines him
round and round.
Lady Bab. And pray, what may you be? for I
never saw any thing so out of the way in all my
life ! he, he, he ! [Simpering.
Dupeley. INIe, my dear I am a gentleman.
Lady Bab. What a fine gentleman! bless me,
what a thing it is! this is a tine gentleman ! ha,
ha, ha ! I never saw any thing so comical in all my
life ha, ha, ha! and this is a tine gentleman, of
vhich I have heard so much!
Dupeley. What is the matter, my dear? is there
any thing ridiculous about me, tliat makes \ou
laugh ? What have you heard of tine gentlemen, my
sweet innocence?
Lady Bab. That they are as gaudy as peacocks,
Act III. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. SP
as mischievous as jays, as chattering as magpies, as
'ild as hawks
Diipeley. And as loving as sparrows my beau-
teous Delia ; do not leave out the best property of
the feather'd creation.
Lady Bab. No, no, I did not mean to leave out
that ; I know you are very loving of yourselves ;
ha, ha, ha ! You are a sort of birds ihsit flock but
never pair.
Dupeley. Why you are satirical, ray fairest ; and
have you heard any thing else of fine gentlemen?
Lady Bab. Yes, a great deal more That they
take wives for fortunes, and mistresses for shew ;
squander their money among tailors, barbers,
cooks, and fiddlers ; pawn their honour to sharpers,
and their estates to Jews ; and at last run to fo-
reign countries to repair a pale face, a flimsy car-
cass, and an empty pocket that's a fine gentleman
for you !
Dupeley. [.Surprised.] Hey-day! where has my
Arcadian picked up this jumble?
Lady Bab. I am afraid I have gone too far.
Ihide.
Dupeley. [Still surprised.] Pray, my dear, what
is really your name ?
Lady Hab. [Resuming her simplicity.] IVIy
name is Philly.
VOL. I. G
f)0 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
Dnpeley. Pliilly!
Ladu Bah. Pliilly Nettletop, of the vale.
Dvpeley. [Still suspicious.] Ar.d pray, my sweet
Pliilly, where did you learn this character ofa fine
gentleman ?
Ladi/ Bab. O, I learnt it w ith my catechism
Mr, Oldwcrth has it taught to all the young maid-
ens here about.
Dupeley. [Aside.] O, the glutton! have I
found at last the clue I'll be liang'd if old sly-boots
has not a rural seraglio, and this is the favourite
sultana.
Lady Bah. [Aside.] I fancy I have put him
upon a new scent why, a real fool now would not
liave afforded half this diversion.
Dupeley. [Significantlij .] So it is from Mr.
Oldviorth, is it, my charming innocence, that you
have learnt to be so afraid of fine gentlemen?
Lady Bah. No, not at all afraiii ; 1 believe you
are perfectly harmless if one trcvits \ou right, as I
(lo our young mastiflat home.
Dupeley. And how is that, pray?
Lady Bab. Why, while one keeps at a distance,
he frisks, and he flies, and he barks, and tears and
grumbles, and makes a sad rout about it Lord,
you'd think he would devour one at a iiiouthfiil !
But if one does but walk boldly up and look him in
Act III. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 91
the face, and ask him what he wants, lie drops his
ears and runs away directly.
Dupeley. Well said, rural simplicity again ! Oh,
damn it, I need not be so squeamish here! Well,
but my dear heavenly creature, don't commit such
a sin, as to waste your youth, and your charms
upon a set of rustics here ; fly with me to the
true region of pleasure my chaise and four shall
be ready at the back gate of the park, and we w ill
take the opportunity, when all the servants are
drunk, as tiiey certainly will he, and the company
is gone tired to bed.
Lad'j Bab. [lont/fi;.] And would you reallv
love me dearly now, Saturdays, and Sundays, ami
all r
Dupeley. [Asidc.'\ Oh, this will do without an
ammity I see!
Lady Bab. You'll forget all this prittle-prattle
gibberish to me now, as soon as you see the line
strange ladies, by and by there's Lady Bab Lar-
doon, I think they call her, from London.
Dupeley. \ja(\\ Bab Lardooiij "ndeed ! Oh, you
have named a s|>ecial object for a pas-sion I
slK>uld as soon be in love with the ligure of tlie
Great Mogul at the back of a pack of ranis If
site has any thing to do with Iteurts, \\ nuist be
when llievare trnin])S.and she pulls fheniout ofiier
92 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
pocket No, sweet Pliilly ; thank heaven that gave
me insight into the sex, and reserved me for a
woman in her native charms here alone she is to
be found, and paradise is on her Hps ! [Struggling
to kiss her.] Thus let me thank you for my nose-
gay-
During the striiggle enter HuRRY.
Hurry. 0\\, Lady Bab, I come to call your
ladyship. [Pauses.l Lord, I thought they never
kiss'd at a wedding till after the ceremony ; but
they cannot begin too soon I ask pardon for
interruption.
[Going. Dupeley stares, Lady Bah laughs-
Dupeley. Stay, Hurr\'; who was you looking
for?
Hurry. Why, I came with a message for Lady
Bab Larder, and would have carried her answer,
but you stopp'd her mouth.
Dupeley. Who! what! who! This is Philly
Nettletop !
Hurry. Philly Fiddlestick 'Tis Lady Bab Lar-
der, I tell you ; do you think I don't know her,
because she has got a new dress? But you are
surpris'd and busy, and I am in haste, so your
servant. [Exit.
Dupeley. Surpris'd indeed! Lady Bab Lar-
dooii!
Act III. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 93
Lady Bab. No, no, Philly Nettletop ! [Curtseya.
Dupeley. Here's a damn'd scrape !
Lady Bab. In every capacity, sir a rural
innocent, Mr. Oldicorth's mistress, or the great
Mogul, equally grateful for your favourable
opinion. [ Sloivly, and with a low curtsey.
Enter Oldworth and Sir Harry, laughing.
Mr. Oldworth, give me leave to present to you
a gentleman remarkable for second sight: he
knows all women by instinct.
Sir Harry. From a princess to a figurante,
from a vintage to a May-pole I am rejoiced I
canje in time for the catastrophe.
Lady Bab. Mr. Oldworth, there is your tra-
vell'd man for you! and I think I have given a
pretty good account of him.
[Pointing at Dupeley, who is disconcerted.
Oldworth. I hope the ladies are not the only
characters in which Mr. Dupeley has been mis-
taken !
Lady Bab. Upon my word, Mr. Dujjeley, con-
sidering you have not been two hours in the house
you have succeeded admirably, to reconuneiid
yourself to your company! why vou look as if
you had gone your va toute uj)on u false card.
*)4 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
Dnpelei/. Tlie devil's in her, I believe; she
overbears me so, that I have not a word to say
for myself. [Aside.
Lady Bah. Well, though I laugh now, I am
sure I have most reason to be disconcerted, for
that blundering fellow spoil'd my fortune.
Sir Harry. How so?
Lady Bah. Why, I should have had an an-
nuity.
Oldworth. Come, come, my good folks, you
have both acquitted yourselves admirably : Mr.
Dupeley must forgive the innocent deceit ; and
you, Lady Bab, like a generous conqueror, should
bear the triumph moderately.
Dupeley. I own myself her captive, bound in
her chains, and thus I lay all my former laurels at
her feet, [Kneels.
Lady Bah. The laurels have been mostly poe-
tical gathered in imagination only ; he, he, he !
Dupeley. Quarter, quarter, my dear invincible !
Sir Harry. Now this scene is finished, let me
open another to you Maria's charms have been
as much signalized as her ladyship's wit my
old uncle Groveby
Lady Bah. Of GIoomstock-Hall?
Sir Harry. The same, and full primed with the
Act III. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. f)5
rhetoric of sixty-five, ai^ainst the marriage of
iiiciinatioii; but such a conversion! such a revo-
lution !
Oldworth. Your uncle here! I must chide vou,
Sir Harry, for conceiiling from me that you had a
relation so well entitled to be consulted which
way is he ?
Sir Ilfirn/. I left him all in a transport with
my bride ; he kisses her, and squeezes her hand
'gad, I shan't get her aw ay from him, without your
help.
Dupeln/. Poor Sir Harry!
Lady Hub. If she has sweetened that old crab,
tJiat his sourness will not set our teeth an edge, she
has worked miracles indeed.
Sir Harry. Tliere you totally mistake Ids cha-
racter, Lady Bab: no he has the heart of an
Oldworth [Addrensing: himsilf to Mr. Old-
U'orf/i.] though, 1 conless, with very dirterent
manners; his expression often j)uts me in mind of
the harsh preparation of instrniuciits; your ear is
jarred before it is delighted hut attend to his
sentiments, and as Hamlet says,
ile uill discoiiise most oxrelleiit nuisic.
He never said or did an ill-natured tiling in his life,
J^dy Bub. I wish 1 had him in town, to con-
g6 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
trast with some smooth successful characters of ray
acquaintance, who will smile upon you, even
though you affront them, and always flatter your
judgment, when they mean to pick your pocket
but here he is, I declare, and looks as if he was
quite in tune.
Enter Groveby icith Maria under his arm.
Sir Harry. [Running to her.] I was coming
to seek you, my Maria.
Grovehy. Your Maria ! sir, my Maria she will
own me, if you won't there, sir, let her teach
you your duty.
[Quitting Maria, u'ho retires with Sir Harry
to the bottom of the stage.
Oldu'orth. Sir, I have many pardons to ask of
you ; but Sir Harry will be my witness, that my
fault was in my ignorance; had I known your
name and situation, I should have paid you my
respects months ago.
Groveby. Sir I dont wonder the graceless rogue
forgot me, but I'll be even with him ; he shant
have a guinea from me.
Oldworlh. Good sir, you are not serious that
he has offencled you
Grovehy. I am serious, that I have found ano-
ther inheritor for Gloomstock-Hall I have got a
Act III. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 97
niece, worth twenty such nephews. [Maria and
Sir Harry approaching.] Ay, you may look, sir,
but she shall have every acre of it.
[Taking Maria hy the hand.
Sir Harry. I ever found your kindness pater-
nal, and you now give me the best proof of it.
Groveby. No, sir, had I been your father, and
you had surprised me with a match like this, I
should have taken another method.
Sir Harry. What would that have been, my
dear uncle ?
Groveby. I would have loaded you with all
the rents, and you should have been forced to
keep me, at your o\\ n expence, for the rest of my
life, sirrah.
Lady Bab. There is a sort of humour about
this old fellow that is not unpleasant ; I must have
a little laugh witii him before the day is over.
Groveby. Well, Mr. Oldworth, I intend there
shall be no more ceremony between us; I shall
not quit your Ciiampetre, I assure you but what
shall I do, to equip myself? one shall look like a
fool, it seems, dressed in one's own clothes.
Oldn-orth. Sir, your good humour and compli-
ance will be a new compliment to the day you
shall be supplied I took care to be provided with
j)lenty of habits for chance comers.
9s THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act III.
Grovebi/. Why, then, this lady, who looks like
a merry one, shall choose for me, if she will do
me that favour.
Lad)/ Bab. With great pleasure, sir; and be-
fore I have done with you, I'll make you look'
Grovebi/. Ay, what shall I look, fair lady.?
Lady Bah. Why, like old Burleigh revived
from the Champetre Leicester gave to Queen
Elizabeth at Kennelworth-castle.
Grovehy. And no bad compliment, neither
'Gad, fair lady, if you could revive more of 'em, it
would do the country no harm, I beheve.
Oldivorth. Well, my good friends now for a
slight refreshment, and then for the happy rights.
Who must lead the bride ?
Grovchy. That will I she is my niece, and
only your ward. Give me your hand, Lady Para-
mount, of Gloomstock-IIall. {Leads Maria off.
Dupeley. And may I be thought wortliy to
offer mine to the lovely Phillida ?
Lady Bab. She accepts of your sagacity as
Cavalier Servante and Cecisbo, [Going off.] and
as we go along, we will talk of the annuity.
Dupeley. [Half aside.]'G-dd, you deserve one
and, if I durst, I'd make it a jointure and Jiovv,
if you please, you may overhear that, my Lady
Quickears. [Lxemit.
Act H\ THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 99
ACT IV.
SCENE I. A Grove.
Enter Hurry, in great spirits.
Hurry.
Here, lass, take tliis basket, and runaway to the
church, or you'll be thrown out, and then you
won't be married this year tell all the girls to be
sure they strew in time to the music; and bid
Dolly Dump smile, and not look as if she was at a
funeral. {Exit Girl.l What a day of joy is this!
I could leap out of my skin, and into it again
here, you llobin
Enter Robin.
Robin. What say you. Master Hurry ?
Hurry. What signifies what I say, when you
are running and fluttering about, that you can
neither hear, see, nor understand?
Robin. Law, master, I try to do every thing
after you where shall I go next?
Hurry. Run away to the ringers, and set the
bells a-going directly and, do you hear? [Robin
returns.] Huzza all of you, till nobody can hear
llie l>ells. [Exit Robin.] What have I to do
100 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act IV.
now? ho, I must go down to the tents. [Going.']
No, I'll go first to the Shrubbery, and tell the
rausicianers [Going, and returns.] That I have
done already I must take care that none of the
servants that will do by-and-by. I must bid
the maids 'gad I must not go near thein neither
in these rampant spirits I am so full of every
thing, that I can think of nothing but to be mad
with joy 1 [Exit singing and capering.
SCENE II. Arcades of Flowers.
Procession from the Marriage, Hells j'inging^
Music playing, Huzzas at a distance.
SONG.
FEMALE VOICE.
Breezes that attend the spring,
Bear the sound on rosy wing,
Waft the swelling notes away,
'Tis Maria's wedding day.
CHORUS OF FEMALE VOICES.
Spread the tidings o'er the plain,
Call around each maid and swain,
Dress'd in garlands fresh and gay,
Tis Maria's bridal day.
Act IV. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 101
MALE VOICE.
Hence suspicion, envy, strife,
Every ill that poisons life,
Skulking vice, and specious art.
All that spoils, or cheats the heart.
CHORUS OF MALE VOICES.
Here the chastened Loves invite
Harmless dalliance, pure delight,
Choral sonnet, festive play,
Tis Maria's bridal day.
FEMALE VOICE.
Plenty come with ceaseless hoard.
Mirth to crown the evening board,
Truth the nuptial bed to guard,
Joy and Peace, its bright reward,
FEMALE VOICES.
But the chief-invited guest,
Health, in rosy mantle drest.
Come, and with thy lengthen'd stay,
Make her Ufe a bridal day.
102 THE MAID OF THE OAKS, Act IV.
CHORUS.
Spread the tidings o'er the phiin,
Call around each maid and swain,
Dress'd in garlands iresh and gay,
Tis Maria's bridal day.
Oldivorth. Thank yon, my honest friends and
neighbours; if ^owr hearts o'erflow with joy, how
must it be with mine ? 1 beg you to retire a mo-
ment. [T/iei/ retire. He walks about greatly
agitaled.] Oh, my heart! my heart! what a mo-
ment is tliis? I cannot bear it ! the tide's too
strong, and will o'erwhehn me.
Maria. What is (he cause of this?
Oldivorth. You are, Maria you !
Maria. Am I, sir? heaven forbid !
Oldivorth. Heaven has granted it, and I avow
it I have liv'd to see, in these times, successful
merit, and disinterested love my hopes and wishes
are accomplish'd ! my long-projected joys are full,
and I will proclaim "em ! I have a child !
Maria. Sir!
Oldivorth. Come to my arms, Maria! Ihy
father's arms! If my lips fail me, let my heart, ia
throbs, speak the discovery.
Act IV. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 103
Maria. O, sir! explain this mystery !
Oldwort/i. I liave a father's riglit! my child's
conduct has made it a proud one.
Maria. How, how, sir! I am lost in rapture
and amazement !
Groveby. So we are all.
Oldtrorth. Excuse me, brother madam all.
My story is very short, Maria ; the hour ot" your
birth made me a widower, and you a splendid
heiress ; I trembled at the dangers of that situation,
made more dangerous by the loss of your mother
to be the object of flattery in the very cradle,
and made a prey to interest, is the common lot
attending it. These reflections, call them whims,
call them singularities, what you please, induced
me to conceal your birth; being abroad at the
time, the plan was easily executed.
Maria. How blind have I been ! Benevolent as
you are to all, I might still have percei\ed and in-
teq^reted the distinction of your unremitting ten-
derness how could I mistake the parent's par-
tiality, the parent's fondness?
Oldivorth. Y our happiness has been the motive
of my actions, be it my excuse. The design has
answered wonderfully for though Maria's virtues
would have \^ anted the humble station of the
104 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act IV.
Maid of the Oaks, to give her due proof of a
disinterested lover.
Maria. O, sir ! expect not words where sliall
I lind even sentiments of tenderness, gratitude,
and duty, that were not your's before.
Oldworth. The life of my ward is a pledge for
that of the daughter and the wife. To you, Sir
Harry, I shall make no apology for my secresy;
it has served to give scope and exercise to your
generosity, a sensation more gratifying to minds
like your's, than any acquisition of fortune that
pleasure past, accept now, with Maria's hand, the
inheritance of Oldworth's Oaks.
Sir tiarry. Sir, your conduct does not surprise,
but it overwhelms me long may you remain the
possessor of Oldworth's Oaks ! When you cease to
be so, he will ill deser\'e to succeed you, who does
not make your example the chief object of his
imitation.
Dupeley. New joy to the disinterested lover,
and to the destined Queen of the Oaks !
Lady Bab. To the amiable pair, and the re-
warder of their merits Mr. Oldworth, you pro-
mised us a singular regale, but you have outdone
yourself.
Groieby. Regale ! egad I don't know what to
Act IF. THE MAlf) OF THE OAKS. 105
call it he has almost turned tlie Champetre into
a tragedy, I think I never felt my eyes t^viukle
so oddly before; have at your double bottles and
long corks !
Old worth. My worthy friend brother, let me
call you ! I have robbed you of a pleasure ; I
know you also had your eye upon my Maid of the
Oaks, for an exercise of your generosity.
Grorehy. It is very true, I should have been as
well pleased as her lover to receive her only with
an under-petticoat, though not quite for the same
reason but you may perceive how cursedly vexed
I am at the disappointment. [Pauses.'] Ay, I must
alter the disj>osition of my acres once more
/ will have no nabobs nor nabobesses in my
family.
Lady Bah. The females would be the better of
the two, for ail that : they would not be guihy of
so mucii rapacity to acquire a fortune, and they
would spend it to better purposes.
Dtipeley. By as much as a province is better ths-
posed of in a jewel at the breast of a Cleopatra,
than when it is melted down hi tlie fat guts of
mayors and burgesses of countrv corporations.
(irovehy. I agree in your preference between
the two; but an honest country gentleman, and a
VOL. I. H
106 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act IV.
plain English wife, is more respectable and useful
than both so, do you hear, madam, take care to
provide me a second son, fit for that sort of family
let him be an honest fellow, and a jolly fellow,
and in every respect a proper representative for
Gloomstock-Hall.
n/er HuKRY.
Hurry. An't please your honour and worship,
here are all the quality persons in fanciful dresses
you never saw such a sight, they are for all the
world like the Turks and Prussians do but look
at 'em, how they come prancing along through the
grove ! I never saw any thing so line, and so
proud, and so fantastical Lord, I wonder any
body will ever wear a coat and waistcoat again
This is Sham-Peter indeed ! [^Exit.
Grovehy. My friend Hurry is in the right
Harry, come and help to dress me, for 'till I have
got my fool's coat on, I can't make one among
'em. \^Exit.
Sir Harry. I'll wait upon you My sweet
Maria, I must leave you for a few minutes for
an age. [Exit.
Oldworth. My heart is now disburthen'd, and
free to entertain my friends Come, Maria, let us
Act TV. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 107
meet *eni, and shew in our faces the joy of our
hearts Will your Ladyship and Mr. Dnpeiey
assist us? [Exeunt Oldworth and Maria.
Lady Bab. O, most wilhngly, Mr. Oldworth.
\^As she is going out she sees Actcea coming.
" Angels and ministers of grace defend us !"
Dupeley. Hey-day ! what is coming, Lady Bab ?
Lady Bab. O, that most hideous of all goblins,
a country cousin and I can neither avoid her,
nor overlook her, as I should do in town.
Dupeley. Where is the barbarian?
Lady Bab. Mistake her if you can the lovely
Diana there that is talking to Maria, with a lin
crescent upon her head, big enough for a Turkish
moscjue.
Dupeley. [Looking through his glass.] Oh, I
have her
By her step, tlie goddess is leveal'd.
Lady Bab. What can I do with her ? she'll
suffocate nie if you don't take her off my hands.
Enter Act tE A, folloived by six Hunters.
ActfEU. O cousin! I.ady Bal)! here am I at the
head of my hunters I left the company to come
to you I want to practise my song before I sing
it in public, you shall hear me, ha ! ha! ha!
lOS THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act IV.
Lady Bab. O you delicate creature ! pray let
us hear it while she is singing we'll steal off and
join the company. [Aside to Dupelei/.] Come,
my dear, pray begin.
[AcT^A sings her hunting song, during which
Lady Bab and Dtipeley steal off, laughing.
SONG.
Come, rouse from your trances,
The sly morn advances,
To catch sluggish mortals in bed !
Let the horn's jocund note
In the wind sweetly float,
While the fox from the brake lifts his head !
Now creeping,
Now peeping,
The fox from the brake lifts his head !
Each away to his steed,
Your goddess shall lead,
Come follow, my worshippers, follow ;
For the chase all prepare,
See the hounds snutt" the air.
Hark, hark, to the huntsman's sweet holloa !
Hark Jowler, hark Rover,
See reynard breaks cover,
Act IF. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. IO9
The hunters fly over the ground ;
Now they skim <'er the plain.
Now they dart down the lane,
And the hills, woods, and vallies resound ;
With dashing,
And splashing,
The hills, woods, and vallies resound!
Then away with full speed,
Your goddess shall lead,
Come follow, n)y worshippers, follow;
O'er hedge, ditch, and gate,
If you stop, you're too late,
Hark, hark, to the huntsman's sweet holloa !
[After the Song, the Scene opens, and dis-
covers the Gardens illuminated. Ac-
tcta and her followers join the Com-
pany. Another set of Compuni/ dance
Quadrilles.
Enter Oldw'orth.
Oldtporth. This is as it should be a dance, or
a song, or a shout of joy, meets me at every turn ;
but come, ladies, I shall trust you no more in the
gardens; at least not my fair dancers; though the
evening is fine, it may be deceitful; we have pre-
pared a j)Iace under cover for the rest of the en-
tertainment.
no THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act JV.
Enter Hurry.
Hurry. Gentlemen, nobility, ladies and gen-
try, you are all wanted in the Temple of Venice, to
but I'll not say what, that you may be more sur-
pris'd ; and if you are surpris'd here, you'll be
more surpris'd there, and we shan't have done
with you there neither \)T&y make haste, or
you'll get no place. V^'^^^y c^i crowd off.
Hurry. [Alone.] Bless my heart, how the whole
place goes round with me! my head seems quite
illuminationed as well as that there. [Pointing to
the building.] See what it is to have more business
than one's brains can bear; I am as giddy as a
goose; yet I have not touched a drop of liquor to
day but two glasses of punch, a pint of hot negus
to warm me, a bottle of cyder to cool me again,
and a dram of cherry-bounce to keep all quiet
I should like to lie down a little but then what
would become of the Sham-Peter? no, as I am
entrusted with a high office, I scorn to flinch; I
will keep my eyes open, and my head clear ay,
and my hands too and I wish all my countrymen
had done the same at the general election.
[Reels off.
Act V. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. lil
ACT V.
SCENE I. The Saloon.
A Minuet.
After the Minuet, enter a Shepherdess, draw-
ing forward a Shepherd by the arm.
DUETrO.
She. Simon, \\\\y so lost in wonder.
At these folk of high degree ?
If they're Hner, we are fonder;
Love is wealth to you and me.
lie. Phoebe stop, and learn more duty :
We're too lowly here to please:
Oh, how splendour brightens beauty !
Who'd not wish to be like these ?
.S'Ae. Pr'ythee, Simon, cease this gazing,
They're deceitful, as they're fair;
He. But their looks are all so pleasing,
Phcebe, how can 1 forbear ?
112 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Acl V
She. Simon stop, and learn more duty ;
He. Honest freedom can't displease ;
BOTH.
He. Riches give; neVv charms to beauty.
She. Riches give no charms to beauty.
He. Who'd not wish to be like these ?
She. Who wou'd wish to be like these ?
" SONG.
" O Simon, simple Simon, know,
" The finest garments cover woe ;
" The outside glitter never tells
" The grief of heart that inward dwells.
*' We rustic folk, so true and plain,
" Can never charm tlie light and vain;
" Whate'er without our fortune wears,
*' Within no pang our bosom tears.
" O Simon, simple Simon, know,
" That lack of wealth is lack of woe ;
" Then homewards go, and let us prove
" The greatest bliss, Content with Love."
jict V. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 113
The Character of Folly enters from the Top of
the Stage to a lively Symphony.
SONG.
Make room my good neighbours, of every degree,
My name it is Folly, who does not know me ?
Of high ones, and low ones, of great, and of small,
I've been the companion, and friend of you all:
Wherever I come I drive away care,
And if there's a crowd, Fm sure to be there.
Fm here, and there,
And every where ;
AH know me all know me
Wiiere'er I come.
Nobody's dumb;
Prating, prancing.
Singing, dancing ;
Running o'er with mirth and glee.
From country elections I gallop'd post haste,
For there I am always the most busy guest ;
And whether it be in the country or town,
Fm hugg'd very close, by the cit and the clown:
The courtier, the patriot, the turn-coat and all,
If I do not sweeten, breed nothing but gall.
Fm here, and there, &.c. &c.
114 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act V,
The statesman without me unliappy wou'd be ;
No lady so cliaste but gallants it with me ;
The gravest of faces, who physic the land,
For all their grimaces, shake me by the hand ;
At the play-house, a friend to the author, I sit,
And clap in the gallery, boxes, and pit.
I'm here, euid there, &c. &c.
\_A slow Symphony-^all the Company retire
to the wings on each side ; the curtains
of the Saloon are drawn up, and dis-
covers the Company at supper.
Enter Druid.
Druid. Folly, away ! nor taint this nuptial feast !
I come, a friendly, self-invited guest;
The Druid of these Oaks, long doom'd to dwell
Invisible, 'till beauty broke the spell ;
Beauty, which here erects her throne.
And every spell dissolves, except her own.
" Beauty breaks the magic spell,
" Her power can every pow'r subdue;
" Can charm the Druid from his cell,
'* To revel and rejoice with you!
*' What cannot beauty, spotless beauty do ?"
Act F. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 115
Stand all apart, while mortals learn
The recoiupence their virtues earn ;
When thus the generous court their power,
Celestial guardians find the dower,
And these are mansions they prepare
For the disint'rested and fair.
[He waves his wand.
The Scene breaks away, and discovers the Palace
of Celestial Love.
Maria ! take this oaken crown,
The region round is all your own :
See ev'ry Driad of the groves,
With bending iiead, salute your loves;
And Naiads, deck'd in constant green,
With homage due, avow their queen ;
Here all of autunni, all of spring,
The flower and fruit to you they bring;
And, while they heap the lavish store,
A father's blessing makes it more.
Maria. It does, indeed ! my heart o'erflows
with happiness.
Oldworfh. Long, long may it do so! my dear,
my matchless daughter! Come then, my friends
and children: I see our joys are too sincere and
spirited to be any longer celebrated in magic and
allegor).
Il6 THE MAID OF THE OAKS, Act V.
Groveby. I ask jour pardon, friend Oldworth ;
this reverend old gentleman Druid has charmed
me, and I hope we shall have more of his com-
pany A contempt for old times may be fashionable
but I am pleas'd with every thing that brings
them to my remembrance I love an old oak at
my heart, and can sit under its shade 'till I dream
of Cressy aud Agincourt; it is the emblem of
British fortitude, and, like the heroic spirits of the
island, while it o'ertops, it protects the under-
growth And now, old son of Misletoe, set that
sentiment to music.
Oldworth. And he shall, brother.
[Druid gives signs to the musicians.
SONG.
TWO VOICES.
Grace and strength of Britain's isle,
May'st thou long thy glories keep,
Make her hills with verdure smile.
Bear her triumphs o'er the deep.
Chorus. Grace and strength, &c.
DupeJey. Well, Lady Bab, are your spirits quite
exhausted, or have the events of the day made
you pensive? I begin to believe there are more
Art V. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 117
rational systems of liappiness tlian ours sbou'd
my fair instructress become a convert, my am-
bition wou'd be still to follow ber.
jLflrfy Bab. I am no convert my mind lias ever
been on tlie side of reason, though the torrent in
which I have lived has not allowed me time to
practise, or even to contemplate it as I ought
but to follow fashion, where we feel shame, is
surely the strongest of all hypocrisy, and from tliis
moment I renounce it.
Groveby. And you never made a better re-
nounce in your life.
Ladij Bab. Lady Groveby, accept the friend-
ship of one sincerely desirous to imitate your
virtues Mr. Oldworth, you do not know me yet;
you forbad your company masks upon their faces,
I have worn one upon my character to you, and to
the world.
Oldworth. Lady Bab wanted but the resolution
to aj)pear in her genuine charms, to make her a
model to her rank, and to the age.
Uupeley. To those charms I owe my conversion
and my heart, hitherto a prodigal, justly fixes
with her, from whom it received the first im-
pression of love and reason There wants but the
hand of Lady Bab, to make Oldworth's Oaks dis-
1 18 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. ^ct V.
tinguished by another union, founded on merit in
lier sex, and discernment in mine.
Lady Bab. Sir, your proposal does me honour ;
but it is time enough to talk of hearts and hands
Let us follow the example before us in every thing
after the life we have led, six months probation
may be very proper for us both.
Oldworth. Amiable Lady Bab! Confer the
gift when you please; but my Fete Champetre
shall be remember'd as the date of the promise
and now for such a song and dance as will best
conclude so happy a day,
[^Short Jlourish of instruments.
VAUDEVILLE.
SHEPHERD,
Ye fine fangled folks, who from cities and courts,
By your presence enliven the fields.
Accept for your welcome the innocent sports,
And the fruits that our industry yields.
Chorus. Ye fine fangled folks, &c.
No temple we raise to the idol of wealth.
No altar to interest smokes,
To the blessings of love, kind seasons and health,
Is devoted the Feast of the Oaks.
Chorus. No temple we raise, &.c.
Act V. THE MAID OF THE OAKS. 119
SHEPHERDESS.
From the thicket and plain, each favourite haunt,
Tlie villagers hasten away,
Your encouraging smile is the bounty they want,
To compensate the toils of the day.
C/ior. From the thicket, &c.
The milk-maid abandons her pail and her cow,
In the furrow the ploughman unyokes.
From the valley and meadow all press to the brow,
To assist at the Feast of the Oaks,
Chorus. The milk-maid, &c.
SHEPHERD.
The precept we teach is contentment and truth,
That our girls may not learn to beguile ;
By reason to govern the pleasures of youth.
And decorate age with a smile.
Chorus. The precej)t we teach, &c.
No ser))ent approaches with venomous toolh.
No raven with ominous croaks,
Nor rancorous critic, more fatal than both,
Shall poison the Feast of the Oaks.
Chorus. No seq)eut approaches, &c.
120 THE MAID OF THE OAKS. Act V.
SHEPHERDESS.
Bring roses and myrtles, new circlets to weave,
Ply the flutes in new measures to .move,
And lengthen the song to the star of the eve,
The favouring planet of love.
Chorus. Bring roses and myrtles, &c.
Oh, Venus ! propitious attend to the lay,
Each shepherd the blessing invokes;
May he who is true, like the youth of to-day,
Find a prize like the Maid of the Oaks.
Chorus. Oh, Venus! propitious, &c.
Druid. {^Stopping the Dlusiciatis.]
Yet hold though Druid now no more,
He's wrong who thinks my spells are o'er,
Thus midst you all I throw them round.
Oil, may they fall on genial ground !
May ev'ry breast their influence prove!
The magic lies in trtifh of Love.
Tis that irradiates ev'ry scene.
Restores from clouds the blue serene.
And makes, without a regal dome,
A palace of each humble home.
[The whole Jinishes withA Grand Dance.
EPILOGUE.
WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK.
SPOKEN BY MRS. ABINGTON.
In Parliament, whene'er a question conies,
AVliich makes the Chief look grave, and bite his tliumbs,
A knowinj;-one is sent, sly as a mouse,
To peep into the humour of the House :
I am that mouse ; peeping at friends and foes,
To find which carry it tlie Ayes or Noes:
Witli more tlian |)ow'r of Parliament you sit,
Despotic representatives of wit!
For in a moment, and without much pother,
You can dixsnlre this piece, and call anotlier !
As 'tis no trea.son, let us frankly see
In what they differ, and in what agree,
Tlie said supreme ;Lssembly of the nation.
With tliLs our great Dramatic Convocation!
Business in botli oft meets with interruption :
In both, we trust, no brib'ry or coiriiption ;
Both proud of iVeedoni, have a turn to riot.
And tlic bc^t Speaker cannot keep you quiet ;
Nay thei-e, a>i here, he knows not how to steer him
When ordir, order's drown'd in hear him, hear him !
We have, unlike to tliem, one constant nile,
We op<n doors, and choose our GaU'ries full :
vol.. I. I
122 EPILOGUE.
For a full house both send abroad their summons ;
With us together sit the Lords and Commons.
You Ladies here have votes debate, dispute,
There if you go(0 fye for shame!) you're mute:
Never was heard of such a persecution,
'Tis the great blemish of the constitution,
No human laws should nature's rights abridge.
Freedom of speech ! our dearest privilege :
Oui-s is the wiser sex, though deem'd the weaker :
I'll put the question if you clioose me Speaker:
Suppose me now be-wigg'd, and seated here,
I call to Order ! you, the Chair ! the Chair !
Is it your pleasure that this Bill should pass
Which grants the Poet, vpon Mount Parnass',
A certain spot, where never grew or corn or grass?
You that would pass this play, say Aye, and save it ;
you that say No tcould damn it the Ayes have it.
THE
LORD OF THE MANOH,
A
COMIC OPERA,
AS IT IS PERFORMED AT
THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE;
WITH A
PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
Among the many unpleasiug circumstances at-
tending the concealed writer of a dramatic piece
(and they are more than are apt at first to occur
to him), it is not one of the least considerable to
a liberal mind, that other persons become suffer-
ers by his failings. Thus while the real Author,
on one hand, has enjoyed the compliment of hav-
ing the Lord of the Manor ascribed to several
men, for whom it is great literary credit to be mis-
taken; so, on the other^ he has had the pain to
see criticism extended from poetical to political
principles, and made a vehicle for party reflec-
tions upon j)ersons who never saw a line of his
writing. Not only have the erroneous guesses
shifted from man to man, they have fallen also
upon men in a body : different scenes have been
given to different pens; and sometimes these sup-
posed writers have multiplied uj)on the imagina-
126 PREFACE.
tion, till they became almost as numerous as the
personages of the drama.
Perhaps an apology may be due to every man
who has been charged with this foundling; and
the more especially as the parent himself means
to continue still unknown confessing ingenuously
at the same time, that his temptations to break
from his concealment far overbalance his discou-
ragements : for after duly weighing every defect
of fable, conduct, dialogue, &c. with which the
severest critic could tax him, what candidate for
praise hi poetry would not bear the weight ten-
fold, for the sole pride of avowing, in his own
name, the songs which by many respectable judges
have been attributed to Mr. Sheridan?
It is unnecessary to trouble the reader with the
motives upon which so flattering a gratification is
resisted. Some of them perhaps are mere peculi-
arities of temper Suffice it to say, that they are
such, upon the whole, as mduce this Author to
request the few friends, who necessarily have
been entrusted with his secret, not to think them-
selves at liberty, from any thing here said, to di-
vulge it. For his own part he is desirous so far
to satisfy the public curiosity (if curiosity remains
PREFACE. 127
upon SO trifling a subject) as to declare that every
word in the following Opera is the production of
a single person ; and should a mistake still rest
upon any individual, it is fit that the burthen
should be made as light as possible, by removing
some prejudices which have been levelled unjust-
ly against the man, whatever may become of
others which may have been conceived ag-ainst
the piece.
Be it known, then, that these scenes were writ-
ten last summer in the country for mere amuse-
ment to relax a mind which had been engaged
in more intense application and the only view in
bringing them upon the stage was a continuation
of amusement, encouraged and enhanced by the
reflection, that if they were defective in many
parts, they were harmless in all ; that although
they might not correct the follies, they would not
ort'end the morals of the spectators.
It could not but be matter of surprise, and some
pain, to a writer intent upon these principles, to
find himself accused of having introduced the
character of Captain Trepan, for the pur]>ose of
impeding the recruiting service of the army. To
be thought a bad poet, is but a conunon niisfor-
r2S PREFACE.
tune, and it may be borne with temper and in
silence ; but the imputation of being an ill-inten-
tioned citizen requires an answer, though in this
case, it is trusted, a short one will suffice.
The writer has ever conceived, that as to shew
the enormous vices of the time in their utmost de-
formity ought to be the great end of dramatic
satire ; so, in a lesser degree, to expose to ridicule
any practice that savoured more of abuse than ab-
solute vice, had its use. They who think the fal-
lacies and frauds of recruiting dealers about this
town necessary evils, which ought to be connived
at, as contributary to the military strength of the
nation, are ignorant of facts, or blind to conse-
quences. So little is the writer of that opinion,
that he has thought it incumbent upon him to re-
store in print the passages which from apprehen-
sion of sudden misconstructions, and from no
other apprehension, were omitted in the represen-
tation. An abler hand might have carried satire
on this subject infinitely further, not only with a
consciousness of doing no hann, but also a confi-
dence of doing good. Let us suppose, for illus-
tration sake, that his IVIajesty were pleased ta
command the First Part of King Henry IV. and
to order all the boxes to be kept for the new
PREFACE. 129
eormnanders, which the policy of the times (from
the scarcity undoubtedly of veterans) lias placed
at the head of corps raising or to be raised ; and
one of the galleries devoted exclusively to the
crimp captains and their subalterns might not
public benefit be united with entertainment by a
just exhibition of old Jack FalstafF's levies ? and
should it happen that any person present in such
an audience were conscious of ' having misused
the King's press damnably' or from any otlier
cause were ' ashamed of his ragamuffins' surely
he could not but feel grateful for so gentle a
hint ! and we might see eftected by wit and
mirth, a reformation, which under a harsh sove-
reign might have been thought deserving of direct
and exeujplary reprehension,
A more serious defence can hardly be requisite
upon this subject, after publication of the piece.
At the Theatre, where the attention naturally (and
in this instance most deservedly) has rested much
upon the music, the public sentiments sincerely
meant to be inculcated may have escaped notice ;
but, in the closet, the writer, without a shadow of
fear, rests his justification from the charge of ill-
will to the military service, ujx>n passages too nu-
merous to be pointed out. He might almost say
130 PREFACE.
upon every character of the drama but particu-
larly upon that of Trumore, where the two ex-
tremes of that passion which fills, or ought to fill,
every youthful breast, is employed to excite mar-
tial ardour; in one instance, disappointment and
despondency in love are made the motives for en-
listing as a private soldier ; in the other, success
in love, the supreme happiness in human existence,
is not admitted as an excuse for relinquishing
the military service during the exigencies of our
country.
To disavow the aspersion I have mentioned,
was the principal purpose of this address to the
candour of the reader; but having taken up the
pen, I will venture to offer to his further indul-
gence a i'cw thoughts upon Opera, and particular-
ly that species of it attempted in the ensuing
pages.
The Opera is a favourite entertainment in all
the polite countries of Europe, but in none, that
I know of, held subject to the laws of regular
drama. There is neither usage nor statute of
criticism (if I may use that expression) to try it
by, unless we look for such in some musical code.
Metastasio, though a very respectable stage wri-
PREFACE. 131
ter, has never been brou<?lit to the same bar with
Corneille or Racine, or any other professors of
correct Tragedy. The vital principle and very
soul of Italian Opera is music ; and provided it
be well maintained in composition and execution,
every inconsistency, in fable, conduct, or cha-
racter, is not only always pardoned, but often
applauded.
The French Opera (without entering into the
disputed pohits concerning its music, or denying
the many l>eautiful passages which may be ex-
tracted from its poetry) is if possible more absurd
than the Italian in its departure from probability.
To the powers of sound is added all that decora-
tion, machinery, beauty, and grace, can supply to
enchant the eye and the fancy; and so forcible, it
must be allowed, is their efl'ect, that the judgment
receives no shock, when tyrants and lovers, heroes
and peasants, gods and devils, are singing and
dancing in amicable chorus all together.
The reader will go with me in applying every
thing yet said to the serious or great Opera.
Another species, but no more of the legitimate
family of Comedy than the former is of 'IVagedy,
has been introduced in all the countries 1 have <d-
132 PREFACE.
hided to. In England both have b6en m use hi
our native language, but with very different suc-
cess. I have no hesitation in pronouncing an opi-
nion, that the adopting what is called recitative
into a language, to which it is totally incongruous,
is the cause of failure in an English serious Opera
much oftener than the want of musical powers in
the performers. In countries where the inflection
of voice in recitative upon the stage is little more
than what the ear is used to in common discourse,
the dialogue of the drama is sustained and strength-
ened by a great compass of tones ; but in our
northern climates, in proportion as the ordinary
expression comes nearer monotony, recitative, or
musical dialogue, will seem the more preposte-
I will not contend (though I have my doubts)
that it is impossible for genius to invent, and for
voice to deliver, a sort of recitative that the En-
glish language will bear. But it must be widely
different from the Italian. If any specimens can
yet be produced of its having been effected, they
will be found to consist only of a few lines intro-
* See Mr. Addison upon this subject. Spectator, N 29,
and others of his papers upon the Opera,
PREFACE. 133
Huctive of Uie air wliicli is to follow, and as such
received by the ear just as symphony would be.
Very few serious pieces, except Artaxerxes, can
be recollected upon our Theatre where it has not
entirely fiailed, even when assisted by action: in
Oratorios it is, with a few exceptions, and those
sustained by accompaniment, a soporific tliat even
the thunder of Handel's chorusses are hardly loud
enough to overcome.
There may be enthusiasts in music who will
treat the disrelish I have described to want of ear.
Let ear be understood merely as the organ by
which the mind is to receive more or less delight
from sublime English verse, and I should be hap-
py to see the dispute brought to public issue
the test should be the jMjrformance of Alexander's
Feast as now set to music throughout ; and the
performance of that inimitable ode, with the
songs alone preserved in music, and the rest deli-
vered by Mrs. Yates without accompaniment, or
other melody than her emphatic elocution.
I trust that in contending against musical dia-
logue in Euglish, I shall not be understood to
think that all music is inapphcable to the higher
compositions of our stage. On the contrary 1 am
134< PREFACE.
convinced that, under judicious management, music
is capable of giving them effect beyond what our
best authors can attain without it music can add
energy to Shakspeare himself. Indignant as an
English audience would be to hear King Lear de-
liver himself in recitative, I believe no person, who
had a heart or taste, ever contemplated the mute
groupe of Cordelia with the aged parent asleep in
her lap, and the physician watching by, without
an increase of sensibility from the soft music
which Mr. Garrick introduced into that scene.
The same observation will hold good with respect
to the additional horror excited in Macbeth, and
delight in the Tempest, from the judicious use of
both song and instruments. I cannot help quoting
another instance of the application of music which
I have always thought a happy one. At the close
of the tragedy of the Gamester, when the distress
is raised to such a pitch that language fails under
it, how forcibly is the impression left upon the
audience by music, accompanying the slow descent
of the curtain over the mournful picture ! How
preferable such a conclusion to the usual one of
an actor straddling over dead bodies to deliver a
tame moral in tame rhyme to the pit, in the same
breath, and often in the same tone, in which he is
to give out the play ! But surely no man can be
PREFACE. 135
SO void of discernment as not to see clearly the
dift'erence between recitative and music thus ap-
phed : the one diverts the attention from sense to
sound, breaks tlie propriety and very nerve of our
language, and by giving to the expression of the
passions cadences of which we never lieard an
example, nor can form a conception in real life,
destroys that delusion and charm of fancy which
makes the situations before us our ovn, and is the
essence of dramatic representation: tlie other,
upon the principle of the chorus of the ancients,
serves to excite and to combine attention and
emotion, and to improve and to continue upon
the mind the impressions most worthy to be
retained.
I am aware that I have entered further into the
grave Drama than my subject required; but the
digression will be found extj^sable, in as nmch as
the same doctrine applies to comic productiojis,
and as it will serve to shorten the trouble of the
reader in what I have further to ofter.
One branch of Comic 0|>era which meets with
success on our stage is evidently a graft from llie
Hurletta of the Italians ; and little as I may ad-
/iiirc it hi general, I will venture to say, res|K'c-
J 36 PREFACE.
lively "to tbe writing, it is improved in our soiL
Midas, the Golden Pippin, and some others, con-
sidered as pieces of parody and burlesque, are
much better than any Italian Burletta I know.
In fact, there is in general in the Italian Drama of
this name an insipidity, mixed with a buffoonery
too low to be called farcical, which would make
the representation insupportable in England, were
the language understood, or attended to. in any
other view than as the introduction and di^lay of
exquisite music.
I cannot easily bring myself to allow the higher
branch of our Comic Opera to be of foreign ex-
traction. From the time the Beggar's Opera ap-
peared, we find pieces in prose, with songs inter-
spersed, so approaching to regular Comedy in
plot, incident, and preservation of character, as to
make them a distinct species from any thing we
find abroad and is it too much to add that the
sense, wit, and humour to be fovmd in some of
them are sterling English marks by which we may
claim the species as our own? The musical pieces
at Paris, upon the Theatre called Les Italiens,
sprung up from the decline of a sort of drama
where half the personages were Italian, as was
half the language. When Harlequin and Argentine
PREFACE. 157
grew unfashionable, such other representations as
served best for an liour of mere dissipation suc-
ceeded, and the light and easy njusic with which
they were accompanied made them very popular.
But the pieces are either parodies, or fouiuied in
general upon materials which would be thought in
England too flimsy for any thing but an after-piece.
They are composed with an amusing playfulness
of imagination, which runs Love through all its
divisions, and usually contain abundance of very
pretty vocal music, with a scarcity of incident and
little variety of character. It is not intended to
degrade or depreciate this style of writing as ap-
plicable to a Paris audience : it is only meant to
state it more widely separate and distinct from
the force and spirit of regular Comedy than our
own. They who are unacquainted with the Paris
theatre, are referred for judgment upon tliis
subject to the Deserter, Zemira and Azor, and
other direct translations; and to Dapinie ami
Amintor, and Thomas and Sally and other after-
pieces, very good in their kind, but written after
the French manner. The Padlock is above this
class in display of characters; and thr FnMicii
have notlung upon their Musical Comic Stage to
compare, as resembling Comtdy, with Loxc in a
VOL. I. K
138 PREFACE.
Village, or the Maid of the Mill, or, to take still
greater credit to our Theatre, the Duenna.
The Lord of the Manor, although the leading
incident of the story is professedly taken from the
Silvain of Marmontel, is an humble attempt at
the species of Opera which I have ventured to
call English, and to describe as a drama the next
in gradation below regular Comedy, and which
might perhaps be carried a step above it. It will
not therefore be thought want of attention to the
excellencies of Marmontel's piece, which as adapted
to French manners I believe no man of taste will
dispute, but respect and preference to our stage,
that induced me to alter and enlarge the plan and
conduct of the original, to substitute characters,
and to add scenes and circumstances entirely new.
I know not a feature of character preserved
from Marmontel, except the sensibility and artless
innocence of the young women qualities, which,
to be truly represented, admit of little diversity by
change of country.
I should be sorry if taking part, or even the
whole of a story from a foreign stage, when suck
PREFACE. Ijy
8tory can be made applicable to our customs and
characters, and is entirely new worked up tor that
purpose, could be deemed plagiarism, because it
would be a confinement to the invention rather
pedantic than useful.
But while I am taking credit for borrowing so
little as one incident, there may be those who
think I had better have borrowed a great deal
more. I can only say that translation, or imita-
tion, would have cost less pains, as it is easier to
spin * sentiment, than to delineate character, and
to write twenty song> to please the ear, than half
as many lines of such Comedy as ought to satisfy
the judgment. I do not contend that a direct
copy of Mannontel would not have been a much
better thing than my talents have been able to
make ; I only hisist it would not have been English
drama. Continued uninterruj)ted scenes of ten-
derness and sensibility fComedie larmoyante)
may please the very refined, but the bulk of an
English audience, including many of the best un-
derstanding, go to a comic performance to laugh,
in some part of it at least. Tlioy claim a right to
do so upon precedents of our most valued plays ;
* Filer le Sentiment.
140 PREFACE.
and every author owes it to them, so long as the
merriest amongst tliem sliews he is equally capable
of relishing and applauding what is elevated and
affecting an observation I have always seen hold
good in an English gallery.
It might be assuming too much to quote any
passages from the Lord of tlie Manor, as a test
that every part of the house can relish refined sen-
timent; but were the fact ten times more appa-
rent, I should still adhere to my former opinion,
and intermix mirth: the censure of a critic of
fashion here and there in the boxes, who reckon
every thing low which is out of their own sphere,
would never persuade me to turn Moll Flagon out
of my piece (easy as it would be to conduct the
story without her) while she excites so much plea-
sure in general, as to prove the character can neither
be false in nature, nor void of humour.
And now a few words upon what I conceive
would be the plan of writing, were men of genius
and taste to try a specimen of correct Musical
Comedy.
In a representation which is to hold * a mirror
up to nature,' and which ought to draw its chief
PREFACE. 141
applause from reason, vocal music should he con-
fiued to express the feelings of the passions, but
never to express the exercise of them. Song, in
any action iu which reason tells us it would be
umiatural to sing, must be preposterous. To
fight a duel, to cudgel a poltroon in cadence, may
be borne in a Burletta, upon the same principle
that in the Serious Opera we see heroes fight lions
and monsters, and sometimes utter their last strug-
gles for life iu song, and die in strict time and
tune: but these liberties would be totally inad-
missible in the kind of drama MJiich 1 am recom-
mending. My i(iea might be further explained by
a passage iu the piece of Marmontel before re-
ferred to. It api)eared to one of the iK'ws-paper
critics, that I had been guilty of a great error iu
not introducing a scene in the Silvain, wherein the
Gardes ( haime of the Seigneur attack the sports-
man with guns in their hands, threatenuig to
shoot liim unless he surrenders his gun, which he
jK'rsists in preserving. By the by, this sort of
authority is more natural in France than 1 hope it
would yet be thought to be in Etigland : but that
was not my principal objection. This scene upon
the French stage is all in song ; and e\cn at Paris,
where licence of throwing action inio song is so
much more in use than it is here, and where I
242 PREFACE.
have often seen it excellently performed, the idea
of five or six fellows with fusils presented at a
gentleman's head, and their fingers upon the trig-
gers, threatening his life in bass notes, he resisting
in tenor, and a wife or daughter throwing herself
between them in treble, while the spectator is
kept in suspense, from what in reality must be a
momentary event, till the composer has run his
air through all its different branches, and to a
great length, always gave me disgust to a great
degree.
Music, therefore, if employed to express action,
must be confined to dumb shew. It is the very
essence of pantomime ; and we have lately seen
upon the opera stage how well a whole story may
be told in dance ; but in all these instances music
stands in the place of speech, and is itself the
only organ to express the sentiments of the actor.
To return to the application of vocal music
upon the English Theatre : it must not only be
restrained from having part in the exercise or
action of the passions ; care must be also taken,
that it does not interrupt or delay events for the
issue of which the mind is become eager. It
should always be the accessory and not the prin-
PREFACE. 143
ripal subject of the drama ; but at the same time
spring out of it in such a manner, that the diffe-
rence can hardly be discerned, and that it should
seem neither tlie one nor the otlier could be
spared.
And notwithstanding all these restrictions, vocal
music judiciously managed would have many oc-
casions to distinguish its own specific charms, at
the same time that it embellished, enriched, and
elevated regular dramatic compositions. In Tra-
gedy, I am convinced, the mind would peculiarly
feel its powers:
' Not touoh'd but rajjt, not vvaken'd but inspir'd.'
In the humbler, but not less instructive line of
Comedy, its office would be to convey through the
sweetest channel, and to establish by the most
powerful impressions upon the mind, maxim, ad-
monition, sentiment, virtue.
.Shoultl any thing I have said strike a man of
genius and taste with the distinction I have endea-
voured to establisli between Comic Opera and
Musical Comedy, viz. between ' elaborate trifles'
made secondary' to music, and sense and .sj)iri(
144 PREFACE.
inculcated and sustained by it, new subjects could
not be wanting to engage their trials ; or if it
occurred to men of that description to try an ex-
periment upon an old subject, and a poet could
be found courageous enough to engraft upon
Shakspeare, as has been done upon Milton in
Comus ; perhaps no subject could be found in the
whole range of fancy better fitted for musical
comedy than the play of As you like it. In-
deed it seems by some songs thrown into the
original, that it was the idea of the great author
himself. To multiply the songs, excellent mate-
rials might be taken from the piece itself, without
injury to the eloquent and brilliant passages which
are better adapted to tlie energy of elocution and
action. And where materials failed in the original,
what true votary of the Muse would not find
animation and assistance in his inventive facul-
ties, from the prospect of being admitted before
the public a companion to Shakspeare !
In the mean time the Lord of the Manor has
been oftered, not as an exaniplo, but an excite-
ment to imj)rove that species of drama
fungar vice cot is; acutum
Reddert; 'jrie ferrum valet, exsois ii)e secandi.
PREFACE. U5
It would be affectation in me, as well as ingra-
titude to the public, to deny the pleasure 1 have
had in the very favourable reception of this piece.
At the same time I trust tliat 1 am duly sensible
how much of the success is to be attributed to the
exertions of the performers, the merits of the
Orchestra, and the excellence of Mr. Jackson's
composition. Among all the circumstances of sa-
tisfaction, there is not one more pleasing to the
reflection tlian that the bringing this humble pro-
duction upon the stage, has been the means of
making me accjuainted with a man whose harmony
I sincerely believe to be characteristic of his mind,
equal to any exertions, but peculiarly exquisite
when expressive of the social, tender, quiet, luid
amiable (jualities of the human heart.
Before I dismiss this theatrical subject, upon
\\liicli I have hazarded many opinions that for
aught I know may be singly mine, I am free to
confess, that in calling upon men of genius to try
the effect of my ideas, I have had my eye particu-
larly upon Mr. Sheridan. As an author, he is abo\e
my encomium; as a friend, it is my pride to tiiiiik
we are exactly upon a level. From llic con-
sideration of him in both those capacities, I fed
mvself more interested than the rest of the world,
146" PREFACE.
in a performance he has some time given us reason
to expect. His Muse, though without partici-
pation of ray cause, will naturally and of necessity
be the advocate of it, by verifying and exempli-
fying true Musical Comedy ; and such a sanction
from the author whom all respect, will be ren-
dered doubly precious to myself by its proceeding
also from the man I love.
THE AUTHOR.
D RAMA TIS PER .90A ..
Sir Jolm Contrast Mr. Parsons
Contrast Mr. Palmer
Trumore Mr. Vernon
Rashly Mr. Bannister
Rental Mr. Akkin
La Nippe Mr. Dodd
Captain Trepan Mr. Baddeley
Serjeant Crimp Mr. R. Palmer
Huntsman Mr. Du Bellamy
Corporal Snap Mr. Williams.
Anftette Miss Prudom
Sophia Miss Farren
Peggy Mrs. VVrighten
Moll Flagon Mr. Suett.
Soldiers, Recruits, Countrymen.
THE
LORD OF THE MANOR.
ACT I.
S('E\E I. At the close of the Overture a peat
of bells is heard at a distance, the curtain con-
tinuing doicn. When the peal is nearly fi-
nished the curtain rises, and discovers a mag-
nificent entrance to a Park, icith a view of a
(iothic Castle on an eminence at a distance.
On the side-scene, near the park-gate, the out-
side of a small neat Farmhouse ivith a bank of
turf before the door, on ivhich Sophia and
Annette are seated and at work Annette
throws down her work, and runs to meet
Peggy, who enters immediately on the other
aide Sophia continues her work pensively.
Keep it up, jolly ringers ding (long, and a\va\
with it again. A merry jM'al j)uts my spirits (juite
in a liey-day what say you, my little foreigner?
150 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act I.
Annette. You know, Peggy, my spirits are ge-
nerally in time and tune with your's. I was out of
my wits for your coming back, to know what was
going on Is all this for the wake ?
Peggy. Wake ! An hundred wakes together
would not make such a day as this is like to be.
Our new landlord, that has bought all this great
estate of Castle Manor, is arrived; and Rental
the steward, who went up to London upon the
purchase, is with him, and is to be continued stew-
ard. He has been presenting the tenants and
they are still flocking up to the Castle to get a
sight of Sir John Sir John
Annette. What is his name?
Peggy. I declare I had almost forgot it, though
I have heard all about hinj Sir John Contrast
Knight and Baronet, and as rich as Mexico an ox
is to be roasted whole the whole country will be
assembled such feasting dancing
Annette. Oh ! how I long to see it ! I hope
papa will let us go do not you, sister ?
Sophia. No, indeed; my hopes are just tiie
reverse; I hate nothing so much as a crowd and
noise. Enjoy the gaiety for which your temper
is so well fitted, Annette, but do not grudge me
what is equally suited to mine retirement.
Jet J. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 151
Annette. I grudge it to vou only, Sophy, because
it nourishes pain.
If" au amorous heart
Is distinguish'd by smart,
Let mine still insensible be ;
Like the zephyr of spring,
Be it ever on wing,
Blytlie, innocent, airy, and free.
Love, embitter'd with tears,
Suits but ill with my years.
When sweets bloom enmingled around ;
Ere my homage I pay.
Be the godhead more gay.
And his altars with violets crown'd.
Peggy. Well said, ray mademoiselle; though I
hate the French in my heart, as a true English-
woman, I'll be friends with their sunshine as long
as I live, for making thy blood so lively in thy
v<.'ins. Were it not for Annette and me, this house
would be worse than a nunnery.
Sophia. Heigh ho !
Annette. Aye, that's the old tune. It's so all
nightlong sigh, sigh! pine, pine! I can hardly
^ct a wink of sleep.
152 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Jct L
Peggy. And how is it ever to end? The two
fathers are specially circumstanced to make a
family alliance. A curate with forty pounds a
year has endow 'd his son with two sure qualities
to entail his poverty, Learning and Modesty ; and
our gentleman (ray master, God bless him!) is
possessed of this mansion, a farm of an hundred
acres, a gun, and a brace of spaniels I should have
thought the example, so long before your eyes, af
living upon love, might have made you
Sophia. Charmed with it Peggy And so indeed
I am It was the life of a mother I can never
forget. I do not pass an hour without reflecting on
the happiness she enjoyed and diffused " May such
" be my situation! it is my favourite prospect."
Peggi/. " Aye, 'tis like your favourite moon-
" sliine,just of the same substance." Helpless souls !
yoii have not a single faculty to make the pot boil
between you I should like to see you at work in
a dairy your little nice fingers may serve to rear
an unfledged linnet, but would make sad work at
cramming poultry for market
Sophia. But you, my good Peggy, ought not to
upbraid me; for you have helped to sj)oil me by
taking every care and labour ofi" my hands the
humility of our fortunes ought to have put us more
upon a level.
Act /. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 153
Peggi/. That's a notion I cannot bear. I speak
my mind familiarly to be sure, because I mean no
harm ; but I never pretend to be more than a
servant : and you were born to be a lady, I'm sure
on't I see it as sure as the gipsies in every turn
ot'your countenance. Read Pamela Andrews, and
the Fortunate Country Maid.
Sophia. Have done Peggy, or you'll make me
seriously angry ; this seems your particular day of
nonsense.
Peggi/. No nonsense, but a plain road to for-
tune. Our young landlord, Sir John Contrast's
son, is expected every hour; now get but your
silly passion for Trumore out of your head, and
my life on't it will do I dreamt last night I saw
you with a bunch of nettles in your breast for a
nosegay ; and that's a sure sign of a wedding Let
us watch for him at the park-gate, and take your
aim; your eyes will carry further, and hit surer,
than the best gun your father has.
Annette. Peggy, how odd you are !
Peggy. Yes, my whole life has been an oddity
all made up of chequers and chances you don't
know half of it but Margery Heartease is always
honest and gay ; and has a joke and a song for the
best and worst of times.
VOL. I. 1.
154 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act 1.
I once was a maiden as fresh as a rose,
And as fickle as April weather;
I lay down without care, and I wak'd from repose,
With a heart as light as a feather.
I work'd with the girls, I play'd with the men,
I was always or romping or spinning ;
And what if they pilfer'd a kiss now and then^
I hope 'tAvas not very great sinning ?
I married a husband as young as myself,
And for every frolic as willing ;
Together we laugh'd while we had any pelf^
And we laugh'd when we had not a shilling.
He's gone to the wars Heav'n send him a prize .'
For his pains he is welcome to spend it ;
My example, I know, is more merry tlian wise,
But, Lord help me, I never shall mend it !
Annette. It would be a thousand pities you ever
should.
Peggy. But here comes your father, and Ren-
tal the steward; they seem in deep discourse.
Sophia. Let us go in then; it might displease
my father to interrupt them. \_Exit Sophia.
let I. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 155
Peg;g;j/. Co thy ways, poor girl! thou art more
afraid of being interrupted in discoursing with thy
own smiple heart.
Annette. Peggy, when do you think my sighing-
time will come ?
Peggy. Don't be too sure of yourself, miss;
tiiere is no age in which a woman is so likely to be
infected with folly, as just when she arrives at what
they call years of discretion. [Kxeunt.
Enter Rashly and Rental.
Rental. But you are the only tenant upon the
manor, that has not congratulated our new lord
u|K)n taking possession of his purchase.
Rashly. \_Aiiide.'] Strange disposition of events!
That he of all mankind should be a purchaser in
this county ! I must not see Sir John Contrast.
Rental. Why so .* he is prepared in giving him
an account of his tenants, your name was not
forgot.
Rashly. And pray, my friend, how did you
describe me ?
Rental. As what I always found you an lion-
est man. One can go no further than rfiat word
in praise of a character ; therefore, to make him
the better acquainted with your's, I was forced to
fell him the worst I knew of you.
t56 THE LORD OT THE MANOR. Act L
Rashly. Good Rental, what might that be?
Rental. I told him, you had the benevolence of
a prince, with means little better than a cottager ;
that consequently your family was often indebted
to your gun (at which you were the best hand in
the country) for the only meat in your kitchen.
Rashly. But what said he to the gun ?
Rental. He shook his head, and said if you were
a poacher, woe be to you when his son arrived.
Rashly. His son !
Rental. Yes, his only son in fact. The eldest
it seems was turned out of doors twenty years
ago, for a marriage against his consent. This is
by a second wife, and declared his heir. He gives
him full rein to run his own course, so he does
not marry and by all accounts a fine rate he
goes at.
Rashly. And what is become of that elder?
Rental. Nobody knows. But the old servants
who remember him are always lamentuig the
change.
Rashly. You know him well.
Rental. What do you mean ^
Rashly. A discovery that will surprise you I
have lived with you, the many years we have been
acquaintedan intimate a friend and an im-
postor.
Act I. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 15?
Rental. An impostor !
Rashly. Your new master, the purchaser of
this estate, is an obstinate father I am a disiu-
herited son put those circumstances togetlier,
and instead of Rashly, call me
Rental. Is it possible !
Rashly. Call me Contrast,
Rental. Mr. Rashly, Sir John Contrast's son !
Rashly. Even so for the sole offence of a
marriage with the most amiable of womankind, I
received one of Sir John's rescripts, as he calls the
signification of his pleasure^ with a note oi a thou-
sand pounds, and a prohibition of his presence for
ever. I knew his temper too well to reply.
Rental. You must know him best I had con-
ceived him of a disposition more odd than harsh.
Rashly. You are right; but this oddity has all
the eftects of harshness. Sir John Contrast has
ever thought decision to be the criterion of wis-
dom; and is as much averse to retract an error as
a right action. In short, in his character there is
a continual variance between a good heart and a
perverse head ; and he oflen appears angry ith
all mankind, when in fact he is only out of iiumour
with himself.
Rental. I always thought you must have been
bred above the station I saw vou in, but I never
158 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. ykf I.
never guessed how much could you immediately
submit to such a change of situation ?
Rashly. No, I thought of different professions
to support the rank of a gentleman. I afterwards
placed my eldest daughter, then an infant, under
the care of a relation, and went abroad ^There
my Annette was born, and, for the sake of econo-
my, for some years educated. In short, after
various trials, I found I wanted suppleness for
some of my pursuits, and talents perhaps for
others; and my last resource was a cottage and
love, in the most literal sense of both.
Rental. But why did you change your name ?
The pride of Sir John Contrast would never have
suffered it to be said, that his son was in the capa-
city of a poor farmer.
Rashly. Our claims were upon the virtues, not
the weaknesses of the heart ; and when they failed,
obscurity was not only choice but prudence. Why
give our children the name and knowledge of a
rank, that might alienate their minds from the hum-
ble hfe to which they were destined?
Rental. What a sacrifice! how strange this
situation must have appeared to you at first !
Rashly. My Anna was equally fitted for a cot-
tage or a court. Her person, her accomplish-
ments, her temper the universal charm of her
Act T. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 159
society, made our new life a constant source of
-delight
' The desert smil'd.
And Paradise was open'd in the wild.*
^ncompass'd in an angel's frame,
An angel's virtues lay ;
Too soon did beav'n assert the claim.
And call its own away.
My Anna's worth, my Anna's charms,
]Must never more retuni !
What now shall till these widow'd arms?
Ah, me ! my Anna's urn !
Rental. Not so, my good sir, you have two
living images of her; and for their sakes you
must try to work upon this old obdurate Heaven
lias sent you together for that purpose.
Rashly. No, my triend, he is inflexibihty itself
I mean to fly him it must be your part to dis-
pose of my farm and little property.
Rental. Your intention is too hasty I pretend
to no skill in plotting, but I think 1 see my way
clearly in your case dear sir, be advised by me
La Nippe. [Without.] Hollo! countryman, do
you belong to the lodge ?
l0 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act I.
Rashly. Hey-day, what strange figure have we
here ?
Rental. As I live, the young heir's gentleman.
I got acquainted with his character when I was in
London to solicit the stewardship, and it is as cu-
rious as his master's.
Rashly. What countryman is he ?
Rental. True English by birth. He took his
foreign name upon his travels, to save his master's
reputation nothing so disgraceful now-a-days, as
to be waited upon by your own countrymen
pray be contented to
Enter La Nippe, affectedly dressed as a foreign
Valet de Chambre, with a little cloak bag made
of silk on his shoulder.
La Nippe. Hollo ! countrymen, which is the
nearest way What, Mr. Rental ! faith the sun was
so much in my eyes I did not know you.
Rental. Welcome to Castle Manor, Mr. Home-
stall I forget your French name.
La Nippe. La Nippe, at your service; and
when you see me thus equipped, I hope you'll for-
get my English one.
Rental. Pray how came you to be on foot ?
La Nippe. A spring of the chaise broke at the
Act I. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. l6l
bottom of the hill ; the boy was quite a bore in
tying it up ; so I took out my luggage, and deter-
mined to walk home.
Rashly. The prettiest little package I ever saw.
Rental. What may it contain .?
La Nippe. The current utensils of a line gentle-
man as necessary to his existence as current cash.
It is a toilette d chasse, in English, the macaronis
knapsack. It contains a fresh perfumed fillet for
the hair, a pot of cold cream for the face, and a
calico under-waistcoat compressed between two
sachets a Vadorat de Narcisse; with a dressing of
Marechalle powder, court plaister, lij>-salve, eau de
luce [Rashli/ smiling.
Rental. [Laughing.] To be sure that cargo
does not exactly suit tlie family of the Homestalls.
La \ippe. Ts'on, non my master would not
trust a black pin in my hands, if I did not talk
broken English I expect him here every minute.
Rental. What time was he to leave London?
La \ippe. The chaise was ordered at one this
morning I must allow him an hour for yawning,
picking his teeth, and damning his journey that
would bring it to
Rashli/. Upon my word, a pretty full allowance
for such employments.
La \ippe. Nothing I have known Lord Dan-
16*2 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act 1.
gle and his friend Billy Vapid in suspense in St.
James's Street, between a fruit-shop and a gam-
bling-house, thrice the time, and the chaise-door
open all the while.
Rashly. Well said, Mr. La Nippe. I see you
are a satirist.
Rental. But what time of the morning had you
brought him to ?
La Nippe. Two o'clock oh, he dares not stay
much longer for he is made up for the journey.
I doubt whether he could take himself to pieces;
but, if he could, I am sure he could never put him-
self together again without my assistance his
curls pinned, his ancles rolled, his
Rashly. His ancles rolled ? pray what may you
mean by that?
La Nippe. The preservation of a Ranelagh leg
the true mode of keeping it from one season to
another What's a macaroni without a Ranelagh
leg our's has carried it hollow six seasons together.
Rashly. We don't understand you.
La Nippe. Why, sir, with six yards of flannel
roller to sweat the small, and prop tlie calf, and
only an hour's attention every day (nothing for a
gentleman to spare), to sit with his heels in the air,
and keep the blood back, I will undertake to oh,
I'll leave Nature in the lurch at her best works
Act I. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 16'3
and produce a leg with tlie muscle of a Hercules,
and the ancle of the Apollo Belvidere.
Rashly. And is this a common practice ?
La Nippe. Common! what do you think, but
to hide the roller, makes the young fellows so
damn'd fond of boots at all hours? they can't leave
tliem off at the play-house now-a-days but let me
be gone.
Rental. Nay, nay, you have time to spare
He umst be many miles off; for it is a hundred and
twenty from London.
La Nippe. Lord help you ! I see you have no
notion how a genius travels.
Rvntal. He cannot fly, 1 suppose.
La Nippe. Yes, and in a whirlwind over
orange- barrows and oyster-baskets at every comer.
You may trace his whole journey by yelping
dogs, broken-back'd pigs, and dismember'd geese.
Rental. Ha! ha! ha!
La Nippe. There's no describijig it in common
wortls I'll give you a sample in music.
O'er the pavement when we rattle.
Trim the drivers, sharp the cattle,
< How the people gape and wonder !
Whirling with our wheels in chorus,
Lv'rv earthly thing before us,
We come on like peali of thunder!
l64t THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act I.
Cracking, smackiug,
Backing, tacking.
Brats here bawling, sir,
Dogs here sprawling, sir,
Now they tumble, now they skip,
Zounds, take care, sir!
Safe to a hair, sir!
Helter, skelter,
Swelter, swelter,
Dust and sun, sir,
Help the fun, sir,
Oh! the glories of tlie whip I
Rental. Glories ! I am sure it has made you
sweat to describe tliem ; and I hardly know if I
have a whole bone in my body at hearing them.
La Nippe. Well, I'm glad it pleases you ; but
as sure as death my master will get liome before
rae [Going.
Rental. Never fear; you've time enougii, I tell
you He stops short at the edge of the forest
His gamekeepers and pointers meet him there
He shoots home.
La Nippe. What the Devil signifies that? the
sportsmen of fashion shoot as fast as they travel.
[Whistle without.] Zounds! there's his whistle
If he finds me loitering here, he'll vent more oaths
Act I. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. l6'5
in a minute than have been heard in this forest
since its foundation.
Rashly. Sir, you may step into .Mr. Rashly's
house till he is gone by.
La Nippe. I thank you, sir. [Exit.
Rashly. My brother here? farewell. Rental
[Going.
Rental. Stay, sir, it is inipossible he can have a
suspicion of you Let us see whether he tallies
with this impudent fellow's account sifl him bold-
ly 1 have a thousand thoughts for you.
Rashly. If he answers the description I have
heart!, I shall never keep my tem})er.
Rental. Perhaps so much the better but he is
alighting from his horse.
Contrast. [IVithout.] Searchum, take up the
dogs, one might as well beat for ganie in Hyde-
Park.
[Enters, attended with gamekeepers ; a gun
in one hand, and a silk parasol in the
other.
The manors are poached to desolation, the sad-
dles are gridirons, and the air is impregnated with
scurf and freckle In another half liour I siiall be
a Mulatto in grain, in spite of my parasol, by all
that's sultry but, come, to business [Gives the
gun to one of his attendants.] Scarclium, get
l66 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act L
warrants immediately for seising guns, nets, and
snares, let every dog in the parish be collected for
hanging to-morrow morning give them a taste of
Norfolk discipline " Nothing like executions to
" si^port government."
Rashly. I hope, young gentleman, you will be
better advised than to proceed so rashly.
Contrast. And pray, friend, who may you be,
that are so forward with your hope ?
Rashly. A tenant upon this estate these sixteen
years, where I have been used to see harmony,
between high and low established upon the best
basis protection, without pride, and respect, with-
out servility.
Contrast. Odd language for a farmer ! but in
plain English it implies indulgence for arrears, and
impunity for poaching. And you, sir, what may
be your occupation ?
Rental. I have been long, sir, steward at Cas-
tle Manor; your father's goodness continues me
so. I'm sorry, sir, you have had no sport but
your gamekeepers are strangers if this gentlenmn
had been with you, he knows every haunt of the
country.
Contrast. Oh, I don't doubt it; and is tltis^ gen-
tleman qualified to carry a gun ?
Rashly. I always thought so, sir.
Act I. TMB LORD OF THE MANOR. l67
Contrast. Where is your qualification ?
Rashly. In my birtliright as a free man Na-
ture gave tJie birds of the air in common to us all ;
and I think it no crime to pursue them, when my
heart tells me I am ready, if called upon, to exer-
cise the same gun against the enemies of my king
and country.
Contrast. A period again ! if it were not for
his dress, I should take him for a strolling orator
escaped from Soho but to cut the dispute short
You, Mr. Steward, and you, Mr. Monitor of
the forest, take notice that I require unconditional
submission in my supremacy of the game.
Rental. In what manner, sir ?
Contrast. The county gaol shall teach trans-
gressors thanks to my fellow sportsmen in tlie
senate, we have as good a system of game-laws a*
can be found in the most gentleman-like comilry
upon tlie continent.
" Rashly. By gentleman-like, I am afraid, young
" sir, you mean arbitrary It is true we have such
" laws modem and unnatural excrescences, which
" have grown and strengthened by insensible de-
" grees, 'till they lie upon our statute-book like a
" wen upon a fair proportion'*! body a deformity
'' fed by wholesome juices. I hope, sir, e shall
" have vour assistance to remove the evil."
16'8 THE LOKD OF THE MANOR. Act L
Contrast. "Just the contrary. Though our system
" be excellent for the preservation of game, it still
" wants a little foreign enforcement In France, the
" insignia of a Lord Paramount of the chase are
" gallowses with his arms upon every hill in his
" estate they embellish a prospect better than the
" finest clump Brown ever planted." You look at
me with surprise, old reformer of the groves.
Rashly. I confess I do, sir ! In days when I
frequented the world, a high-bred town spark
and a sportsman were the greatest opposites in
nature The beau and the 'squire were always
Contrast. Oh, I begin to take you your days
the rusticated remains of a ruined Temple Critic
a smatterer of high life from the scenes of Gib-
ber, which remain upon his imagination, as they do
upon the stage, forty years after the real cha-
racters are lost. Thy ideas of a gentleman are as
obsolete, old speculator, as the flaxen wig, and
' stap my vitals.'
Rashly. May I presume, sir, to ask what is the
character that has succeeded ?
Contrast. Look at me [Turning round.
Rashly. We were comparing, sir
Contrast. Coxcombs never baulk the word
the first thing in which we differ from your days
is, that we glory in our title, and I am the ackuow-
Act I. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. I69
ledged chief. In all walks of life, it is true ambi-
tion to be at the head of a class.
Rashly. And may I ask, sir, if the class over
which you so eminently preside is very nume-
rous?
Contrast. No, faith; and we diminish every
day ; the cockade predominates the times have
set nine tenths of our men of fashion upon being
their own soldiers I shou'd as soon have thought
of being my own gunsmith.
Rashly. But is it possible you can have been
idle at such times?
Contrast. Idle ! I never killed more birds any
seven days in my life than in the precise week the
French were off Plymouth.
Rashly. Singular character!
Contrast. Right for once, old Tramontane
singularity is the secret of refined life. In the
present day it connects the Nimrod and the man
of taste thus we hunt our pointers at full speed ;
our foxes at mid-day; crown the evening with
French cookery, and wash down our fatigues with
orgeat and icid lemonade.
Enter La Nipfe, running.
La Nippe. Sir, sir, apart un instant, mon-
VOL. I. M
170 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act T.
sieur such an adventure ! I have discovered such
a girl ! such a shape ! such
Contrast. Btte! did you ever know me think
of a woman in the country ?
La Nippe. [Aside.} No, nor much any where
else.
[Takes him aside, and seems eagerly to press
him.
Rental. [Aside to Rashlt/.] I think I discover
Monsieur La Nippe's business humour it, I be-
seech you, sir, and ask Contrast in.
Rashly. Sir, will you accept any refreshment
my poor house affords? I hope you take nothing
ill I have said ?
Contrast. No, sir, I bear no malice, and I will
drink your health in a bowl of niilk and water.
[ Aside. 1 I'd not take the trouble of look-
ing at his daughter, if it was not for the hope of
being reveng'd of this old crusty de tristibus.
La Nippe. [Aside.] I must get him into this
intrigue, for my own sake with the maid, if not for
his with the mistress. [Exeunt.
JEwferTRUMORE.
Trumore. How surely and involuntarily my feet
bring me to this spot! Conscious scenes! Sophy!
Act I. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 171
Dost thou remember them with my constancy ?
Dost thou visit them witli my sensibility ?
Within this shade, beneath this bough,
We pass'd the tender mutual vow ;
Recording loves were list'ning round,
And in soft echoes bless'd the sound.
Come, Sympathy, with aspect fair,
And, soaring Hope, that treads on air.
Smile on our truth, our cause befriend.
And sootli the passions that you blend !
Is it impossible to get a glance at her at a distance ?
If I could but do it unperceiv'd
Enter Peggy.
Peg^y. So, sir, do you think I did not spy you
from the window, prowling like a fox about a
hen-roost? but set your heart at rest, the pullet
you are in search of will soon be upon a perch too
high for your reach.
Trumore. What do you mean ?
Peggy. Do you sec that castle there? there
Sir John Contrast's great seat mine are no
castles in the air.
172 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act I.
Trumore. Well, what of that?
Peggy. Well tlien, if you had my second sight,
you wou'd see Sophy in a coach and six white
horses driving in at the great gate.
Trumore. What wou'd you lead my thoughts to?
Peggy. Patience ! Reason! Sir Joim's son is
paying his addresses within Consult Sophy's in-
terest, and your own too in the end, and resign
her.
Trumore. Horror and distraction ! you cannot
be in earnest would Sophia suffer even a look
from a stranger without a repulse?
Peggy. Time enough to repulse when strangers
grow impertinent meanwhile, why not be courted
a little? There's curiosity in it, only to see how
many ways the creatures can find to please us.
Trumore. Tltese are your thoughts but, So-
phia
Peggy. Thinks like me, or she's not a wf>man.
Look ye, I hate to be ill-natur'd but don't fancy
I'm your enemy, because I'm her friend ; and de-
pend upon it we all love to be tempted some tiew
to be sure for the pride of resistuig, and that may
le Sophy's case but ten for one think the plea-
sure of yielding worth the chance of repentance.
1 won't promise I am not one of the number.
.-^f/ /. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 173
AH women are born to believe
In the sweets of the apple ot" Eve,
If it comes in my eye,
Tis in vain to deny;
I so nuich long to try,
I must bite though I die
Tis done! and, oh fie!
Lack, liow silly was I !
Oh, the devilish apple of Eve! [Ejil.
Tnimore. [Alone.] Tormenting \\ oman ! I can-
not however but be alarmed, and shall watch your
steps closely, young gentleman ; yes, my Sophia, 1
will hover round thee hke a watchful spirit
invi:<ible, but anxious to prove thy truth, and, if
necessary, to defend it. [Exit.
S('E\E If. The Inside of Rashli/'s House;
Contrast, La Nipfe, Rashly, Sophy,
Annette.
La \ippe. [Apart to Contrast.] What do you
think of her eyes ?
('ontrast. Passable for a village.
La Aippe. Her complexion ! her skin ! her
delicacy !
Contract. Oh, perfectly delicate ; .she looks
174 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act I.
like the diet of her nursery, extract of leveret and
pheasant with egg.
Rashly. Girls, you may retire when you please.
[^As they are going off, enter Peggy with a
guitar.
Sophia. Peggy, what are you doing ?
Peggy. [Aside.] " Gad, but he shall see a
" little more of her first." It's only the guitar,
madam! It hung so loose upon the peg, I was
afraid the kitten wou'd pull it off
[Touches the string.
Lord! it speaks of itself, I think just as if it
wanted
Contrast. [Aside.] Music too a syren com-
plete I am to be tempted by all the enchantments
of Calypso's Grotto a la bonheur, try your skill,
my dear,
Sophia. Officious girl, carry it back directly.
Contrast. Oh, by no means, miss, pray favour
us with a song.
Rashly. Come, girls, don't be ashamed of an
innocent and pleasing talent perhaps the warble
of Nature may please Mr. Contrast, from its
novelty.
Sophia. Indeed, sir, I wish to be excused ;
upon my word, I am not able to sing
Annetlc. Dear sister, sing the song my father
Act I. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 175
made upon a butterfly I have laugh'd at tlie
insect ever since.
[Sophia sings.}
Hence, reveller of tinsel wing.
Insipid, senseless, trifling thing;
Light spendthrift of thy single day,
Pert insignificance, away !
How joyless to tliy touch or taste
Seems all the spring's profuse repast ;
Thy busy, restless, varied range
Can only pall the sense by change.
Contrast. Bravo, miss ; very well indeed
Peggy. \^As going off.] Gad, I don't know
what to make of him; but all great men are of the
family of the Whimsicals.
Contrast. La Nippe, on to the castle ; announce
me to my father, and get things to cool I am
still hot enough to be page of the presence in the
palace of Lucifer. [Horns without.] What horns
are those ?
La Aippe. [Looking out.] Your honour's mas-
ter of the hounds, and your whole hunting equi-
page are arrived.
Contrast, Have they the new liveries?
176 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act I.
La Nippe. They have and for elegance they
would shame the hunt at Fontainebleau.
Contrast. Let them draw up Jiefore the door,
I'll see them as I pass, [Exit La Nippe.] One
word at parting, friend Rashly. Your daughters
are not without attractions nor you void of a
certain sort of oddity tliat may be diverting ; but
your gun must be surrender'd, and from a phea-
sant to a squirrel chasse def endue no pardon
for poaching and so good day, old iEsop in the
shades. [Exit.
Rental. I must follow but I request you to
take no steps till you see me again give me but
time to work in your favour!
Rashly. You are too sanguine but I consent,
upon condition that I do not see my father.
Rental. As yet it is no part of my plan that you
should. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE in. The Outside of the House.
Enter Contrast, La Nippe, and Huntsmen.
La Nippe. The huntsmen, sir, have been prac-
tising a new chorus song ; w ill you hear it ?
Contrast. A hunting song quite breaks my ears,
it is a continued yell of horn and ;/jy/n, wake the
Act I. THE LORD OF THR MANOR. 1/7
dai/ and hark away but they may begin; I sliall
hear enough as I walk oft".
When the orient beam first pierces the dawn,
And printless yet gUsteus the dew on the lawn,
We rise to the call of the iiorn and the hound,
And Nature herself seems to live in the sountl.
CHORUS.
Repeat it, quick Echo, the cry is begun.
The game is on foot, boys, we'll hunt down liie
sun.
The Ciiase of oM Britons was ever the care.
Their sinews it brac'd, 'twas the image of war.
Like theirs shall our vigour by exercise grow.
Till we turn our pursuit to our country's foe.
CHORUS.
Repeat it, shrill EcIk), the war is begun,
The foe is on foot, boys, we'll fight down the
sun.
With spirits thus fir'd, to sleep were a slianit,
Night only approaches to alter the game.
ITS THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act I.
Diana's bright crescent fair Venus shall grace,
And from a new goddess invite a new chase.
Chorus.
Be silent, fond Echo, the whisper's begun,
The game is on foot, boys, we want not the sun.
[Exeunt.
Act 11. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 179
ACT II.
SCENE I. A Shrubbery.
Enter Sophia and Annette, arm in arm.
Sophia.
I CONFESS, Annette, you are a very forward
scholar in affairs of the heart : but would you
really persuade me, tliat the women in France
sconi to be ui love ?
Annette. Just the contrary. Love, there, is
the passion of all ages. One learns to lisp it in
the cradle; and they will trifle with it at the brink
of the grave ; but it is always the cherup of life,
not the moping malady, as it is here.
Sophia. And according to the notions of that
fantastical people, how is the passion to be
shewn ?
Annette. Oh! in a woman, by any thing but
confessing it.
Sophia. Surely, Annette, you must now be
wrong: insincerity anil artifice may, for aught I
know, be the vices of fine folks in courts and
180 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act If.
cities ; but in the rural scenes, where you as well
as myself have been bred, I am persuaded the
tongue and the heart go together in all countries
alike.
Annette. So they may too : it would be wrong
if the tongue told fibs of the heart; but what
occasion for telling all the truth ? I wish you saw
a girl in Provence as she trips down the mountain
with a basket of grapes upon her head, and all her
swains about her, with a glance at one, and a nod
at another, and a tap to a third 'till up rises the
moon, and up strikes the tabor and pipe away
go the baskets * Adieu panniers, Vendage est
faite !' her heart dances faster than her feet, and
she makes ten lads happy instead of one, by each
thinking himself the favourite.
Sophia. But the real favourite is not to be in
suspense for ever?
Annette. No, no; she solves the mystery at
last, but in a lively key. [" A short French
" song."]
Sophia. I admire your vivacity, Annette; but I
dislike your maxims. For my part, I scorn even
the shadow of deceit towards the man I love, and
would sooner die than give him pain.
Annette. So wou'd I too, dear sister but why
not bestow pleasures with a smile ?
Act II. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 181
Sophia. Giddy girl you know not love.
Annette. Oh ! but you are mistaken I under-
stand sentiment perfectly, and could act it to admi-
ration. I cou'dgaze at the moon, prattle to the even-
ing breeze, and make a companion of a rose for hours
together " only I don't like to prick my fingers
"with it" a propos now; here's a charming bush
in full blow, and you shall hear me address it ex-
actly in your character [Sings to a rose.
Rest, beauteous flow'r, and bloom anew,
To court my passing love ;
Glow in his eyes with brighter hue,
And all thy form improve.
And while thy balmy odours steal
To meet his equal breath,
I^t thy soft blush for mine reveal
The imprinted kiss beneath.
Sophia. Get you gone, you triflor you'll
make me angry.
Annette. Well, I'll only stroll with you as far
as yonder great tree, and lea\e you (o kiss the rest
of the roses to the same tune. [Exeunt.
182 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act 11.
Enter La Nippe, beckoning Contrast.
La Nippe. Yonder she is and the young one
gobg away now's the time at her, sir.
Contrast. It's a damn'd vulgar business you're
drawing me into, La Nippe I could never shew
my face again if it were known I was guilty of the
drudgery of getting a woman for myself.
La Nippe. What do you mean, sir, that you
never make love ?
Contrast. No, certainly, you blockhead mo-
dern epicures always buy it ready-made.
" La Nippe. Aye, and in town it is fitted to all
" purchasers, like a shoe in Cranburn-alley but
" here
'* Contrast. Is the scene of novelty and experi-
" ment be it so for once it is the sporting sea-
" son I'll course this little puss myself." But
hold, she is turned, and coming this way.
[^Exit La Nippe.
Enter Sophia.
Sophia. I did not recollect that these walks are
no longer to be open for the neighbourhood
How simple was that girl not to remind me '. If I
should be seen, I may be thought impertinent
and alone too
Act II. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 183
Contrast. So, Miss Rashly, we meet as patly sa
if you had known my indinations. .
Sophia. [Aside, and confused.] He too, of all
others ! I know it is an intrusion, sir, to be here
I was retiring. [To him.]
Contrast. It is the most lucky intrusion you
ever made in your hfe.
Sophia. [Still confused.] Permit me, sir, to
pass?
Contrast. Not till you hear your good fortune,
my dear. You have attracted in one moment what
hundreds of your sex have twinkled their eyes
whole years for in vain ray notice. I will bring
you into the world myself your fortune's made.
Sophia. [Confused and angrily.] Sir, this sort
of conversation is new to me, and I wish it to con-
Tinue so. [Still endeavouring to pass.
Contrast. [Examining her.] Yes, she'll do
when she is well dress'd one sees by her blush
how rouge will become her I shall soon teach
her to smile X/fl belle goi'ge when adjusted in
French stays
Sophia. [More angrily.] Sir, though your lan-
guage is incomprehensible, your manners are
offensive I insist upon passing.
Contrast. Oh, fie, chiUl the first thing you
do must be to correct that frown and this covuesi
184 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act It,
they have no more to do with thy figure than a
red cloak or blue stockings No, no, my girl,
leara to look a man in the face, whatever he says
to you it is one of the first principles for high
life; and high as the very pinnacle of female ambi-
tion shall thine be thou shalt drive four poneys
with a postillion no bigger than a marmoset.
Sophia. Insufferable !
Contrast. You shall make your first appearance
in my box at the opera a place of enchantment
you can have no notion of ' Have you seen
Contrast's Sultana?' shall be the cry ' All the
women in the town are jEthiops to her, or blind-
ness confound me' there's the language to fix a
woman's reputation ! there's the secret to make
her adored beauty ! it is not worth that, [Fil-
lips his fingers] in comparison of fashion.
Sophia. Sir, I have tried while I could to treat
you with some degree of respect you put it out
of my power resentment and contempt are the
only
Contrast, Clarissa Harlow iu her altitudes!
what circulating library has supplied you with
language and action upon this occasion? or has
your antiquated father instructed you, as he has
me, in the mode of his days ? Things are reversed,
my dear when we fellows of superior class shew
Jet II. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 185
ourselves, the women throw themselves at usj
and happy is she we deign to catch in our arms.
[Offers to take hold of her.
Sophia. [Enraged; and at last bursting into
a passion of tears.] Unheard-of assurance! What
do you see in me to encourage such insolence ? Or
is it the very baseness of your nature, that insults
a woman because she has no protector ?
[Breaks from him at the instant,
Enter Trumore.
Trumore. Protection is not so distant as you
imagined compose yourself, my Soj)hia I have
heard all leave to ine to settle the difference with
this unworthy ruffian.
Contrast. Way-laid, by all that's desperate a
rustic bully but I must submit, for I conclude he
has a forest mob within call.
Trumore. A mob to encounter thee ! a mob of
fleas of gnats of pismires a wasp would be a
sure assassin. But to be serious, sir though the
brutality of your behaviour calls for chastisement,
the meanness of it places you beneath resent-
ment.
Contrast. How he assumes ! because I know as
little of a quarter-staff, as he of the weapons of a
gentleman.
VOL. I. -V
186 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Jct II.
Trumore. It would indeed be profanation of
English oak to put it into such hands thou out-
side without a heart when the mind is nerveless*
the figure of a man may be cudgelled with a
nettle.
Sophia. For heaven's sake, Trumore, be not
violent, you make me tremble no further quarrel.
Trumore. Another word, sir, and no more
could I su])pose you a real sample of our fash-
ionable youth, I should think my country indeed
degraded but it cannot be away ! and tell your
few fellows, if even few exist, that there is still
spirit enough among common jieople to defend
beauty and innocence; and when such as you
dare affronts like these, it is not rank nor estate,
nor even effeminacy, that shall save them.
Contrast. Very sententious truly quite Rashly *s
flourish, In Italy now I could have this fellow
put under ground for a sequin in this damned
country, we can do nothing but despise him.
Boxing was once genteel ; but till the fashion
returns, it would be as low to accept tlie challenge
of a vulgar as to refuse it to an equal. [Exit.
Trumore. How is my Sophia? happy, happy
moment that brought me to your rescue !
Sophia. If the thoughts you most wish I should
entertain of my deliverer can repay you, trace
Act II. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. IS?
them by your own heart, Tniniore; they will
harmonize with its tenderest emotions.
Trumore. Oh, the rapture of my Sophia's pre-
ference! thus let me pour forth my gratitude.
[Kneeling, and kissing her hand.
Enter Rashly.
Rashly. So, inconsiderate pair, is it thus you
keep your engagements witli me ? Neitlicr the duty
of one, nor the word of honour of the other, I
see, is a sanction
Trumore. Restrain your displeasure, sir, till
you hear what has happened no breiK;h of pro-
mise
Rashly. I have no leisure for excuses, nor for
reproaches fortune more than my resentment is
against you. Sophy, my affairs will probably
compel me to seek another and a distant home.
Prepare yourself to set out -with me at an hour's
warning.
Trumore. What do 1 hear? Sir, part us not
I'll be your slave to obtain her presence let me
but follow her let me but enjoy the hopes of at
last deserving her.
Sophia. What ha\e you not already desen'ed ?
If we are to separate, here in a father's presence
188 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act II.
I engage to you a faith that time and distance
shall never change.
Trumore. I accept in the same presence the
sacred pledge, and will cherish the remembrance
of it with a truth, which, like the brilliant ore,
proves its purity by its trials.
Superior to this adverse hour
True Love, my fair, shall rise ;
The turn of chance, the stroke of power,
A faithful heart defies.
A parent may this frame control
By his severe decree ;
But thought, the essence of the soul.
Shall ne'er remove from thee.
Rashly. Here then break off, and to time and
distance leave the further test of your sincerity :
at present I can flatter you with no other remedy.
Daughter, return to the house. Trumore, you
jnust not follow.
Truriwre. I submit; I have saved her from a
ruffian I resign her to a fatlier and angels assist
to guard her !
Rashly. Come, Sophia the world is wide, and
innocence an universal passport.
Jet If. THE LORD OF THE MANOK. J SP
TRIO.
Thus when the wintry bhists are near,
The Stork collects her brood,
Trains their weak pinions high in air,
And points the longsoiiie road.
At length the final flight they try.
Farewell the parent nest,
They seek t'roui fate a milder sky,
Attain it, and are blest. [Exeunt.
Kilter Contrast and La Niite meeting.
Contrast, [/ifter a j;ai:se.] Get post-horses for
the chaise directly.
La ?^ippe. To carry her otY, sir? quick work
I thought how it would be when you set your-
iclf to it.
Conlrast. I wish you had been among the
other curs 1 order'd to be hanged before you had
put me upon the trace of her find me a quick
conveyance from this region of barbarism, or the
spirit of the [)lace shall be tried upon you it will
be no ' profanation of Kngli.sh oak' to cudgel you.
La I\ippe. In the name of wonder, what has
liap|K'ned .'
190 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act II.
Contrast. Happened ! I have been nearly wor-
ried by a cursed confounded two-legged mastiff.
Where was you, sir, not to be within call?
La JSlpjie. Just where I ought to be by the
true rule of a valet de cliainbre's office all the
world over trying the same game with the maid,
I supposed you were trying with the mistress
[Contrast looks angry.'] but, all for your ho-
nour's interest, to make her your friend
Contrast, Rot her friendship 1 would not
expose my nerves to a second encounter with this
new piece of Piety in pattens, to secure all the
rustic females from the Land's End to the Ork-
nies.
La Nippe. You shall not need till she is brought
to proper terms. Look ye, sir, Peggy the maid
is a sly wench, why not make her a convenient
one.' Commission me to pay her price, and slie
shall deliver this toy into your hands that's
love exactly in your own way, you know.
Contrast. I Avould not give five pounds for her,
if it were not for vengeance.
La Nippe. Your vengeance need not stop there.
The father, you know, by his own confession, is a
poacher. I have enquired of Peggy if he has no
enemies he has but one it seems in the parish ;
but he is worth a hundred an attorney broken
Act II. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. ]()1
by Rashly's faculty in deciding diflcienccs
this fellow shall saddle liim \vith as many actions
for game in half an hour, as shall send him to gaol
perhaps for the rest of his days.
Contrast. Your plan is not unpromising, and
you may try one of my rouleaus upon it. If I
could at the same time correct the dog of a lover,
I believe I should grow cool again, and put off my
journey for the accomplishment.
La Sippe. It is not impossible what think
vou of a ])rcssgang ?
Con'rasf. Transcendent, if one could be found.
"The game-laws and the press-act ought always to
go hand in hand and, were they pro})erly en-
forced, the constitution migjit be more bearable
to a man of fashion.
La yippe. I'll about this business directly,
Con'rasf. Content : meanwhile, I'll give an
airing to my inability upon the lawn. Hark ye,
La Nippe, before you ijo, I llihik the sunniiary of
our projects is thus the father to gaol; the lover
to sea ; my pointers, if you w ill, in Rashly's cham-
ber; and his <laughter, in exchange, in mine.
Im AipjM-. I'.xactly, sir. [Eieiint scveralli/.
^92 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act II.
SCENE II. Inside of Rashly's House.
Enter Rashly^ and Sophia under his Arm, as
continuing a Conversation.
" Rashly. Besides these peculiarities of ray cir-
" curastances, and many others which you are yet
" a stranger to, you must see an insurmountable
" reason for discontinuing an intercourse with Tru-
" more the absence of his father it would
" be iudelicate in you, as well as dishonourable
" in me, to j)rocced to a union unknown to him,
" and to which he may have the greatest objec-
" tions.
" Sophia. Dear sir, there wanted no argument
*' to convince me of your tenderness 1 am
'* intirely at your disposal if a tear drops when
" 1 obey you, it is an involuntary tribute to my
" fortune, think it not repugnance to your will."
Rashly. Be comforted, Sophia, with the reflec-
tion, that I lament, and do not blame your attach-
ment; you know I agree, both upon experience
and principle, that the only basis for happiness in
every station of life is disinterested love.
Act ff. THE LORD OF THE MANOR, igS
VVIieii first this humble roof I knew,
With various cares I strove;
My grain was scarce, my sheep were few,
My all of wealth was love.
By mutual toil our board was dress'd ;
The stream our drink bestow'd ;
But, when her lips the brim had press'd,
The cup with Nectar flow'd.
Content and Peace the dwelling shar'd.
No other guest came nigh.
In them was given, though gold was spar'd.
What gold could never buy.
No value has a splendid lot
But as the means to prove,
That from the castle to the cot
The all of life was love.
Enter Annette hastily.
Annette. Sir, Mr. Rental is coming into the
gate, and with him a strange gentleman I never
saw before an old man, and Rental is pulling
oft" his hat and bowing; I wonder who he is.
Jtdfihly. [I] ilh emotion.] SirJohnContrast! how
194- THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act IT.
my heart throbs at his approach ! [Aside.] Girls,
I have a reason to be concealed ; you must not
discover I was within
[Walks with his daughters to the top of the
scene, as giving them direction, and
exit Sophia and Annette remain a
little behind the last side-scene.
Enter Sir John Contrast; Rental fol-
lowing.
Sir John. I tell you, Rental, that last cottage
shall come down, there is not a male creature
about it nothing but girls with black eyes,
and no industry -but what sort of dwelling
have we here ?
Rental. The seat of innocence, once the seat
of more happiness than at present.
Sir John. The seat of innocence! aye, to
be sure, and these, I suppose, are the children of
innocence that inhabit it
[Perceiving Sophia and Annette, who come
t im idly forwa rd.
Sophia. What could my father mean by going
away himself, and insisting we shou'd not dechne
an interview with Sir John Contrast and Rental ^
1 have seen enough of the family already.
.4ct 11. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 195
Annette. Is that he? Lord! sister, don't quake;
he does not look so ungracious
[Thei/ approach timidly.
Sir John. [Examining them.] Zounds! are all
my t'anns over-run thus with evil-eyed wenches ?
Rental. Suspend your opinion, I beseech you,
sir, and speak to the young women ; the family is
indeed worth your notice / [Aside.] Now, Na-
ture and Fortune, work your way.
Sir John. Young women, how may you earn
your livelihood?
Sophia and Annette. [Embarrassed.] Sir I
Sir John. [To Rental.] They are too innocent,
I see, to answer a i)lain ques'tion.
Rental. You alarm them, sir; they are as
timid as fawns. My yoinig mistresses, it is Sir
John Contrast speaks to you; in your father's
absence, he wants to enquire of you into the
circumstances of your family.
Sir John. What is your father, young woman?
Sophia. The best of parents.
Sir John. Not very rich, I imagine?
Sophia. He is content.
Sir John. What business does he follow?
Sophia. He has a small farm of his own; he
rents a larger upon tin's manor he cultivates
both.
ig6 THE LOR-D OF THE MANOR. Act II.
Sir John. You two are not of much service to
him, I'm afraid ?
Sophia. Too httle sir, his indulgence some-
times prevents even our feeble attempts Mr.
Rental knows it is his fault but I believe his
only one.
Sir John. What then is your employment ?
Sophia. I work at my needle for him ; I read
to him; I receive his instructions* 1 once re-
ceiv'd them from a mother 1 repeat to him
her precepts they often draw his tears; but
he assures me they are pleasing.
Annette. Yes, but I always stop them for all that
the moment his eyes moisten, I sing or chat-
ter them dry.
Sir John. This is past bearing, Rental the
seat of innocence! it is the seat of witchcraft.
Rental. Pure Nature, sir.
Sir John. And what witchcraft's so powerful?
Have not you learnt that it is a blessing when the
sex takes to artifice and affectation ? Were women
to continue in person and in heart, as Nature
forms her favourites among them, they would
turn the heads of all mankind.
Rental. Permit me, sir, to say you are the first
that were ever angry at finding them undege-
nerated.
Act II. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 197
Sir John. Have not I suffer'd by it? I lost a
son by this sort of artless Nature before my
present Hopeful, it is true, is an exception ; Na-
ture wou'd stand a poor chance witli him against
a French heel, and a head as big as a bushel.
Rental. I am glad, sir, you are easy upon that
head.
Sir John. [To Annette.] And so, my little
gipsy, (for I find you talk gibberish) your prattle
is always at your tongue's end ?
Annette. Not always 1 can hold my tongue
to people I don't like. I talk to divert my father
and would do the same now if it could put
you in a humour to be his friend.
Sophia. Fie, Annette, you are very bold.
Annette. Sister, I am sure the gentleman is not
angry. I shou'd not have ventur'd to be so free,
if he had not the very look, the sort of half-smil-
hig gravity of papa, when he is j)leas'd with me in
his heart and does not care directly to own it.
Sir John. Wheedling jade ! but, may be, that's
another proof of woman in pure Nature.
Annette. Indeed, sir, I mean no harm ; and I
am sure you have not thought I did, for your
frowns vanish like sununer clouds, before one can
well say they are formed.
198 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act II.
So the chill mist, or falling shower,
O'erspreads the venial scene ;
And in the vapour of the hour
We lose the sweet serene.
But soon the bright meridian ray
Dispels the transient gloom ;
Restores the promise of the day,
And shews a world in bloom.
Sir John. Tliis is past enduring. Rental, take
notice the decree is past irrevocably as fate no
reply this house and all that belongs to it father,
daughters, servants, to the very squirrels and lin-
nets, shall
Rental. Be laid low, sir ?
Sir John. Be secur'd! protected! raised! It
shall become the mansion of plenty and joy; and
these girls shall pay the landlord in song and
sentiment.
Rental. I thank you m the name of their father.
A man more worthy your favour does not live
and you only can save him from his enemies.
Sir John. Who are theyi'
Rental. He has one in particulary honourable
and benevolent in his nature, but who vowed en-
Act IJ. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. ipp
mity to liitn ui a fit of passion, and has obstinately
adhered to it ever since.
Sir John. Does he so? Gad, tliat's no fool
though ! no weathercock ! and how did he de-
serve this enmity? But that's no matter with a
man of the decision and wisdom you describe.
Rental. You'll best decide upon the provocation
when the effects of it are laid before you as an
impartial judge.
Sir John. I hate impartiality, and set out on this
business upon a quite contrary principle. Come
forward, my little clients, give a kiss of partiality
a piece now I am feed your advocate for ever
so come to the Castle in the evening ; bring your
father with you; let this obstinate dog appear if
he dare my obstinacy is now bound to defeat
his, right or wrong he shall give way, and he
may look for an excuse to himself in the eyes of
my little charmers.
Rental. He is very j)ositive.
.SV;- John. He shall go to the stocks, if he is.
What, not }ield when the interest of my darlings
is in question? By all that's steady, I'll build a
new house of correction, and they shall ktcp the
key.
Rental. But be upon your gUcird, >>ir; he will
be asserting his former resolutions.
200 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act II.
Sir John. Tell not me of his assertions,
Mine are laws of Medes and Persians ;
Vain against them all endeavour,
Right or wrong they bind for ever.
Sophia. Remember then a daughter's prayer,
Receive a parent to your care ;
Annette. Frown on his foe's obdurate plea,
But keep benignant smiles for me.
Ente7' Peggy.
Peggy. When I see my betters hearty,
How I long to be a party !
Pardon me if I intrude, sir ;
I'd be pleasant, but not rude, sir.
Sophia. P<^ggy? have done.
Annette. It is Sir Jolin.
Peggy. I'm sure he looks compliant.
Sop. and Ann. From hence he goes,
To crush our foes.
Sir John. As Jack did once the Giant.
Sophia. Remember your clients with trouble*
beset.
Act If. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 201
Annette. Remember Sophia, remember Aunette.
Sir John. The cause of my dicnts I'll never for-
get,
The kiss of Sophia, the kiss of Aimette.
[Exeunt.
VOL. I.
202 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III.
ACT III.
SCENE I. Enter Peggy, and La Nipve
following and courting.
Peggy.
If you offer to be impudent again, \ou shall have
it on both ears instead of one. I tell you I'm a
married woman ; is not that an answer ?
La Nippe. Yes, of encouragement, my dear
it seldom is an objection in the world I have in-
habited.
" Peggy. The world is at a fine pass by your
" account But these are some of your outlandish
" notions they wou'd make tine cutting of throats
" among English husbands.
" La Nippe. [Laughing.] Cutting throats !
" Oh, my sweet Peg, how ignorant you are! I
" wish your husband was at home with all my
" heart Pd shew you how to follow the example
" of our betters I wou'd dine with you both
" every day, and he should thank me for pre-
" serving the peace of his family.
" [Puts his arm round her^
Act III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 203
Peggy. " [Pushing him.] Keep your distance,
Mr. Assurauce" If this be the new style of matri-
mony, Heaven keep Sophia clear of it, 1 say.
La Aippe. Oh, my dear, you need be in no
pain about that. She is not ui the least danger.
Peggy. Why, did not you tell me your master
was mad in love for her, and wou'd make my for-
tune if I wou'd help him ?
La Aippe. Exactly! but what has that to do
with marriage?
Peggy. [In surprise.] What the deuce has it to
do with else ?
La yippe. Pleasure and profit. He'll love her
out of vanity, if she makes a figure as his mistress;
he'd hate for her fashion's sake, if she was his wife.
Let us but get the couple well established in Lon-
don who knows but you and I may be exalted to
be their toads.
Peggy. Toads!
La jSippe. One takes any name for a fortune,
and this is become a fashionable one I assure you.
In short, you will be the companion of her plea-
sures ; dress'd as well as herself; courted by
every man who has a design uj)on her and make
a market of her every day. Oh, you'll have quite
the pull of me in employment.
Peggy. Indeed!
204 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III.
La Nippe. Yes, I shall change damnably for
the worse in quitting the life of a valet for that of
a companion. " Follower to what he calls a man
*' of fashion ! zounds ! I'd rather be a bailift''s fol-
*' lower by half if it was not for what may come
* after."
Peggy. I have no longer any patience with the
rogue's impudence! [Aside.] " So, having de-
" clar'd yourself a pimp you wou'd make me a
*' procuress, and Miss Sophy a
La Nippe, " [Stopping her moth.] Hold your
" tongue, you jade and don't give gross names
" to characters so much in fashion." Come,
don't be silly and angry now 1 have dealt o|>enly
with you, knowing you to be a woman of sense
and spirit [Peggi/ seems angry.] Don't be in a
passion I tell you here, my dear liere's a gentle
receipt for anger liere did you ever see this
sort of thing before ?
[Takes a rouleau of guineas from his pocket.
Peggy. What is it?
La Nippe. [Measuring the rouleau on his
Jinger.] A rouleau ! fifty guineas wrapt up in this
small compass. One may know it by its make, it
is from the first club in town there it is, escaped
from sharpers and creditors, to purchase beauty
and kindness.
Act III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 203
Peg^}/. \^AAde.'\ I could tear his eyes out is
there no wdy to be even with liiin?
La N'tppc. Aye, take a uiiuute, my dear, to con-
sider I know but few of your sex wou'tl require
so muc!i time.
Pegg:y. \To ftcrsflj'.] No means of fitting the
rogue ! Gad I have a thought If I am not too
inufh in a passion to dissemble I am not much
used to artirice but they say it never fails a wc- "
man at a j)inch. [Looking Icm/lli/.] Why to be
sure, I was considering upon that little device
let's feel, is it heavy? [Tal.iiig the moncij.
La Aippe. Oh! of great weight.
Peggy. Law ! not at all, I cou'd carry a Inuulred
of them but ])ray now tell me fairly what am I
to do for it ?
La ?\ippe. Nothing but an office of good-na-
ture you are to j)ut your mistress into my mas-
ter's haiKis yon women can do more with one
another in tins sort of business in a day, tlia.i a
lover (at least such a one as ours) will do in a
year.
Pes[g}i. Lord, how modest you are all at once
speak out I am to seduce my mistress for
La Aip/je. Fie, what names you are giving
things again! you are to remov*' t'oolish prcju-
206 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act TIL
dices ; to open a friend's eyes to tlieir interest
zounds, child ! it's an office for a statesman.
Pes:gy. Oh, that's all
Im Nippe. Not quite all; you know ther'es a
something that regards ourselves, but that goes of
course in negociations of this sort.
Peggy. Oh, does it? and what do you call
this pretty invention ?
La Nippe. An abridgment of polite aritlunetic
a purse must be counted, which is troublesome ;
a note requires reading, which to some persons
may be inconvenient but the rouleau conveys
fifty guineas to your pocket without a single chink,
and takes up less room than a toothpick case.
Peggy. This bewitches me, I think.
La Nippe. Yes, my dear, its always reckon 'd
bewitching.
The rouleau is form'd with a magical twist,
To conquer caprice or displeasure :
If your object the offer of one should resist.
You have only to double the measure.
It finds to all places its way without eyes,
Without tongue it discourses most sweetly;
To beauty or conscience aUke it applies,
And settles the business completely.
Act III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. CO7.
Well, who could have thought such a wonderful
poAver,
In a compass so small could be hidden ;
To sweeten at once the grapes that are sour,
And purchase e'en fruit that's forbidden.
A magic so pleasant must surely be right,
Without scruple I pocket the evil,
I'll shew \ou the proper eft'ect before night,
Aufl leave you to account with the devil.
La yippe. Excellent ! now you are a girl ex-
actly after my own heart where sliall we meet?
Penrpry. Why you must know tliis is the day of
our wake ; and Sir John gives a treat to all the
tenants, .so e\ery body will be busy, and so about
an hour before sun-set come to the hay-rick by the
pool of the farm-yard.
Ln '\ippe. Oh, you jade, I shall have no pati-
ence if vou make me wait.
Pcsrs://. I'll come whenever I am sure the coast
is clear but in the mean time you shall find a
harvest cag, with a sup of cordial to kee)) up your
spirits; in the country we never make a bargain
with dry lips.
Jm JSippe. [/isiWf.] What the devil, my dairy-
208 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act IIL
maid drinks drams! she'll be fit to cry milk in
the streets of London 1 need not have paid so
high if I had known that.
Peggy. Be sure now to be punctual.
La Nippe. And you to be complying.
Peggy. Oh, as for that you know ' If your
object your offer of one should resist,' &c.
[ Exeunt separately, she singing, he nodding.
SCENE II. Booths for a country Wake a large
one in the form of a tent Recruits in diffe-
rent coloured Cockades at work in fitting it
vp.
Captain Trepan. Come, stir my lads briskly,
briskly up with the rest of the advertisements
we shall have the wake fill'd before we are
ready.
Enter Rental.
Rental. Hey-day! what have we hear.? if yon
have any shew to exhibit, friend, you ouglit to ask
leave before you erect your booth.
Trepan. Ah, sir, the Lord of the Manor is too
good a subject to obstruct my work. [To the
workmen] Bring fonvard the great butt there,
place it in view by the drum and colours.
1_
Act III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 209
Rental. By \our dress you should belong to
the army; pray, sir, what is your real business?
Trepan. I am a manufacturer of honour and
glory vulgarly call'd a recruiting deale r - -or,
more vulgarly still, a skin merchant. I come to a
countr*' wake as to a good market a little pati-
ence, and you shall see my practice come, paste
up more bills and the devices they are not
half thick enough where 's the lion rampant, with
a grenadier's cap upon his head ?
Fh'st Workman. Here, sir, here.
Trepan. And the marine device?
Second UovUman. Here it is done to the
life the prize ijoarded; the decks running with
arrack punch, and danuned up witli gold lust.
Trepan. Iligiit, lad, place that next the lion. 1
don't see the London tailor witli iiis foot upon the
neck of the French kiiig.
Third Workman. Here he is in all his glory.
Trepan. Paste him up on the other flank of the
lion so, so, pretty well wliat have you left
for the corner?
Fourth Workman. The East-Indies, Captain, a
nabob in triumph, throwing rougii diamonds to the
young fifcrs to play at ii'.;:rhlcs.
Trepan. [To Rental.] \ try well, very well
sir, how do you like my sliop?
210 THE LORD OF THE MANOR Act III.
Rental. Faith, sir, the construction seems to be
as curious as your employment I think you call'd
yourself a skin merchant.
Trepan. Mine, sir, is a new trade, but a neces-
sary and a happy one, for it flourishes in propor-
tion to the spirit of the nation and if our rulers
will but employ it properly Captain Trepan shall
furnish them for next year with twenty thousand
new Alexanders at five pence a day.
Rental. Well, Captain, as you have call'd your's
a trade, will you oblige me so much as to explain
how it is carried on ?
Trepan. Oh, with pleasure, sir! Suppose new
regiments are to be raised I am applied to
Captain Trepan that's my name, sir How are
skins now ? How many may you want ? Five hun-
dred Why, your honour, answers I, those that
are fit for all use, that bear fire, and wear well in
all climates, cannot be afforded for less than ten
pounds a-piece \\c have an inferior sort that we
sell by the hundred FIl take half and half, says
my employer! Your place of dehvery? Ply-
mouth! Agreed! and they are on shipboard in
a month.
Rental. But, Captain, sure this business is sub-
ject to frauds ?
Trepan. Yes, there are rogues in all trades
Act II f. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 21 1
but my word is known. I never ran the same
recruit through ujore than tliree regiments in my hfe
and that only wiicn we have been hard pressed
for a re\iew.
Rental. Very conscientious, upon my word.
Trepan. Aye, and my conscience has made me
I export more goods than all the trade together.
Let us but have a fair trial with our enemies in
any part of the world and then see if Captain
Trepan's skins don't tigure but here. Sergeant
Crimp, let the recruits fall in.
" Rental. [Reading the bills.] Very fine lau-
" guage, Ci'ptain I see you are a great writer as
" well as an orator.
" Trepan. I cou'd not do without the talents of
" both, sir next to gold and brandy, a glib
" tongue and a ready pen are the best implements
" in our trade novelty in every line, you see
" 7ie7v clothes, new arms, new commanders,
" new
" Rental. There I doubt a little, whether no-
" velty is so proper would nut old commanders
" be more encouraging ?
" Trepan. No, it i^ not tliouglit so old coin-
" manders, like old wiiiers, may be good to stick
"to; but tlio new sj;;rklcs, and gets into the
"head, and presently makes it fit to be run jgainst
212 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III.
"the wall" See how my new Colonels stand over
the old ones, M'ith their names in capitals as tall as
their spontoons.
Rental. Arranged with a great deal of fancy
indeed.
Trepan. Aye, and meaning too I can tell you
but do only look at my recruits do but look
at them [Crimp gives the icord March.]
there's stuff for all work southern rangers, ajid
northern hunters low-landers and high-landers,
and loyals and royals, and chasseurs and dasheurs
I suppose now you would like such a fellow as
that. [Pointing to a smart recruit.
Rental. It is a thousand pities he should be
shot at.
Trepan. Be in no apprehension, he'll never die
by powder.
Rental. What do you mean?
Trepan. Lord help you ! how you might be im-
posed upon he's my decoy-duck mere shew
goods for the shojvwindow not an ijich of wear
and tear in the whole piece. The dog inherited
desertion from his family. His brother was called
Quicksilver Jack, he was hanged at last at Berlin,
after having served six different princes in the
same pair of shoes.
Alt III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 213
Enter Trumore. [Ilastifi/.]
Trumore. Which is the comnuuider of tlje
party ?
Trepan. Your pleasure, sir.
Trumore. A musquet in a regiment upon foreign
service.
Trepan. Aiid a liandful of guineas to boot, my
lad of mettle ; this is something like a recruit.
Rriital. \To Trumore.] What's t!iis Trumore
enlisting can 1 believe my 'yes?
Tnimore. Yes, and }our heart too vliich is
always on the side of a well-meant action.
Rental. What has driven you to such an act of
desperation?
Trumore. Rashly quits the country 1 am con-
vinced his repugnance to my union with his (huigh-
ter is the cause. He is provident I am undone
Ive is besides in immediate trouble perhaps going
to gaol upon informations for killing game I
must give him a proof of my respect and my
friendslii|) as well as of my resignation.
Rental. [Aside.] fJenerous youth! Dnl rillct
all things go on if they do not unitedly woik u|ion
the old man's heart, it must be adamant. Cap-
tain, von'll see Sir John Contrast.
214 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III.
Trepan. I shall attest my recruits before him, and
this brave fellow at their head. \^Exit Rental.
Trumore. I shall be ready, but there is a condi-
tion must first be complied with.
Trepan. Name it.
Trumore. Twenty guineas to make up a sum
for an indispensable obligation I scorn to take it
as enlisting money you shall be repaid.
Trepan. You shall have it any 'thing more?
Trumore. Absence for half an hour in that time
depend upon't I'll meet you at the Castle. [^Eocit,
Enter Sergeant Crimp.
Crimp. [To Trepan."] Here's a fine set of coun-
try fellows getting round us, a march and a song
might do well.
Trepan. [Aside.] You are right! [. j/cj/f/.] Come,
my lads, we'll give you a taste of a soldier's life.
Corporal Snap, give them the song our ofiicers
used to be so fond of; it will please their sweet-
hearts as well as themselves strike up drums.
[Corporal Snap sings.]
Gallant comrades of the blade,
Pay your vows to beauty;
Mars's toils are best repaid
In the arms of beauty.
Jet in. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 215
With the myrtle mix the vine,
Round the laurel let them twine ;
Then to glon', love, and wine
Pay alternate duty.
CHORUS.
Gallant comrades, &c.
SCEXE III. Enter Peggy, tvith an emptij
(ag, laughing.
Peggy. The rogue has drank it every drop;
poppy water and cherry brandy together work
delightfully he'll sleep some hours in a charming
ditch where I have had him convey'd pleasant
dreams to you, Monsieur La Nippe. What wou'd
1 give if I cou'd requite your master as well.
Enter Sergeant Crimp and Soldiers.
Crimp. My life on't the dog's oft^ the moment
Trepan told me of his pelaver, I suspected he was
an old hand, with his voluntary ser\ice, and his
honour, and his half hour. [Seeing Pi-fiL';:/.]
Mistress, did you see a young fellow with a sriiiict
cockade in his hat pass this w hv ?
Pfg-o-y. Not I, indeed, friend ; I was othnwavs
employed.
Crimp. Nay, don't be cross; we arc looking lor
2l6 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III.
a deserter ; he is described as a likely young fellow.
Come, if you can give me intelligence, you shall
have half the reward for apprehending him.
Peggy. Here's another bribe; one may have
them, I see, for betraying either sex. And what
would you do with him ?
Crimp. Oh, no harm, as it is the first fault.
We should put him in the black hole at present, just
to give him the relish of bread and water ; the party
marches at midnight; he'll be handcuifed upon
the road ; but as soon as he gets between decks in
a transport, he'll be perfectly at liberty again.
Peggy. Gad whoever he is, if I could see him,
I'd give him a hint of your intended kindness.
[Looking out.l Hey ! who's this coming ? the
hero of the plot, young Contrast. [Ruminates^
It would be special vengeance a bold stroke,
its true, but a public justice to woman-kind
hang fear, I'll do't hark ye, Mr. What-d'ye-
call-'em, did you ever see the man you are in
search of.?
Crimp. No, but I think I should know him.
Peggy. [Pointing. ~\ That's your mark, I fancy.
Crimp. Gad it must be so ; but I don't see his
cockade.
Peggy. I saw him pull it off, and throw it in
the ditch as he came over yonder stile.
Act in. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 2l7
Crimp. Ah ! an old liaiul, as I suspected^meet
me at tJie Castle, where we shall convict him
you shall have the reward.
Peggy. To be sure, money does every thing;
but have some pity upon the young man you
won't treat him worse than what you told me?
Crimp. No, no, get you gone, he'll never know
who did his business,
Peggi/. [Archly.] But don't treat him hardly.
[Exit
Enter CoyiTRAST yaumiiig ; Crimp comes be-
hind, and taps him upon the shoulder.
Crimp. Well overtaken, brother soldier.
Contrast. Friend, I conclude you are of this
neighbourhood, by the happy familiarity that dis-
tinguishes it ; but at present it is misapplied, you
mistake me for some other.
Crimp. Mistake you no, no, your legs would
discover you among a thousand I never saw a
fellow better set upon his pins.
Contrast. [Looking at his legs.] Not so much
out there.
Crimp. But where have you been loitering so
long? is your knapsack packed; have you taken
leave of your sweetheart ? she must not go with
you, I can tell you v'e are allowed but four wo-
VOL. I. P
218 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Jct III.
men a company for embarkation, and the officers
have chosen them all already.
Contrast. Sure there is some strange quality in
this air the people are not only impudent but
mad.
Crimp. I shall find a way to bring you to your
senses, sir; what did you pull the cockade out of
your hat for, you dog?
Contrast. What the devil can he mean ?
Crimp. Why, you rascal, you won't deny that
you are enlisted to embark immediately for the
West-Indies? have not you touched twenty guineas
for the legs you are so proud of? pretty dearly
bought.
Contrast. Now its plain how well you know me
thy own gunpowder scorch me, if I'd lie in a
tent two nights to be Captain General of the
united I'otentates of Europe.
Crimp. The dog's insolence outdoes the com-
mon but come, walk on quietly before me.
[Pushing him.
Contrast. Walk before you ! [Resisting.
Crimp, Oh, oh ! nmtinous too [Whistles.
Enter four or Jive Soldiers.
First Soldier. Here we are, Sergeant ! what are
vour orders?
^ict III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 219
Crimp. Lay hold of that fellow ; he's a deserter
a thief and the sauciest dog in the army.
Have you no handcuffs ?
Enter Moll Flagon. A Soldiers Coat over
her Petticoat, a Gin-bottle by her Side, and a
short Pipe in her Mouth.
Moll. No occasion for 'em, master Sergeant
don't be too hard upon the young man brandy
be my poison but I like the looks of him here,
my heart take a whiff [Offers her pipe.}
What, not burn priming ! come, load then.
[Gires him a glass of brandy.
Contrast. It is plain these are a set of murderers
no help ! no relief!
Moll. Relief, sirrah ! you're no centry yet.
Sergeant, give me charge of him Moll Flagon
never fail'd when she answer'd for her man.
Crimp. With all my heart, honest Moll! and
see what you can make of him.
Moll. Never fear, FU make a soldier and a
husband of him here, first of all let's see
what a damn'd hat he has got here, change with
him. Jack [Puts a cap upon his head.
Contrast. Why, only hear me* I'm a man of
fashion
220 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III.
Moll. Ha! ha! ha! I'll fashion you presently.
[Puts a knapsack upon him.] There, now you
look something like and now let's see what
cash you have about you.
Contrast. Very little but you shall have it
every farthing, if you'll let me go.
Moll. Go, you jolly dog ay, that you shall,
through the world; you and I together I'll
stick to you through life, my son of sulphur.
Come, my soul,
Post the cole,
I must beg or borrow :
Fill the can,
You're my man ;
Tis all the same to-morrow.
Sing and quaff,
Dance and laugh,
A fig for care or sorrow :
Kiss and drink,
But never think ;
*Tis all the same to-morrow.
Contrast. Oh ! I am a man of fashion.
[Exeunt, thrusting him oJj\
Jet Iff. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 221
Enter Sophia anrf Annette, crossing the stage
haatily ; Trumore after them.
Trumore. Stop, Sophia.
Sophia. Trumore, this is the only moment I
could refuse listening to you. My father is, for
aught I know, going to gaol.
Trumore. Comfort yourself on his part 1
promise you his safety. I would not leave the
county 'till I was certain of it. I now take leave
of him of you and all that makes life dear.
Sophia. Oh my fears ! what means that ribband
in your hat ?
Trumore. The ensign of honour, when worn
upon true principles. A passion for our country
is the only one that ought to have competition
with virtuous love when they unite in the heart
our actions are inspiration.
From thine eyes imbibing fire,
I a conqueror mean to prove ;
Or with brighter fame expire.
For my country and my love :
But ambition's promise over.
One from thee I still shall crave;
Light the turf my head siiall cover,
With thy pity on my grave.
222 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III.
Sophia. Trumore, this is too much for me
heaven knows how httle I am formed for the
rehsh of ambition these heroic notions, how often
do they lead to the misery of ourselves ! of those
^ve leave ! I claim no merit in my apprehensions
alas! they are too selfish.
Trumore. I came to bid farewell in one short
word; but the utterance fails me Annette, speak
for me; and when I am gone, comfort your sister.
Annette. Indeed, Trumore, it will be out of
my power my notes will now be as melancholy
as her own to sooth her, I must sympathize with
her in the alarms of absence and danger.
The sleepless bird from eve to morn
Renews her plaintive strain ;
Presses her bosom to the thorn.
And courts th' inspiring pain.
But, ah ! how vain the skill of song.
To wake the vocal air ;
With passion trembling on the tongue,
And in the heart despair!
Enter Rental,
Rental. What is here ! a concert of sorrow .?
Reserve your tears, my young mistresses, if your
/Iy> m.l'.'/.i
I'uhli^litH J.U1 10. iHp; ' atfi.r.i . /.rtirmuui h-r Mir- 1 l.n
Act III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 223
smiles will not do the business be(ter, to work
upon the old Baronet in the cause of your father
he is going to be called before him let a
parent owe his happiness to you in the first place ;
and may it be an omen for your lover being as
fortunate in the next !
Trumore. Ilashly appearing before the justice !
I have an mterest and a business there before you
I fly to execute it tlien, Fortune, grant me
one more look of her, and take me afterwards to
thy direction ! \^Exit.
Rental. The moment is strangely critical to
you all. Come on, young ladies, I have a story
for you will surprise and encourage you.
Sophia. We are guided by you but what can
we hope from our silly tears, opposed to the ma-
lice of my father's enemies?
Rental. Every thing ^you know not half the
interest you possess in the judge. \^Exeunt.
SCENE IF. A large Gothic Hall
Sir John Contrast, /o/Zowfrf bt/ Trepan.
Sir John. I have attested the men, in com-
pliance with your beating order but no more
of your occupation I'm not for purchasing hu-
224 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III.
man flesh give me the man (aye, and the woman
too) that engages upon frank love and kindness,
and so to other business.
Enter Crimp, whispers Trepan.
Trepan. One word more, your worship. The
Sergeant has just apprehended a deserter. I am
sure your worship will be glad to have him con-
victed he is the worst of swindlers.
Sir John. How do you make him out a swindler?
Trepan. He borrows for shew the most valuable
commodities in the nation, courage and fidelity;
and so raises money upon property of which he
does not possess an atom.
Sir John. Does he so? then bring him in'
I'd rather see one thief of the public punish'd, than
an hundred private ones.
Crimp. Here, Moll, produce your prisoners.
[Lugs in Contrast.
Sir John. What, in the name of sorcery, is
this ! my son in a soldier's accoutrements ! I
should not have been more surprised, if he had
been metamorphosed into a fish.
Contrast. I was in a fair way to be food for
one I should have been shark's meat before I got
half way to the West Indies.
Act III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 225
Sir John. Stark mad, by all that's fantastical I
Can nobody tell me how he was seized?
Contrast. Seized! why, by that ruthan, neck
and heels; and for my accoutrements, you must
ask tliis harpy, w ho assisted at my toilette.
Crimp. A perfect innocent mistake, as I hope
to be pardou'd, your worship I was sent to seek
a deserter with the best legs in England was it
possible not to be deceived? but, thanks to For-
tune, here's a sure acquittal this baggage put him
into my hands as the very person.
Enter Peggy.
Peg^y. Only a little retaliation, your worship
a wolf was in full chase of an innocent lanib^ that,
to be sure, I had foolishly helped to expose to his
paws a trap offered to my hand, and I must own
I did set it, and the wolf was caught, as you see.
But, indeed, I was coming to your worship, to
prevent all further harm. I meant honestly, and
a little merrily I confess I cannot be one wiiliout
the other for my life.
Contrast. Plague on you all! this mastery
thickens, instead of clearing.
Trepan. It is clear, however, my party is out of
the scrape and as for the fellow really enlisted
325 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III.
Enter Trumore.
Tnimore. He is here to fulfil all engagements.
Trepan. Well said, ray lad of truth ; then my
twenty guineas are alive again.
Trumore. You shall see them employ 'd ; I
would have mortgaged ten lives rather than have
wanted them. [To Sir John.] Mr. Rashly is
charged with informations for killing game to the
amount of forty pounds. By assistance of this
gentleman I have made up the sum. The law is
cruel to him; to me it is kind; it enables me to
shew him the heart he perhaps has doubted.
[Lays down the monei/.] He is free and now,
sir, I am your man, and will follow wherever the
service of my country leads. [To Trepan.
Rental. [Coming forward.] Brave, generous
fellow ! I foresaw his intent, and would not have
baulked it for a kingdom.
Sir John. Oh, Rental, I am glad you are come ;
you find me in a wilderness here.
Rental. A moment, sir, and I'm sure you'll not
mistake your path.
Peggy. [Opening the rouleau.] The twist is
magical, indeed, I think, for I can't undo it
oh, there it is at last
[Pours the money upon the table.
Act IlL THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 227
Put up yours again, Mr, Trumore poor fellow,
you'll want it m your new life.
Contrast. One of my rouleaus ! I have been
robbed, I see, as well as kidnapped.
Sir John. Hussy ! how came you by all that
money ?
Peg^i/. Perfectly honestly I sold my mistress
and myself for it it is not necessary to deliver the
goods, for his honour is provided with a mistress;
[Pointins: to iMolL] and my lover is about as well
oft". Come, sir, never look so cross after your
money what line gentleman would grudge to let
an honest man out of gaol, when he can buy his
daughter's modesty into the bargain ?
Sir John. Rental, do you see into this?
Rental. Clearly, sir, and it must end with re-
conciling you to your son.
.Sir John. How ! reconcile me to bribery and
debauchery! never if the dog could succeed
with a girl by his face, or his tongue, or his legs,
or any thing that nature has given him, why tliert's
a sort of fair play that might palliate but there
is an unmanliness in vice without passion death !
insipidity is converted into iufaniy but where is
this Rashly and his girls f
228 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act Iff.
Enter Rashly, between his Daughters; they
throiv themselves at Sir John's feet a long
pause.
Sir John. [Tn the greatest surprise.] This
Rashly! this the father of tliese girls! And do not
his features deceive me ? who is it I see ?
Rental. The son I mean to reconcile who
offended upon principles the most opposite to those
you just now condemned the children of his
offence and thanks only to the inheritance of his
virtues, that they are not become the punishment
of his poverty.
Contrast. My elder brother come to light !
Sir John. Rise till I am sure I am awake this
is the confusion of a delirium.
Rental. [To Rashly. 1 Why do not you speak,
sir?
Rashly. What form of words will become me r
To say I repent, would be an injury to the dead
and living. I have erred, but I have been happy
one duty I can plead; resignation to your will
so may I thrive in the decision of this anxious
moment as I never taxed your justice.
Sir John. [After a pause.] Rental, do you ex-
pect I shall ever retract ?
Rental. No, sir, for I was witness to the solem-
Act III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 229
nity of your vow, that you would protect the
father of your little clients against all his enemies
right or wrong, they sliould yield.
Sir John. Yes, but I little thought how very
stubborn an old fellow I should have to deal
with.
Rental. Come forward, clients.
Sophia. I am overcome with dread.
Sir John. Come, I'll make short work of it, as
usual so hear all my decree is made.
Rental. Now justice and nature !
Sophia. Memory and tenderness!
Contrast. [Aside.] Caprice and passion !
Sir John. Decision and consistency! I dis-
carded one son for a marriage I have brought up
a second not to marry but to attempt to de-
bauch his own niece. I'll try what sort of vex-
ation the other sex will produce so listen, girls
take possession of this castle it is yours nay, I
only keep my word you remember how I pro-
mised to treat the old obstinate your father was
afraid of. This is the house of self-correction,
and I give you the key.
Sophia and Annette. [Kneeling.] Gratitude
love and joy
Sir John. Up, ye little charmers your looks
have a?ked my blessing tliis hour.
230 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Jcl III.
Rental. And now for Trumore, to complete
the happiness. Sir John, permit me your ear
apart. \Takes him aside.
Contrast. So ! the confusion of chances seems
winding up to a miracle, and quite in my favour
the run of these last twelve hours exceeds all cal-
culation, strike me pennyless where is that dog,
La Nippe ?
Enter La Nippe, covered with mud.
La Nippe. Here he is, in a pleasant plight
Contrast. Whence, in the devil's name, comest
thou?
La Nippe. From the bottom of a black ditch
how I got there I know no more than the man
in the moon I waked, and found myself half
smother'd in dirt, lying like King Log in the fable,
with a congress of frogs on my back.
Peggy. My dear^ I hope you are satisfied with
your bargain, I did my best ' to settle your busi-
ness completely.'
La Nippe. Oh ! thou witch of Endor.
[Peggy and La Nippe continue to act in
dumb shoiv.
Sir John. Another plot upon me, Rental but
does the young fellow say nothing himself for his
pretensions ?
Act III. THE LORD OF THE MANOB. 231
Trumore. I have none, sir they aspired too
high wheu directed to Sophy Rashly; they must
cease for ever wlien I think of Miss Contrast.
Sir John. Now for the blood of me, I can't
see that distinction. Can you, Contrast?
[To Rashly.
Rashly. So far from it, sir, that I think the
purity of his attachment to the poor farmer's
daughter, is the best recommendation to the for-
tune of the heiress.
Sir John. I confirm the decree it is exactly
my old way I have not been apt to retract an
action, but no man more ready to correct it by
doing the reverse another time. I am now con-
vinced mutual affection makes the only true equa-
lity in marriage; and in my present humour (I
don't know how long 'twill last) I wish there was
not a wedding in the nation formed upon any
other interest what say you, man of fashion?
[To young Contra.^t.
Rashly. Dear sir, don't treat my brother's foi-
bles too severely. His zeal, to be eminent, only
wants a right turn.
Sir John. Let him find that turn, and he knows
I have wherewithal to keep him from tlie incon-
venience of a younger brother, though he loses
Castle Manor.
Contrast. I resign it, and all its appendages.
232 THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act II f.
And with all my faults, my brother shall find I am
neither envious nor mercenery. \To La NippeJ]
Horses for town instantly ; there is my true sphere
and if ever I am caught in a rural intrigue again,
may I be tied to an old ram, like my pointers for
sheep-biting, and butted into a consistence with the
clay of this damned forest.
[Exit, La Nippe following.
Sir John. And now to return to my recruit I
promised he should be attested to-night and so
he shall to his bride if afterwards his country
demands his assistance get him a commission,
Sophy, and pray for a short end to the war a
prayer in which every good subject in the nation
will join you.
Trumore. Sir, you have given me a possession
that makes all other treasures poor. Witness love
and truth, liow much I despise the temptation of
ambition, when weighed against one hour of So-
phia's society. But these are times when service
to the public is a tribute that justice and virtue
indiscriminately impose upon private happiness.
And the man who refuses, upon their call, a sacri-
fice to the exigency of his country, ill deserves to
be a sharer in her prosperity.
Rental. Sir, the tenants from the wake, in
eagerness of honest joy, press to be admitted.
Sir John. Throw open the doors.
Acl III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Q'33
Rental. I hope you will not see a countenance
that does not express an interest in the events of
Castle Manor.
SCENE V. Draws to an enlargement of the
Hall.
Enter Tenants Sfc.
FINALE.
Rashly. Partners of my toils and pleasures,
To this happy spot repair ;
See how justly Fortune measures
Favours to the true and fair :
With chorusses gay
Proclaim holiday
In praise of the Lord of the INIanor ;
And happy the song,
If it trains old and young
In the lessons of Castle INIanor.
Sophia. When a mutual inclination
Once a glowing spaik hetrays,
Try with tender emulation
Which shall first excite the hla/e :
VOL. I. 9
234- THE LORD OF THE MANOR. Act III
I plighted my troth
To IV generous youth,
I found him at Castle Manor.
To one only be kind,
And leave fashion behind,
'Tis the lesson of Castle Manor.
Trumore. Gallants, learn from Truraore's story
To associate in the breast
Truth and honour, love and glorv',
And to Fortune leave the rest.
My ambition was fame ;
From beauty it came,
From beauty at Castle Manor:
'Tis an honour to arms
To be led by its charms,
Like the soldier of Castle Manor.
Pffrgi/. Brisk and free, but true to duty,
Sure Fve j'/lay'd an honest part ;
Would you purchase love and beauty,
Be the piize a faithful heart.
Should a knave full of gold
Think Peg's to be sold,
Act III. THE LORD OF THE MANOR. 23:
Let him meet me at Castle Manor :
A bed in the mire
To cool his desire.
Is the lesson of Castle Manor.
Annette. Though I trip in my expression,
Critics, lend a patient ear;
If coquetting be transgression,
Sisterhood, be not severe.
To love while we live,
And all faults to forgive,
Is the lesson of Castle Manor:
Be friends to our cause,
And make your applause
A new blessing at Castle Manor.
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