SCENE, A village at the foot of a hill, with a cottage more advanced than the reft, on one fide. SALLY difcovered Spinning at the door.

SALLY.

My time how happy once and gay!

Oh, blythe I was as blythe could be;

But now I'm fad, ah well-a-day!

For my true love is gone to sea.

The lads purfue, I strive to shun,
Though all their arts are loft on me;
For I can never love but one,
And he, alas! is gone to fea.

They bid me to the wake, the fair,
To dances on the neighb'ring lee;
But how can I in pleasure share,
While my true love is out at fea ?

The

The flowers droop till light's return,

The pigeon mourns its abfent fhe;
So will I droop, fo will I mourn

Till my true love comes back from sea.

Enter Dorcas.

Dor. What, will you never quit this idle trade?
Still, ftill in tears ?—Ah, you're a foolish maid!
In time have prudence, your own int'reft fee;
Youth lafts not always, be advis'd by me.

That May-day of life is for pleasure,

For finging, for dancing, and fhew;
Then why will you wafte fuch a treasure,
In fighing and crying-heigh-ho!
Let's copy the bird in the meadows,

By her's tune your pipe when 'tis low;
Fly round, and coquet as he does,
And never fit crying-heigh-ho!

Though when in the arms of a lover,
It fometimes may happen, I know,
That, e'er all our toying is over,
We cannot help crying-heigh-ho!
In age ev'ry one a new part takes,
I find to my forrow 'tis fo:

When old, you may cry till your heart aches,
But no one will mind you-heigh-ho!

Sal. Leave me.

Dor. Go to-I come to make you glad;

Odzooks, what's here? this folly fets me mad.
You're grieving and for whom?'tis pretty sport-
For one that gets a wife at ev'ry port!

Sal. Dorcas, for fhame! how can you be fo base,
Or after this look Thomas in the face?
His fhip's expected.-

Dor. Tell not me.- -The Squire

Sal.

As Tom is your's, you are his heart's defire-
Then why fo peevish, and fo froward still?
He'll make your fortune-let him have his will.
Wêre I as poor as wretch can be,

As great as any monarch he;

Ere

Ee'r on fuch terms I'd mount his throne,
I'd work my fingers to the bone.

Grant me, ye pow'rs! I afk not wealth
Grant me but innocence and health.
Ah, what is grandeur link'd to vice?
'Tis only virtue gives it price.

;

[Exit.

Dor. Well, go your ways-I cannot choose but smile.
Wou'd I were young again -alas the while!
But what are wishes?-wishes will not do:
One cannot eat one's cake and have it too.

When I was a young one, what girl was like me?
So wanton, fo airy, fo brifk as a bee:

I tattled, I rambled, I laugh'd, and where'er
A fiddle was heard, to be fure I was there.
To all that came near, I had fomething to say:
'Twas this, Sir-and that, Sir-but scarce ever nay;
And Sundays, drefs'd out in my filks and my lace,
I warrant I ftood by the best in the place.

At twenty I got me a husband-poor man!
Well, reft him, we all are as good as we can:
Yet he was fo peevith, he'd quarrel for ftraws;
And jealous-tho' truly I gave him fomé caufe.
He fnubb'd me, and huff'd me--but let me alone;
Egad, I've a tongue-and I paid him his own.
Ye wives take the hint, and when fpoufe is untow❜rd,
Stand firm to our charter-and have the laft word.
But now I'm quite alter'd-the more to my wo;
I'm not what I was forty fummers ago:

This Time's a fore foe, there's no thunning his dart ;
However, I keep up a pretty good heart.

Grown old, yet I hate to be fitting mum-chance;
I ftill love a tune, tho' unable to dance;
And books of devotion laid by on my shelf,
I teach that to others I once did myself.

[Exit.

SCENE. The Squire appears defcending the hill with

buntfmen.
Squire.

Hark, hark the fhrill horn calls the sportsman abroad; To horfe, my brave boys, and away;

The

The morning is up, and the cry of the hounds
Upbraids our too tedious delay.

What pleasure we feel in purfuing the fox!
O'er hill and o'er valley he flies;

R

Then follow, we'll foon overtake him-Huzza!
The traitor is feiz'd on and dies.

Triumphant returning at night with the spoil,
Like Bachanals, fhouting and gay;
How fweet with a bottle and lafs to refresh,
And lofe the fatigues of the day!

With fport, love, and wine, fickle fortune defy;
Dull wifdom all happiness fours :

Since life is no more than a passage at best,
Let's ftrew the way over with flour's

[Exeuni

SCENE. The Squire, returing after the buntfmen are gone off, knocks at Sally's door, who comes out of the cottage.

Sal. Ah, whither have my heedlefs fteps betray'd!
Sq. Where wou'd you fly? of whom are you afraid!
Here's neither spectre, ghost, nor goblin nigh;
Nor any one-but Cupid, you, and I.

Sal. Unlucky!

Sq. 'Sdeath! fhe fets me all on fire:

Bewitching girl! I languish with defire.

But wherefore do you shrink, and trembling ftand,
So coy, fo filly?-

Sal. Pray, Sir, loofe my hand.

-

Sq. When late I wander'd o'er the plain,

From nymph to nymph, I ftrove in vain
My wild defires to rally:

But now they're of themselves come home,
And, ftrange! no longer seek to roam;
They centre all in Sally.

Yet fhe, unkind one, damps my joy,
And cries I court but to destroy:
Can love with ruin tally?`

By thofe dear lips, thofe eyes, I fwear,
I would all deaths, all to ments bear,
Rather than injure Sally.

Come

Come then, oh come, thou sweeter far
Than jelamine and rofes are,

Or lilies of the valley:

O follow Love, and quit your fear;
He'll guide you to thefe arms, my dear,
And make me bleft in Sally.

Sal. Sir, you demean yourself; and, to be free,
Some lady you should choose of fit degree;
I am too low, too vulgar-

Sq. Rather fay,

There's fome more favour'd rival in the way: Some happy sweetheart in your thoughts take place; For him you keep your favours; that's the cafe. Sal. Well, if it be, 'tis neither shame nor fin :

An honest lad he is, of honest kin:

No higher than my equal I pretend.

You have your anfwer, Sir; and there's an end.

Sq. Come, come, my dear girl, I must not be deny'd; Fine cloaths you fhall flash in, and rant it away: I'll give you this purfe too; and hark you, befide, We'll kiss and we'll toy all the long fummer's-day. Sal. Of kiffing and toying you foon will be tir'd;

Oh, should haplefs Sally confent to be naught! Befides, Sir, believe me, I fcorn to be hir'd; The heart's not worth gaining which is to be bought. Sq. Perhaps you're afraid of the world's busy tongue : But know, above scandal you then shall be put; And laugh, as you roll in your chariot along, At draggle tail Chastity walking a-foot. Sal. If only through fear of the world I was fhy, My coynefs and modefty were but ill fhewn; It's pardon were eafy with money to buy;

But how, tell me how, I fhould purchase my own. Sq. Leave morals to grey-beards; thofe lips were defign'd For better employment

Sq. Oh fie, child! Love bids you be rich and be kind! Sal. But virtue commands me,-Be honeft and poor.

ACT