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The Inside of a Farm. Enter FREEHOLD, MODELY,

and HEARTWELL. Free. Forget you have been within the walls of a city, and we shall agree well enough.

Heart. But, Sir, do you never, never intend to see London again?

Free. Never, never, I tell you.
Heart. Why so, Sir?

Free. “I gave you my reasons : but I'll repeat 'em to C. please you, I am unqualified for conversation there. « I have not slavish complaisance enough to work up

every muscle to a forced smile, and court the no. “ jests of a wealthy fool, in hopes to see my name in

the codicil of his will. I cannot be ravished with “ the young graces of a superannuated beauty, who “i forgets she has not one tooth in her head, for which « she is not in debt; in short," there is not a creature among you wears his natural shape; your cullies would be thought sharpers, and your sharpers cullies; your noisy roaring boys are cowards, and your brave men silent; ugliness is exactly dressed, and beauty in dishabille. The few virtues you have, you hide, and affect crimes to be agreeable. In a word, you are all false, double-fac’d, execrable hypocrites. Come, will you drink a cup of brown ale before you eat?

Heart. I thank you, Sir, but I am not thirsty now. : Free. Oons, do you never drink but when you are dry? We have none o' your lemonade or sherbet here, man; no, nor your t’other washy thin potation, called French wine, that brewer of false love and politics : we live upon English beef and beer, the staple of our own country.

Heart. And every honest Briton ought to encourage it.

Free. Right, boy: come, will you smoke a pipe be. fore supper: a pipe is the best whet in the world.

Mode. No, by no means.
Free. Oh, hoh, it will spoil your kissing.

Mode. Pray, Sir, who is the lord of your manor here?

Free. We have no lord, Sir, we have a lady.
Mode. A lady?

Free. Ay, Sir, she lives at the great house on the hill, above, with an old knight her kinsman, whose estate joins to hers; one Sir John English, a gentleman of right old-fashioned hospitality: he has only one fault, he is a little too fond of your quality : he was at court in his youth, where he had a superficial view of the glare and gaiety of the place; and now he doats upon every thing that comes from thence; he is para ticularly civil to a page; he has a wonderful veneration for a squire o' the body; a knight gives him great joy; and he is ravished with a lord.

Mode. A very odd humour : but as to the lady of your manor ?

Free. Ay, there's a lady, a miracle! she has youth and beauty, and two thousand pounds a year, and yet has the use of all her limbs; she will walk you four miles before the sun is up, and come home with natural colours on her face, got by wholesome exercise. She uses no face physic; she is none o'your town daubers, that are in danger of losing their complexions for a kiss! no, she looks like the blooming rose, and is as sweet as the breath of the morning.

Mode. Was she never married, Sir ?

Free. No, the old colonel, her father, Sir Frede. rick Beauville (a worthy man he was) left her and her estate free; and she says she will keep 'em both só: she hates London, your men and your manners.

Mode. And so she is settled, as the timber upon her estate, for life, with her old kinsman!

Free. Yes, there they live together; and let me tell you, the old hospitable genius of England seems re. vived in them; they are of almost as much benefit to their neighbours as the sun and rain, a general good. Well! but come into this room and drink a cup of ale; nay, I will have it so.

Mode. We'll follow you.

Free. What, you see the wenches coming ; remember our articles, or Towser's the word. [Exit.

Enter FLORA and Aura.

Mode. Hah, my Mademoiselle once again! I'll kill thee, my dear little thief, with kisses.

Aura. Then I shall be the first maid that ever died that death, and deserve to be buried with my

face downwards; though I have known many a big fellow

brag of his victories, who durst never draw his sword.

Mode. But I have fought many a duel. Aura. And did you always conquer? Mode. No, sometimes it has been a drawn battle : but now I'll be victorious or die. [Kisses and hugs her:

Aura. Laud, lud, you do so touzle and rumple one's clothes: you men are the strangest creatures.

Mode. You women have the most whimsical fan. cies! Whither do you run? What, must I follow you?

Aura. If you have courage, the old dragon is in the dext room.

Mode. Pox o' the dragon; I am a knight-errant, and 'tis my business to conquer dragons. Aura. Come on, then, Hercules the second.

[ Exeunt Modely and Aura. Heart. Hear me ! let me swear to you, fair maid.

Flora. What is it you would swear; that you love me? Heart. More than life, joy, health, or liberty ; my whole soul darts through my eyes in transport

to behold you, every atom is in arms, my blood “ gallops through my veins;" I am all air while I

talk to you.

Flora. I am afraid your zeal is not of the right "sort, but like the agitation of those false prophets, " who fancy themselves inspired from above, when

they are only actuated below; this is not warmth, s but wind; all bubble, vapour.

Heart. You should forgive a small delirium to a “ wretch in a fever.

Flora. I can forgive a madman, but I won't re. “ gard him.

Heart. Would you not pity, and cure him if you « could ?

Flora. Then you would be cured of love. Heart. By possession of what I die for.

Flora. True, possession cures love, as death “ does diseases.

Heart. By those immortal eyes, 'twill make mine * live for ever.

Flora. No, no, 'twill die suddenly. Love's an ague, and the cold fit certainly succeeds the hot. Heart. Do you believe no man is constant?

Flora. I dont know, if one were to mould you; “ make you as one does one's clothes, or so.

Heart. Make me, mould me as you please ; fancy " the man you would have in idea.

Flora. I believe indeed I shall never have a man any otherwise than in idea.But no more flourish. es, I pray you, Sir; we have conversed in figure

since we saw one another : and you know, " though one might like to smell to a rose nosegay

now and then
Heart. One does not care to feed upon a rose."

Flora. Come, then, let us clear up at once, and talk common sense to one another.

Heart. Agreed !
Flora. So be it !


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