Widow L. A woman! pray let me speak with you. (Draws her aside.) You are not in earnest, I hope, a woman? Char, Really a woman. Widow L. 'Gads my life! I could not be cheated in everything. I know a man from a woman at these years, or the devil is in't. Pray did not you marry me? Char, You would have it so. Widow L. And did not I give you a thousand pounds this morning? Char. Yes, indeed, 'twas more than I deserved; but you had your pennyworth for your penny, I suppose; you seemed to be pleased with your bargain. Widow L. A rare bargain I have made on't, truly. I have laid out my money to a fine purpose thank you. Widow L. 'Tis very well: I may be with child too, for aught I know, and may go look for the father. Char. Nay, if you think so, 'tis time to look about you, indeed. For my part, Mrs. Lackitt, your thousand pounds will engage me not to laugh at you. Then my sister is married to your son; he is to have half your estate, I know; and indeed they may live upon it very comfortably to themselves, and very creditably to you. Widow L. Nay, I can blame nobody but myself. Char. You have enough for a busband still, and that you may bestow upon honest Jack Stanmore. Widow L. Is he the man, then? Char. He is the man you are obliged to. Jack S. Yes, faith, widow, I am the man. Widow L. Well, well, I see you will have me; even marry me, and make an end of the business. Stan. Why, that's well said; now we are all agreed, and all well provided for. Enter a Servant. Serv. (To Stanmore.) Sir, Mr. Blandford desires you to come to him, and bring as many of your friends as you can with you. Stan. I come to him. You shall all go along with me. Come, young gentleman, marriage is the fashion, you see; you must like it now. Dan. If I dont, how shall I help myself? Lucy. Nay, you may hang yourself in the noose, if you please, but you'll never get out on't with struggling. Dan. Come, then, let's e'en jog on in the old road. Bland. Have you no reverence for future fame? So, Stanmore, you, I know, the women too, (To the Women.) Stan. So far from further wrong, that 'tis a shame He should be where he is. Good governor, Himself, his all, at your discretion. Bland. Discretion! no; he yielded on your word; And I am made the cautionary pledge, The gage and hostage of your keeping it. Char. But he is not disposed to it. Omnes. All, all. Lacy. We will all answer for him now. Lieut. Well, you will have it so; do what you please, just what you will with him; I give you leave. [Exit. Bland. We thank you, sir; this way, pray come with me. Exeunt SCENE II.-Discovers OROONOKO upon his back, his legs and arms stretched out, and chained to the ground. Enter BLANDFORD, STANMORE, &c. Bland. O miserable sight! help, ev'ry one, Assist me all to free him from his chains. [all (They help him up, and bring him forward.) Most injured prince! how shall we clear ourselves! Oroo. If you would have me think you are not Confederates, all accessory to The base injustice of your governor ; If you would have me live, as you appear Concern'd for me; if you would have me live To thank and bless you, there is yet a way To tie me ever to your honest love; Bring my Imoinda to me; give me her, To charm my sorrows, and, if possible, I'll sit down with my wrongs, never to rise Against my fate, or think of vengeance more. Bland. Be satisfy'd, you may depend on us; We'll bring her safe to you, and suddenly. Char. We will not leave you in so good a work. Widow L. No, no, we'll go with you. Bland. In the meantime, And hope a better fortune. Endeavour to forget, sir, and forgive; [Exeunt all but Oroonoko. I know him, he will sneak behind his guard An honest remedy, I have the hand, Lieut. I would not have her tell me she consents; In favour of the sex's modesty Enter BLANDFORD, STANMORE, JACK STANMORE, I That crawl'd awhile upon the bustling world, Char. Nay, nothing extraordinary. But one good action draws on another. You have given the prince his freedom: now we come a begging for his wife: you won't refuse us. Lieut. Refuse you? No, no, what have I to do to refuse you? I send her to him! You do very well; 'tis kindly done of you; even carry her to him, with all my heart. Lucy. You must tell us where she is. Lieut. I tell you! why, don't you know? Bland. Your servant says she's in the house. Lieut. No, no; I brought her home at first indeed; but I thought it would not look well to keep her here; I removed her in the hurry only to take care of her. What! she belongs to you; I have nothing to do with her. Char. But where is she now, sir? [Exeunt all but Lieutenant-Governor. (Going out, he meets IMOINDA, and seizes her.) Are you come? I'll court no longer for a happiness Lieut. She sha'n't escape me so; I've gone too Not to go further. Curse on my delay; Enter OROONOKO. [Exeunt. Oroo. To honour bound! and yet a slave to love! For stopping in thy course. I still am thine; Aboan. I have no name That can distinguish me from the vile earth, And now am trampled to my dust again. To tell how they have us'd me; but believe Bending and sinking; I have dragg'd my steps And wo' not bear me off to liberty: Oroo. Here he is, Follow thee! Oroo. In life and death, (Going out, he meets IMOINDA, who runs into his Thou bosom softness! Down of all my cares! And yet be happy; but it wo'not be. Imo. 'Tis in vain to call him villain. Oroo. Call him governor; is it not so? Oroo. Villain's the common name of mankind here, But his most properly. What? what of him? Imo. I blush to think it. Oroo. His own gods damn him, then! For ours have none, No punishment for such unheard of crime. When he had weary'd all his useless arts, Oroo. I fear and tremble now. What could preserve thee? What deliver thee? Imo. That worthy man, you us'd to call your friend Oroo. Blandford? Imo. Came in, and sav'd me from his rage. Oroo. He was a friend, indeed, to rescue thee! And, for his sake, I'll think it possible A Christian may be yet an honest man. Imo. O did you know what I have struggled through, To save me your's, sure you would promise me Oroo. To promise thee! O! do I need to promise? But there is now no further use of words. Find yet a way to lay her beauties down I'll ease your love, and do the deed myself- Oroo. O hold, I charge thee, hold! It would be nobler for us both from you. Oroo. O! for a whirlwind's wing to hurry us They shall not overtake us. This last kiss, Imo. Farewell, farewell for ever. (Shews Aboan's body on the floor.) Now, are you ready? And yet I cannot trust him. Imo. Aboan! Imo. Now. But do not grudge me The pleasure, in my death, of a last look; Oroo. Mangled and torn, resolv'd to give me time Pray look upon me.-Now I'm satisfied. To fit myself out for what I must expect, Groan'd out a warning to me, and expir'd. Oroo. Would that were all! Imo. By barb'rous hands, to fall at last their prey? Oroo. So fate must be by this. (Going to stab her, he stops short; she lays her hand on his, in order to give the blow.) Imo. Nay, then, I must assist you. And, since it is the common cause of both, 'Tis just that both should be employ'd in it. Thus, thus 'tis finish'd, and I bless my fate, (Stabs herself.) That, where I liv'd, I die in these lov'd arms.(Dies.) Oroo. She's gone. And now all's at an end with me. Soft, lay her down: O we will part no more. Oroo. Here is the wretch whom you would have. Bland. 'Tis his wife. (They gather about the body.) Alas! there was no other remedy. Lieut. Who did the bloody deed? Bloody I know it is, aud I expect I do resign myself into your hands, (Stabs the Governor and himself, then throws himself by Imoinda's body.) 'Tis as it should be now, I have sent his ghost To be a witness of that happiness In the next world, which he deny'd us here. (Dies.) Bland. I hope there is a place of happiness Exeunt AN OPERA, IN THREE ACTS: ALTERED FROM GENERAL BURGOYNE, BY CHARLES DIBDIN, JUN. ACT I. At the close of the Overture, a peal of bells is heard at a distance, the curtain continuing down; when the peal is nearly finished, the curtain rises and discovers a magnificent Entrance to a Park, with a View of a Gothic Castle on an eminence, at a distance. On the side scene, near the park-gate, the outside of a small neat Farm-house, with a bank of turf before the door, on which SOPHIA and ANNETTE are seated, and at work. Annette throws down her work, and runs to meet PEGGY, who enters immediately on the other side. Sophia continues to work pensively. DUETT.-PEGGY and ANNETTE. Peggy. Hark! hark! the merry peal! Ann. My spirits are all prancing; My little heart is dancing. How light my heart; While all the burden of my song, Is fal lal la, ding, ding, dong. dong! and away with it again; it puts my spirits quite in a heyday. I never hear a merry peal but my heart beats time to it. Ann. Ay, and your tongue too, Peggy. Peggy. To be sure I do rattle away; but when good nature sets a woman's tongue a-going, they must have very bad ears for music who wish to stop it. What say you, my little foreigner? Ann. You know, Peggy, my spirits are generally in time and tune with your's. I was out of my wits for your coming back, to know what was going on. Is all this for the wake? Peggy. Wake! a hundred wakes together wouldn't make such a day as this is like to be. Our new landlord, who has bought all this estate of Castle Manor, has arrived; and Rental, the steward, who went up to London upon the purchase, is with him, and is to be continued steward. He has been presenting him all the tenants, and they are still flocking up to the castle to get a sight of Sir John-Sir John Ann. What is his name? Peggy. I declare I had almost forgot it, though I've heard all about him-Sir John Contrast, knight and baronet, and as rich as Mexico. An ox is to be roasted whole, and all the country will be assembled; such feasting and dancing! Ann. Oh, how I long to see it! I hope papa will let us go; don't you, sister? (To Sophia.) Sophia. No, indeed, my hopes are just the re Peggy. Keep it up, jolly ringers! ding, ding, verse; I hate nothing so much as a crowd and a noise. Enjoy the gaiety for which your temper is so well fitted, Annette; but do not grudge me what is equally to mine, retirement. Ann. I grudge it you only, Sophy, because it nourishes pain, which sprightly objects would convert to pleasure. AIR.-ANNETTE, A nightingale sung in a sycamore grove; A lover he listen'd, with sighs, to the lay; 'Twas sweet, but all plaintive, like languishing love: Heigho!" cried the lover, "ah, well-a-day!" The lover quite restless that night found his pillow, Went to sleep in despair, and still dreamt of the willow. The lover he listen'd next morn to a lark, Whose song better sooth'd him because it was gay; His hope grew more strong, as his mind grew less dark: "Heigho!" he renounc'd, and “ah, well-a day!” The lover that night sweetly slept on his pillow, And dreamt of gay garlands; ne'er once of the willow. Peggy. Well said, ma'amselle; though I hate the French in my heart, as a true Englishwoman ought, I'll be friends with their sunshine as long as I live, for making thy blood so lively in thy veins. Was it not for Annette and me, this honse would be worse than a nunnery. Sophia. Heigho! Ann. Ay, that's the old tune; it's all night long, sigh, sigh! pine, pine! I can hardly get a wink of sleep. Peggy. And how is it ever to end? The two fathers, your's and your lover's, are specially circumstanced to make a family alliance. A curate, with forty pounds a year, has endowed his son with two fine qualities to entail his poverty, learning and modesty; and my gentleman (my master, heaven bless him!) is possessed of this mansion, a farm of a hundred acres, a gun, and a brace of spaniels. I should have thought the example so long before your eyes, of living upon love, might have made you Sophia. Charmed with it, Peggy; and so indeed I am: it was the life of a mother I can never for get. I do not pass an hour without reflecting on the happiness she diffused and enjoyed. Peggy. Then if you'd follow her example, put a little less sorrow in your sentiment, and a little more sunshine in your countenance, and never sacrifice the main chance for moonshine. Sophia. Consider my situation, Peggy. Peggy. To be sure I do, and that's why I want you to consider my advice. Helpless souls! you haven't a single faculty to make the pot boil between you. I should like to see you at work in a dairy; your little nice fingers may serve to rear an unfledged linnet, but would make sad work at cramming poultry for market. Sophia. But you, my good Peggy, ought not to upbraid me; for you have helped to spoil me, by taking every care and trouble off my hands: the bumility of our fortunes ought to have put us more upon a level. Peggy. That's a notion I can't bear. I speak my mind familiarly to be sure, because I mean no harm; but I never pretend to more than a servant, and you were born to be a lady: I'm sure on't; Í see it, as sure as the gipsies, in every turn of your countenance. sion for Trumore out of your head, and my life on't, 'twill do. I dreamt last night I saw you with a bunch of nettles instead of a nosegay, and that's a sure sign of a wedding: let us watch for him at the park gate, and take your aim; your eyes will carry further, and hit surer, than the best gun your father bas. Ann. Peggy, how odd you are. Peggy. Yes, my whole life has been an oddity; all made up of chequers and chances; you don't know half of it; but Margery Heartease is always honest and gay, and has a joke for the best and worst of times. AIR.-(Original.)—PEGGY. I once was a maiden, as fresh as a rose, I lay down without care, and I wak'd from repose, I work'd with the girls, I play'd with the men, I was always or romping or spinning; And what if they pilfer'd a kiss now and then? I hope 'twas not very great sinning. I married a husband as young as myself, And for every frolic as willing; And we laugh'd when we had not a shilling. Ann. It would be a thousand pities you ever should. Peggy. But here comes your father and Rental, the steward; they seem in deep discourse. Sophia. Let us go in, then; it might displease my father to interrupt them. [Exit into the house. Peggy. Go thy ways, poor girl; thou art more afraid of being interrupted in discoursing with thy own simple heart. Ann. Peggy, when do you think my sighing time will come? Peggy. Don't be too sure of yourself, miss; there is no age in which a woman is so likely to be infected with folly, as just when she arrives at what they call years of discretion. [Exeunt into the house. Enter RASHLY and RENTAL. Rent. But you are the only tenant upon the manor that has not congratulated our new landlord upon taking possession of his purchase. Rash. Strange disposition of events! that he, of all mankind, should be a purchaser in this county! (Aside.) I must not see Sir John Contrast. Rent. Why so? he is prepared; in giving him an account of his tenants, your name wasn't forgot. Rash. And pray, my friend, how did you describe me? man. Rent. As what I always found you, an honest One can go no further than that word in the praise of a character; therefore, to make him better acquainted with your's, I was forced to tell him the worst I knew of you. Rash. Good Rental, what might that be? Rent. I told him you had the benevolence of a prince, with means little better than a peasant; that, consequently, your family was often indebted to your gun (at which you were the best hand in the county) for the only meat in your kitchen. Rash. And what said he to the gun? Rent. Shook his head, and said, if you were a poacher, woe be to you when his son arrived. |