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SCENE II.-A Room in the Public-House. Enter Crack, R., with Sir Edward's box-coat, whip, and

hat, LANDLADY following. Lan. (R.) Don't tell me : l’ll not believe Sir Edward ordered any such thing.

Crack. (L.) I say he did—“My dear Crack," says he, shaking my hand, “ you had better take my riding-coat and whip, and go in style.” And let me see the man or woman who dare dispute it [Struts.]--Now I'm a kind of Bond-Street man of fashion.

Lan. You a Bond-Street man of fashion !

Crack. Yes, I am-I'm all outside. Where are those idle scoundrels ? Oh! I see; they are getting the curricle and horses ready.

Lan. By my faith, and so they are.- Well, 'tis in vain for me to talk, and so I'll leave you. Peggy! (Calling.] Where can this girl of mine be? Why, Peggy! [Exit, R.

Crack. I have often wondered why they drive two big horses in so small a carriage! Now, I find, one's to draw the gentleman, and t'other his great coat! [Shrugs.

Enter Joe STANDFAST, R. Joe. (R.) They tell me, Crack, that you are under sailing orders for town. I'm bound so far, d’ye see, on business for Master Blunt, the new keeper; mayhap, you'll give a body a berth on board the curricle ?

Crack. (L.) Yes, I'll give your body a berth on board; and Heaven send it a safe deliverance!

[Aside. Joe. Are you steady at the helm ? Crack. Unless your treat should make me tipsy; in that

Crack, Lord help your head! We drivers of curricles case, you must steer.

Joe. Me ? Damme, I'd rather weather the Cape in a cock-boat, than drive such a gingerbread jimcumbob three miles; but for this stiff knee of mine, I'd rather walk. Oh! I see they're weighing anchor yonder[ Pointing to the stable.] but what need of this, friend? (Taking his coat.] The sun shines, and no fear of a squall. wear these to keep off the wind, the sun, and the dust.

Joe. Damme! but I think your main-sheet is more for show than service.

Crack. Ob fie! we could not bear the inclemencies of the summer if we wer'n't well clothed. But come, let's mount; and if we don't ride in our own carriage, we're

better off than many who do; we pay no tax, and the coach-maker can't arrest us.

DIALOGUE DUET-CRACK and Joe. Crack. When off in curricle we go

Mind, I'm a dashing buck, friend Joe

My well-match'd nags, both black and roan,
Joé. Like most bucks' nags, are not your own.
Crack. Paid for, I vow.

Avast! prithee, how!
Crack. In paper, at six months' credit, or neariy.
Joe. No cash ?

Oh! that's mal-apropos
We bucks pay in paper, and that is merely-

Fal lal lal.
Both. Fal lal lal la, &c. &c.
Crack. When mounted, I, in style to be,

Should sport behind, in livery,

Two footmen, in fine clothes array'd.
Joe. For which the tailor ne'er was paid.
Crack. We men of ton

Have ways of your own.
Crack. Plead privilege to lead our tradesmen a dance, sir :
John, when they call, [Mimicking.) let 'em wait

i'th' hall;
And two hours after send them for answer-

Fal lal, &c.
Both. Fal lal lal, &c.
Joe. If this be ton, friend Crack, d’ye see,

We're better from such lumber free.

No debts for coaches we can owe; Crack. Because no one will trust us, Joe. Joe. Then I say, still, that no man his billCrack. To us, for a carriage, with justice can bring in. Joe. Then mount-never mindCrack. Leave old Care behind. Both. Or, should he o'ertake us, we'll fall a-singing

Fal lal lal, &c. Fal lal la, &c.

[Exeunt, L.


ACT II. SCENE I.-A romantic rural Prospect-on l. a cut Hay

stack-in the background, a distant View of white Cliff's and the Sea.

Enter Robert, L., Henry BLUNT, R., meeting. Hen, Honest Robert, I thought I had lost you.

Rob. No! I was but just by here, vast ning a hurdle to keep the sheep from breaking out.

Hen. And Sir Edward, you say, solicits your sister Mary's affection ?

Rob. As to affection, he don't care much for that, I believe, so he could get her good will.

Hen. Do you think him likely to obtain it ?
Rob. She shall die first.

Hen. And who is Sir Edward's appointment with here, think you ?

Rob, Why, I be inclined to think (but I ben't sure) it is with Miss Change-about, at the Admiral-Speak oth’ devil and behold his horns - This way. [Henry retires, R., Robert behind the hay-stack.

Enter PEGGY, L. Peg. I heard a rustling as I passed the copse. I began to think 'twas Old Nick !—That fellow, Robert, does love me a little, to be sure-but Sir Edward--if he should make me Lady Sir Edward Dashaway.

[Robert advances. Rob. [Aloud.] Hem! a little patience, and mayhap be will.

[She screams. Peg. How could you frighten a body so ?

Rob. Frighten thee, Peggy ; it musn't be a trifle to do that. Have you set all shame at defiance? I do wonder Old Nick didn't appear to thee in thy road hither.

Peg. Don't you go to terrify me—now don't-if you do, you'll repent it.

Rob. No, Peggy, 'tis you that’ul repent. However, I do hope zome warning voice, zome invizible spirit, will appear to thee yet, bevore it be too late.

Peg. You had better not terrify me, now, you'd better not.

Rob. Take care where thee dost tread, Peggy_[She trembles.]—I would not swear there is not a well under

I tell you

thy feet-[She starts.]-Dam’un, here he is, zure enow ! [ Aside.] One word more, an' I ha' done. If, in this Ioansome place, [Very solemn.] Beelzebub should appear to thee in the likeness of a gentleman, wi' a gun in his hand, look for his cloven foot, repent thy perjuration, and, wi' tears in thy eyes, go whoam again, and make thy mother happy. [Retires again behind the hay-stack.

Peg. Dear heart! dear heart - I wish I hadn't come. I'm afraid to stir out of my place. Oh, lud !-I wish I was at home again. Enter Sir EDWARD, L, Having put his gun aguinst the rails of huy-stack, he steals behind, and taps her shoulder.

Peg. (R.) Mercy upon me, Sir Edward - I took you for Old Nick.

Sir E. (L.) You did me great honour.

Peg. Are you sure you have not a cloven foot ?(Looking.]—I was cautioned to beware of you.

Sir E. By young Maythorn, I suppose-I saw the impulent rascal. Upon my soul, you look divinely! [Taking her to R.- Robert shows signs of displeasure.] is not that a sweet cottage in the valley ?-Shall I make you a present of it, Peggy?

Peg. Why, Sir Edward, though I don't think Robert Maythorn is a fit match for me-yet, you know, in losing hin

Sir E. You have found a better match.

Peg. Oh, if your honour means it to be a match[Sir Edward turns.] that is, a lawful match

Sir E. To be sure I do, you little rogue. (She repulses him.] Nay, one kiss of your pretty pouting lips.

Peg. Why, as to a kiss, to be sure. [Wipes her lips.] I hope no one sees. [She holds up her

face-as he approaches, Robert reaches out his hand, fires the gun, and conceals himself again

-Sir Edward and Peggy start.
Hen. [Without, R.) Mark! mark !
Peg. Good Heaven protect me!-'twas old Nick !
Sir E.

'Tis odd !-'twas sure my gun!
Or Robert's played some devilish trick.

Ah, me! I am undone !

'Twas sure a warning voice that spoke ! Sir E. A warning voice-oh, no! (Robert steals off. Peg. Believe me, sir, it was no joke. Sir E. -One kiss before we go.


Peg Nay cease your fooling, pray, awhile,

Your keeper's coming now;
And mother's hobbling o'er the stile,-
She is, I swear and vow !

Sir E. Hey-what the devil brought you here?

I prithee, man, retire.
Hen. I thought you told me to appear,

When I should hear you fire.

Lan. Where is this plaguy maid of mine?

Aʼnt you a pretty jade ?
'Tis near the hour that we should dine,

And yet no dumplings made.
Peg. To gather nuts for you I've been,
And cramm’d my basket tight.

[Mother examines it. But, Mother, I old Nick have seen,

So dropp'd 'em with the fright.
Rob. With fancy's tale, her mother's ear

She knows how to betray;
For staying out so long, she'll swear

The devil stopp'd her way.
Sir E. Come, come, let's home with merry glee,

On dinner to regale;
And, hostess, let our welcome be
A jug of nut-brown ale.

[All repeat the last verse.--Exeunt, L.

SCENE II.-Another Rural Prospect.

Enter MARY, R. Mar. The bright evening sun dispels the farmer's fears, and makes him, with a smile, anticipate the business of to-morrow. How different our state ! our future day looks dark and stormy'; and hope (the sun which gladdens all beside) sheds not for us a single ray.

Ere sorrow taught my tears to flow,

They call'd me-happy Mary,
In rural cot, my humble lot,

I play'd like any fairy;

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