The thought of it must live for ever with me.
I met her, Belmear, when the royal spoiler
Bore here in triumph from my widow'd home!
Within his chariot, by his side she sat,
And listen'd to his talk with downward looks,
"Till sudden as she chanc'd aside to glance,
Her eyes encounter'd mine:-Oh! then, my friend!
Oh! who can paint my grief, and her amazement?
As at the stroke of death, twice turn'd she pale;
And twice a burning crimson blush'd all o'er her;
Then, with a shriek heart-wounding, loud she cry'd,
While down her cheeks two gushing torrents ran
Fast falling on her hands, which thus she wrung :-
Mov'd at her grief, the tyrant ravisher,
With courteous action woo'd her oft to turn;
Earnest he seem'd to plead, but all in vain;
Ev'n to the last she bent her sight towards me,
And follow'd me,-till I had lost myself.

Bel. Alas, for pity! Oh! those speaking tears!
Could they be false? Did she not suffer with you?
For though the king by force possess'd her person,
Her unconsenting heart dwelt still with you.
If all her former woes were not enough,
Look on her now; behold her where she wanders,
Hunted to death, distress'd on every side,
With no one hand to help; and tell me then,
If ever misery were known like her's?

[frame

Dum. And can she bear it? Can that delicate
Endure the beating of a storm so rude?
Can she, for whom the various seasons chang'd
To court her appetite and crown her board,
For whom the foreign vintages were press'd,
For whom the merchant spread his silken stores,
Can she-

Entreat for bread, and want the needful raiment
To wrap her shiv'ring bosom from the weather?
When she was mine, no care came ever nigh her;
I thought the gentlest breeze that wakes the spring,
Too rough to breathe upon her; cheerfulness
Danc'd all the day before her, and at night
Soft slumbers waited on her downy pillow :-
Now, sad and shelterless, perhaps she lies,
Where piercing winds blow sharp, and the chill rain
Drops from some pent-house on her wretched head,
Drenches her locks, and kills her with the cold.
It is too much:-hence with her past offences,
They are aton'd at full.-Why stay we then?
Ob let us haste, my friend, and find her out.

Bel. Somewhere about this quarter of the town,
I hear the poor abandon'd creature lingers:
Her guard, though set with strictest watch to keep
All food and friendship from her, yet permit her
To wander in the streets, there choose her bed,
And rest her head on what cold stone she pleases.
Dum. Here then let us divide; each in his round
To search her sorrows out; whose hap it is
First to behold her, this way let him lead
Her fainting steps, and meet we here together.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-A Street.

Enter JANE SHORE, her hair hanging loose on her shoulders, and bare-footed.

Jane S. Yet, yet endure, nor murmur, O my soul!
For are not thy transgressions great and number-
Do they not cover thee like rising floods, [less?
And press thee like a weight of waters down?
Wait then with patience, till the circling hours
Shall bring the time of thy appointed rest,
And lay thee down in death."

And hark! methinks the roar that late pursu'd me,
Sinks like the murmurs of a falling wind,
And softens into silence. Does revenge
And malice then grow weary, and forsake me?
My guard, too, that observ'd me still so close,
Tire in the task of their inhuman office,
And loiter far behind. Alas! I faint,
My spirits fail at once. This is the door
Of my Alicia;-blessed opportunity!

I'll steal a little succour from her goodness, Now, while no eye observes me. (She knocks.) Enter Servant.

Is your lady,

My gentle friend, at home! Oh! bring me to her. (Going in.) Serv. Hold, mistress, whither would you? (Throwing her back.)

Jane S. Do you not know me? Serv. I know you well, and know my orders too: You must not enter here.

Jane S. Tell my Alicia, 'tis I would see her. Serv. She is ill at ease, and will admit no visitor. Jane S. But tell her

'Tis I, her friend, the partner of her heart, Wait at the door and beg

Serv. 'Tis all in vain :

Go hence, and howl to those that will regard you. (Shuts the door.)

Jane S. It was not always thus: the time has

been,

When this unfriendly door, that bars my passage,
Flew wide, and almost leap'd from off its hinges,
To give me entrance here: when this good house
Has pour'd forth all its dwellers to receive me;
When my approaches made a little holiday,
And every face was dress'd in smiles to meet me:
But now 'tis otherwise; and those who bless'd me,
Now curse me to my face. Why should I wander,
Stray further on, for I can die ev'n here?

(She sits down.)
Enter ALICIA, in disorder. [baseness
Alic. What wretch art thou, whose misery and
Hangs on my door: whose hateful whine of woe
Breaks in upon my sorrows, and distracts
My jarring senses with thy beggar's cry?

Jane S. A very beggar, and a wretch, indeed; One driv'n by strong calamity to seek For succours here: one perishing for want, Whose hunger has not tasted food these three days; And humbly asks, for charity's dear sake, A draught of water and a little bread.

[it,

Alic. And dost thou come to me, to me for bread? I know thee not.-Go; hunt for it abroad, Where wanton hands upon the earth have scatter'd Or cast it on the waters.-Mark the eagle, And hungry vulture, where they wind the prey; Watch where the ravens of the valley feed, And seek thy food with them:-I know thee not. Jane S. (Rises.) And yet, there was a time,

when my Alicia

Has thought unhappy Shore her dearest blessing, And mourn'd the live-long day she pass'd without Inclining fondly to me she has sworn, [me; She lov'd me more than all the world besides. Alic. Ha! say'st thou?-Let me look upon thee well;

[me;

'Tis true;-I know thee now ;-a mischief on thee!
Thou art that fatal fair, that cursed she,
That set my brain a madd'ning. Thou has robb'd
Thou hast undone me.-Murder! O, my Hastings!
See his pale bloody head shoots glaring by me!

Avaunt! and come not near me.

Jane S. To thy hand

I trusted all; gave my whole store to thee:
Nor do I ask it back; allow me but
The smallest pittance, give me but to eat,
Lest I fall down and perish here before thee.

Alic. Nay, tell not me! Where is thy king, thy And all the cringing train of courtiers, [Edward, That bent the knee before thee?

SCENE I-A Cottage, with a view of the French camp at a distance.

MARGARET knitting, and JENNY spinning, at the door of the cottage.-SIMKIN and other Villagers come over the bridge, with baskets of fruit.

AIR. SIM. MAR. JEN. and Chorus.
Sim. I can't for my life guess the cause of this fuss.-
Why there's pipers and fiddlers; while Robin
and Harry,

And Clodpole and Roger, and ten more of us,
Have pull'd as much fruit as we are able to

carry.

Would certainly breed in the village a famine.

What the meaning can be

We shall presently see,

For yonder's old Russet, who certainly knows;

Be what it will,

Our wish shall be still,

Sim. What can all this feasting be for?
Jen. I'll give you while I wind up this bottom

and another, and you sha'n't find it out.

Sim. Why, then, if you know so well, why don't you tell us what it is?"

Jen. Ab, I thought you would none of you guess it. This grand feasting at the duchess's is because the king's coming to the camp.

Mar. Who told you so?

Jen. I had it from Gaffer Russet himself.
Sim. Does the king come to the camp to-day?
Mar. Why, yes; I knew that.

Sim. Then, as sure as can be, I know what will

happen.

Jen. Why, what will happen?

Sim. There will be two weddings in the village before to-morrow night.

Mar. How so?

Sim. Why, is not Henry, the young soldier, to marry Louisa, Gaffer Russet's daughter, as soon as the review is over?

Jen. Not if I can prevent it. (Aside.)
Mar. Well; that's but one wedding.

Sim. Yes; but Jenny can tell you whose wedding t'other's to be.

Jen. How should I know ?

Sim. Ah, you won't say anything before folks, because you're ashamed.

Jen. What do you mean?

Sim. As if you did not know.

Jen. Not I, indeed.

whenever

Sim. Louisa.

Rus. Well, now we come to the point.-Henry, you know, who was bred up with my girl, and intended from his infancy for her husband, is a Sim. So he is. [soldier. Rus. And because she has a value for every thing that belongs to me, this good lady, about three weeks ago, sent to the colonel for his discharge, that the young folks may live at home at their ease, and be as happy as the day is long. Mar. That will be charming and comfortable for you, neighbour.

Rus. Yes; but now comes the mischief of it; what has occasioned it, I don't know; I never saw any harm of the lad, but there are always busy tongues in this village, doing people ill offices; and such reports, within these few days, have reached the duchess's ears, that she is determined to see farther into this business, before she gives Louisa the portion she promised her.

Jen. You may thank me for that. (Aside.) Lou. But he'll be here to-day; and so well I know his heart, that I am sure he'll clear himself, to their confusion who could so vilely traduce him. Jen. Perhaps not. (Aside.)

Rus. Well, child, I am sure you can't wish it more than I do; nothing has ever pleased me so much as the thought of your coming together: wish to see you married with all my heart. But, as I was telling you, the duchess, hearing of these reports, is determined that we shall make a trial of his affections.

Lou. Indeed, father, there's no necessity for it; he loves me most sincerely.

Rus. Nay, nay, child; I really think your love earries you too much away in this affair; it can do no harm; 'tis only an innocent frolic. You are to make believe as if you were a bride; and let me see who-oh, you shall be the bridegroom. (To Sim.)

Sim. Shall I? ecod, I'm glad of that.

Rus. But above all, I must instruct you, Jenny, in your part; you are to sit here, and tell Henry, when he comes, that Louisa and Simkin were married yesterday.

Jen. The very thing I wished. (Aside.)

Lou. I'm vexed to death that this trick should be played him; I can judge by myself what he'll feel. If I were told such a thing of him, how miserable I should be!

Rus. But he'll be so much the happier when he finds out the deceit, child.

My heart, my fond heart, says my Henry is true. The bee, thus, as changing,

From sweet to sweet ranging,

A rose should he light on, ne'er wishes to stray; With raptures possessing

In one every blessing,

Till torn from her bosom, he flies far away.

Rus. Well, well, don't make yourself uneasy; dare say he loves you as sincerely as you think he does; if so, he'll soon be undeceived, and we shall finish the day as happily as we could wish. In the meantime, let us think of what we have to do: we fiddles and bagpipes are to go first, then the lads are to pretend we came from the church; the and lasses follow; after which,-mind this now,— cession, and there to be feasted like so many princes we are to go to the duchess's mansion in grand proand princesses.

Sim. Ecod, that will suit me nicely. But, Gaffer Russet, Jenny says, you told her the feasting was to be for the king.

Rus. For us and the king; yes, yes, the king, after he and his courtiers have had an entertainment at the duchess's, goes to review the camp, Ah, girls! that's what none of you know anything where the soldiers are all to appear under arms. about-when the king goes to the camp, then's the time the drums beat-the fifes play-the colours are flying-and-and-lord, lord! what a charming thing war is!

Sim. It must be, then, when one comes home again, and it's all over.

Rus. There's no life like the life of a soldier; hearts; I remember I won my Dorothy just after and then for love! let the girls take care of their I came from such a review, now, as there may be to-day.

with young women's hearts, sure enough. Mar. Ah, indeed, the soldiers make sad work

Rus. And how can it be otherwise?

AIR. RUSSET.
One conduct's for
Both love and war,

The point's to gain possession;
For this we watch
The enemy's coast,
Till we sleeping catch
Them on their post:
Then good bye, form;
The fort we storm,
Make towns or hearts
Surrender at discretion.

In love the only battery,

Which with success we play
To conquer hearts, is flattery:
No fortress can its power withstand;
Neither cannons, mortars, sword in hand,
Can make such way.

As 'tis in love, so 'tis in war,

We make believe,
Mislead, deceive;

Pray, what serve drums and trumpets for,
Cannons, and all our force of arms,
But with their thund'ring alarms,
To tell, not cover our designs?
Can these to trenches, breaches, mines,
Blockades, or ambuscades compare?

No, all agree,
That policy

Is the true art militaire.

The nymph, who in my bosom reigns,
With such full force my heart enchains,
That nothing ever can impair
The empire she possesses there.
Who digs for stones of radiant ray,
Finds baser matter in his way;
The worthless load he may contemn,
But prizes still, and seeks the gem.

Hen. But I hear music! what can this be? All the villagers are coming this way-it seems like a wedding-I'll retire. How I envy this couple! (Retires.) Enter RUSSET, SIMKIN, LOUISA, MARGARET, JENNY, and Villagers, in the wedding procession. Rus. Charming! he has hid himself: pretend not to see him. Don't turn your head that way; he's looking at you now!

Lou. How cruel, not to let me have one look! Sim. No, you must look at nobody but me now: I am the bridegroom, you know.

[Exeunt Šim. and Lou. over the bridge. Rus. Jenny, be sure you play your part well. Jen. Never fear me; my part's a much more difficult one than they imagine. (Aside.)

[Exeunt Rus, and Procession over the bridge. (Jenny sits down to spinning; Henry comes forward during her song.)

AIR.-JENNY.

Somehow my spindle I mislaid,

And lost it underneath the grass:
Damon advancing, bow'd his head,
And said, what seek you pretty lass?
A little love, but urg'd with care,
Oft leads a heart, and leads it far.

'Twas passing nigh yon spreading oak,
That I my spindle lost just now:
His knife then kindly Damon took,
And from the tree he cut a bough.
A little love, &c.

Thus did the youth his time employ,
While me he tenderly beheld;
He talk'd of love, I leap'd for joy;
For, ah! my heart did fondly yield.
A little love, &c.

Hen. Good day, young woman.
Jen. (Sings.) 'Twas passing nigh, &c.
Hen. Young woman!

Jen. (Sings.) 'Twas passing nigh, &c.

Hen. Pray, tell me what wedding that is? Jen. What? that wedding?

Hen. Yes.

Hen. What, again! whose is this wedding? whose is it? speak, or I'll-did I not see amongst them-distraction-will you answer, you?

Jen. Lord, you are so impatient! why, then, the wedding is Louisa's, old Russet's daughter, the invalid soldier.

Hen. Louisa's wedding?

Jen. Yes; she was married yesterday. Hen. Married? Good heavens! are you sure of what you say? Do you know Russet?

Jen. Do I know him? to be sure I do; why he is bailiff to the duchess. What makes you so uneasy? you seem as if you had an interest in it.

Hen. An interest in it! Oh!

Jen. Dear me, if I remember right, you are the young man that every body thought she'd be married to. O la! what wickedness there is in the world! I am sure I very sincerely pity you.

Hen. I am obliged to you for your concern. Jen. Nay, it is not more on your account than my own, that I am uneasy.

Hen. How so?

Hen. Insulting creature!

Jen. Yes; and for my part, I said to myself, says I, 'twould be a good joke to take her at her word but then again I thought, that though revenge is sweet, yet people have their likings and their dislikings; and as for me, to be sure, I can't pretend to such a good young man as you.

Hen. (Not regarding her.) Infamous wretch! Well might she keep her eyes fixed upon the ground; but I'll see her, upbraid her with her infidelity, and leave her to the guilty reproaches of her own ungrateful heart. (Going.

-(Calling him.)

Jen. Young man-(

Hen. (Returning.) Well, what do you say? Jen. I believe you did not rightly hear what I said?

Hen. Oh, I have no time for trifling. [Exit. Jen. Poor soul, how he takes it to heart! But I must follow him; for if I lose this opportunity, I may not find it easy to get another. But stay: upon second thoughts, if I can but make a tool of Simkin, and by that means alarm Louisa, I shall every way gain my ends; for if she once believes him capable of slighting her, I am sure she has too much spirit ever to see him again.

Enter SIMKIN over the bridge.

Sim. Oh, Jenny, I am glad I have found you; what do you think brought me away from Louisa

and them?

Jen. I neither know nor care.

Sim. Why, I was afraid you'd be jealous.
Jen. I jealous!

Sim. Why, yes, you know, because I pretended

to be Louisa's husband.

Jen. No; I'd have you to know I am not jealous! I am only vexed, to think I have been such a fool to listen to you so long, you base creature you!

Sim. If I did not think there was something the matter, by your looking so cross.

Jen. And enough to make one; you know I can't help loving you; and this is the way you return my affection.

Sim. Why, you know 'twas only in play.
Jen. In play! I could see plain enough how your