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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! It 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 cun,
'Tis with pain the suit's began.
Still she shams it coy and cold,
folks should think her bold.
Gives the word to bill and coo; 'Tis a different story quite,
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. Weil, 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, rould
taste true pleasure, Without mixture, without measure, Nowhere shall you find the treasure
Sure as in the sylvan scene :
Bless'd, who no false glare requiring,
from grosser joys retiring,
Enter Mervin and FANNY.
Meroin. Yonder she is seated, and, to my wish, nost 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. --f you have e'er a coal, or bit of whiting in your pocket, i'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 you'll let me look at your line of life, I'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
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.
Dear Theodosia, Though the sight of me was so disagreeable to you, that you charged me never to approach you more, I hope my hand-writing can have nothing to frighten or disgust you. I am not far off ; and the person that delivers you this, can give you intelligence. Come hither, child; do you know any thing of the gentleman that wrote this?
Fanny. My lady
Theod. Make haste-run, this moment-bring me to him, bring him to me; say I wait with impatience -tell him I will go-fly any where
Mer. My life ! my charmer!
Enter Sir HARRY and LADY SYCAMORE. Lady S. Sir Harry, don't walk so fast; we are not running for a wager.
Sir Harry. Hough, hough, hough!
Lady S. Heyday, you have got a cough! I shall have you laid upon my hands presently.
Sir Harry. No, no, my lady; it's only the old affair.
Lady S. Come here, and let me tie this handkerchief about your neck; you have put yourself into a muck-sweat already. [Ties a Handkerchief about his Neck.] Have you taken your bardana this morning ? Not you, I warrant now, though you have been complaining of twitches, two or three times ; and, you know, the gouty season is coming on. Why will you be so neglectful of your health, Sir Harry? I protest, I am forced to watch you, like an infant !
Sir Harry. My lovey takes care of me, and I am obliged to her.
Lady S. Well, but you ought to mind me then, since you are satisfied I never speak but for your gooil.-I thought, Miss Sycamore, you were to have
followed your papa and me into the garden-How far did you go with that wench?
Theod. They are gipsies, madam, they say-Indeed, I don't know what they are.
Lady S. I wish, miss, you would learn to give a rational answer.
Sir Harry. Eh! what's that? gipsies ! Have we gipsies here? Vagrants, that pretend to a knowledge of future events ! diviners—fortune-tellers !
Fanny. Yes, your worship, we'll tell your fortune, or her ladyship's, for a crum of bread, or a little broken victuals-what you throw to your dogs, an please you.
Sir Harry. Broken victuals, hussy! How do you think we should have broken victuals ?-If we were at home, indeed, perhaps you might get some such thing from the cook : but here we are only on a visit to a friend's house, and have nothing to do with the kitchen at all.
Lady S. And do you think, Sir Harry, it is necessary to give the creature an account?
Sir Harry. No, love, no; but what can you say to obstinate people ? - Get you gone, bold face-I once knew a merchant's wife in the city, my lady, who had her fortune told by some of those gipsies. They said she should die at such a time; and, I warrant, as sure as the day came the poor gentlewoman actually died with the conceit. Come, Dossy, your mamma and I are going to take a walk.-My lady, will you have hold of my arm?
Lady S. No, Sir Harry, I choose to go by myself.
Mer. Now, love, assist me!-[Turning to the Gipsies.]-Follow, and take all your cues from me-Nay, but, good lady and gentleman, you won't go, without remembering the poor gipsies?
Sir Harry. Hey, here is all the gang after us !