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know-you know, Patty, your marriage with him is no concern of mine-I only speak.
My passion, in vain I attempt to dissemble;
appear : Enraptured I gaze ; when I touch her, I tremble, And speak to, and hear, her with falt'ring and fear.
many cruel ideas tormentell ! My blood's in a ferment; it freezes, it burns : This moment I wish what, the next, is repented ; While love, rage, and jealousy, rack me by turns.
Giles, Miss Pat-Odd rabbit it, I thought his honour was here; and, I wish I may die, if my heart did not jump into my mouth-Come, come down in all haste, there's such rig below as you never knew in your born days. There's as good as forty of the tenants, men and maidens, have got upon the lawn, before the castle, with pipers and garlands, just for all the world as tho'f it was Mayday; and the quality's looking at them out of the windows—'Tis as true as any thing—on account of my lord's coming home with his new lady.
Patty. Well, and what then?
Giles. Why, I was thinking, if so be as you would come down, as we might take a dance together: little Sal, farmer Harrow's daughter, of the Green, would fain have had me for a partner : but I said as how I'd go for one I liked better-one that I'd make a partner for life.
Patty. Did you say so?
Giles. Yes, and she was struck all of a heap-she had not a word to throw to a dog-for Sal and I kept company once, for a little bit.
Patty. Farmer, I am going to say something to you, and I desire you'll listen to it attentively. It seems, you think of our being married together?
Giles. Think? why, I think of nothing else; it's all over the place, mun, as how you are to be my spouse ;
you would not believe what game folks make of me!
Patty. Shall I talk to you like a friend, Farmer ? -You and I never were designed for one another ; and I am morally certain we should not be happy.
Giles. Oh, as for that matter, I never has no words with nobody.
Patty. Shall I speak plainer to you then ?—I don't
Giles. No! that's
odd! Patty. On the contrary, you are disagreeable to
Giles. Am I?
Patty. Yes, of all things—I deal with you sincerely.
Giles. Why, I thought, Miss Pat, the affair between you and I was all fixed and settled.
Patty. Well, let this undeceive you—Be assured, we shall never be man and wife.
No offer shall persuade, no command force me.-You know my mind; make your advantage of it.
Was I sure a life to lead
Wretched as the vilest slave,
Every hardship would I brave,
Ere yield my hand so coolly,
To the man, who never truly
Giles. Here's a turn! I don't know what to make of it :-she's gone mad, that's for sartin; wit and learning have cracked her brain-Poor soul! poor soul!
-t is often the case of those who have too much of them-Lord, Lord, how sorry I be !-- But hold, she
says I baint to her mind-mayn't all this be the effect of moodish coyness, to do like the gentlewomen, because she was bred among them ? And, I have heard say, they will be upon their vixen tricks, till they go into the very church with a man.
When a maid, in way of marriage,
First is courted by a man,
Let un do the best he can,
'Tis with pain the suit's began.
Siill she shams it coy and cold,
Lest the folks should think her bold.
Gives the word to bill and coo;
And she quickly buckles too.
A view of LORD AIMWORTH's House ; a Seat under
a Tree, and Part of the Garden Wall, with a Chinese Pavilion over it ; several Country People appear dancing, others looking on; among whom are, MERVIN, disguised, RALPH, FANNY, and a number of GIPSIES. After the Dancers go off, THEODOSIA and Patty enter through a Gate, supposed to have a connexion with the principal Building.
Theod. Well then, my dear Patty, you will run away from us?-- but why in such a hurry? I have a thousand things to say to you.
Patty. I shall do myself the honour to pay my duty to you some other time, madam ; at present, I really find myself a little indisposed.
Theod. Nay, I would by no means lay you under any restraint.
Patty. Well, madam, you have the sages, poets, and philosophers, of all ages, to countenance your way of thinking.
Theod. And you, my little philosophical friend, don't you think me in the right too ?
Patty. Yes, indeed, madam, perfectly.
Trust me, would you taste true pleasure,
Sure as in the sylvan scene :
Bless'd, who no false glare requiring,
Seek the simple and serene.
Enter Mervin and FANNY.
Mervin. Yonder she is seated, and, to my wish, niost fortunately alone.--Accost her as I desired.
Fanny. Heaven bless you, my sweet lady-bless your honour's beautiful visage, and send you a good husband, and a great many of them!
Theod. A very comfortable wish, upon my word ! who are you, child ?
Fanny. A poor gipsy, an please you, that goes about begging from charitable gentlemen and ladies. -If you have e'er a coal, or bit of whiting in your pocket, l'll write you the first letter of your sweetheart's name—how many husbands you will have, and how many children, my lady: or, if
'11 let me look at your line of life, l'll tell you
whether it will be long or short, happy or miserable.
Theod. Oh! as for that I know it already-you cannot tell me any good fortune, and, therefore, I'll hear none.—Go about your business.
Mer. Stay, madam, stay—[Pretending to lift a Paper from the Ground]-you have dropped something-Fan, call the young gentlewoman back.
Fanny. Lady, you have lost-
Mer. Yes, that paper, lady; you dropped it as you got up from the chair.–Fan, give it to her honour. Theod. A letter, with my address !
[Takes the Paper, and reads.