Lucin. Never in his life, my dear; and I am confident he entertains not the least suspicion of my having any such connexion: my aunt, indeed, has her doubts and surmises; but, besides that my father will not allow any one to be wiser than himself, it is an established maxim between these affectionate relations, never to agree in any thing.

Ros. Except being absurd; you must allow they sympathize perfectly in that- But now we are on the subject, I desire to know what I am to do with this wicked old justice of peace, this libidinous father of yours? He follows me about the house, like a tame goat.

Lucin. Nay, I'll assure you he has been a wag in his time-you must have a care of yourself.

Ros. Wretched me! to fall into such hands, who have been just forced to run away from my parents to avoid an odious marriage-You smile at that now; and I know you think me whimsical, as you have often told me; but you must excuse my being a little over delicate in this particular.

AIR III.

My heart's my own, my will is free,
And so shall be my voice;
No mortal man shall wed with me,
Till first he's made my choice.

Let parents rule, cry nature's laws;
And children still obey;

And is there then no saving clause,
Against tyrannic sway?

Lucin. Well, but my dear mad girl

Ros. Lucinda, don't talk to me- -Was your father to go to London, meet there by accident with an old fellow, as wrong-headed as himself, and in a fit of absurd friendship agree to marry you to that old fel

low's son, whom you had never seen, without consulting your inclinations, or allowing you a negative, in case he should not prove agreeable

Lucin. Why, I should think it a little hard, I confess yet, when I see you in the character of a chambermaid

Ros. It is the only character, my dear, in which I could hope to lie concealed; and I can tell you, I was reduced to the last extremity, when, in consequence of our old boarding-school friendship, I applied to you to receive me in this capacity: for we expected the parties the very next week.

Lucin. But had not you a message from your intended spouse, to let you know he was as little inclined to such ill-concerted nuptials as you were?

Ros. More than so; he wrote to advise me, by all means, to contrive some method of breaking them off, for he had rather return to his dear studies at Oxford; and after that, what hopes could I have of being happy with him?

Lucin. Then you are not at all uneasy at the strange rout you must have occasioned at home? I warrant, during this month you have been absent

Ros. Oh! don't mention it, my dear; I have had so many admirers since I commenced Abigail, that I am quite charmed with my situation-But hold, who stalks yonder into the yard, that the dogs are so glad

to see?

Lucin. Daddy Hawthorn, as I live! He is come to pay my father a visit; and never more luckily, for he always forces him abroad. By the way, what will you do with yourself, while I step into the house to see after my trusty messenger, Hodge?

Ros. No matter; I'll sit down in that arbour, and listen to the singing of the birds: you know I am fond of melancholy amusements.

Lucin. So it seems, indeed: sure, Rosetta, none of

your admirers had power to touch your heart; you are not in love, I hope?

Ros. In love! that's pleasant: who do you suppose I should be in love with, pray?

Lucin. Why, let me see

-What do you think of Thomas, our gardener? There he is, at the other end of the walk-He's a pretty young man, and the servants say he's always writing verses on you.

Ros. Indeed, Lucinda, you are very silly.

Lucin. Indeed, Rosetta, that blush makes you look very handsome.

Ros. Blush! I am sure I don't blush.

Lucin. Ha, ha, ha !

Ros. Pshaw, Lucinda, how can you be so ridiculous?

Lucin. Well, don't be angry, and I have done But suppose you did like him, how could you help yourself?

AIR IV.

When once Love's subtle poison gains
A passage to the female breast;
Like lightning rushing through the veins,
Each wish, and every thought's possest.
To heal the pangs our minds endure,
Reason in vain its skill applies;
Nought can afford the heart a cure,
But what is pleasing to the eyes.

SCENE II.

Another Part of the Garden.

Enter YOUNG MEADOWS.

[Exeunt.

Y. Mead. Let me see-on the fifteenth of June, at half an hour past five in the morning-[Taking out a Pocket-book.]-I left my father's house, unknown to any one, having made free with a coat and jacket of

our gardener's which fitted me, by way of a disguise : -so says my pocket-book; and chance directing me to this village, on the twentieth of the same month I procured a recommendation to the worshipful Justice Woodcock, to be the superintendant of his pumpkins and cabbages, because I would let my father see I chose to run any lengths, rather than submit to what his obstinacy would have forced me, a marriage against my inclination, with a woman I never saw. [Puts up the Book, and takes up a Watering-pot.]—— Here I have been three weeks, and in that time I am as much altered as if I changed my nature with my habit. 'Sdeath, to fall in love with a chambermaid! And yet, if I could forget that I am the son and heir of Sir William Meadows-But that's impossible.

AIR V.

O! had I been by Fate decreed
Some humble cottage swain;
In fair Rosetta's sight to feed
My sheep upon the plain;
What bliss had I been born to taste,
Which now I ne'er must know!

Ye envious pow'rs! why have ye plac'd
My fair one's lot so low!

Ha! who was it I had a glimpse of as I pass'd by that arbour? Was it not she sat reading there! The trembling of my heart tells me my eyes were not mistaken Here she comes.

Enter ROSETTA.

Ros. Lucinda was certainly in the right of it, and yet I blush to own my weakness even to myself— Marry, hang the fellow, for not being a gentleman.

Y. Mead. I am determined I won't speak to her— Turning to a Rose-tree, and plucking the Flowers.]—

Now or never is the time to conquer myself: besides, I have some reason to believe the girl has no aversion to me: and, as I wish not to do her an injury, it would be cruel to fill her head with notions of what can never happen. [Hums a Tune.] Pshaw! rot these roses, how they prick one's fingers!

Ros. He takes no notice of me; but so much the better, I'll be as indifferent as he is. I am sure the poor lad likes me; and if I was to give him any encouragement, I suppose the next thing he talked of would be buying a ring, and being asked in church— Oh, dear pride, I thank you for that thought.

Y. Mead. Ha! going without a word! a look!—I can't bear that Mrs. Rosetta, I am gathering a few roses here, if you please to take them in with you.

Ros. Thank you, Mr. Thomas, but all my lady's flower-pots are full.

Y. Mead. Will you accept of them for yourself, then? [Catching hold of her.] What's the matter? you look as if with me. were angry you Ros. Pray, let go my hand.

Y. Mead. Nay, pr'ythee, why is this? you sha'n't go, I have something to say to you.

Ros. Well, but I must go, I will go; I desire, Mr. Thomas

AIR VI..

Gentle youth, ah, tell me why
Still you force me thus to fly ;
Cease, oh! cease, to persevere,
Speak not what I must not hear;

Το

my heart its ease restore; Go, and never see me more.

[Exit.

Y. Mead. This girl is a riddle-That she loves me, I think there is no room to doubt; she takes a thousand opportunities to let me see it: and yet when I

C