"Teach a calf on his hind legs to go; "Let him waddle in gait, "A skim-dish on his pate, "And he'll look all the world like a Beau. VI. "To keep my brains right, "At London keep Vanity fair, Cho. Let others, &c. All, Well sung, Clod young Will Furrow Bet. But, tell us, Clod-How did behave in London ?-He rak'd it about, I suppose, and that makes him so scornful to us. Clod. Poor lad! he was more mopp'd than I was; he's not scornful-His Father, shame upon him, cross'd him in love, and he sent him there to forget it, Nan. And he ought to be cross'd in love. What does he mean by taking his love out of the parish? If he has lost one there, he may find another here, egad, and I had lik'd to have said a better. Clod. Ay, but that's as he thinks-If he loves lamb, he won't like to be cramm'd with pork- -Ha, ha, ha! Bet. His father wou'd send him to the market-town to make a schollard of him; which only gave him a hankering to be proud, to wear a tucker, and despise his neighbours. Clod. Here he comes, and let him speak for himselfhe looks as gay as the best of us. Enter WILLIAM. Wil. My sweet lasses, a merry May to you all-I must have the privelege of the day-Kisses and the first of May have ever gone together in our village, and I hate to break thro' a good old custom. [Kisses 'em. Bet. Old customs are good all the year round, and there can't be a better than this [Curtseys and kisses bim. [The tabor and pipe is beard.] Clod. Come, come, adon with your kissing, for here comes the crier to proclaim 'Squire Goodwill's legacy. Enter CRIER, tabor and pipe playing. Cri. O yes! O yes! O yes! Be it known to all lads and lasses of this village of couple-Well, that George Goodwill, Esq; late of Bounty-hall, in this county, has made the following bequest You, my lads, open your ears, and you, my lasses, hold your tongues, and hear his worship's legacy. Is there a maid, and maid she be, But how to find her out, who knows? Cri. Silence, and don't disturb the court,' If such rare maid and match be found The first of May Shall be the day, 1 give this pair a hundred God save the king! pound, 1 (Reads. [Exit Crier, the lads and lasses buzzaing! Wil. Well, my good girls, and which of you is to have the hundred pounds legacy? Nan. Any of us, if you will give us a right and titleWhat say you to that Mr William? The money ought not to go out of the parish. Bet. Ay come now Here are choice; you must be very nice indeed, if one of us, and a hundred pound, won't satisfy you. Clod. 'Ecod but he knows a trick worth two of that. Bet. Well, what say you, Mr Will? (Aside. Wil. I like you all so well, that I can't find in my heart to take one of you without the others, Nan. Nan. What, would you make a great Turk of us, and live like a heathen in a serallery? WILLIAM. I. Yes, I'll give my heart away II. Ever constant, warm, and true, It will not rove- III. Maidens, come, put in your claim, My heart a lamb, tho' brisk is tame; Before me pass; Who wins, pray use it kindly. IV. All have such bewitching ways, To give to one would wrong ye; Take equal share. I throw my heart among ye. Clod. You may as well throw your hat among 'em, Master William: these lasses cannot live upon such slender fare as a bit of your heart. Wil. Then they must fast, Clod; for I have not even a bit of my heart to give them. (Aside.) What in the name ་་ name of May, neighbours comes tripping through Far mer Danby's gate, and looks like may from top to toe. Cled. As I hope to be marry'd 'tis the little Gypsy that has got a bit of your father's heart; aye, and a good bit too, and holds it fast. Jen. I'll be hang'd if she's not going to the Grange now-Your father casts a sheep's eye at her-He hinders his own son from wedding lawfully, while he is running after this Little Gypsy-I hope she'll run away with his silver tankard. Wil. Upon my word I think my father has a good taste. How long has she been amongst you? who is she? what is she? and whence comes she? Jen. That we neither know nor can guess-She always comes out of 'Squire Grily's copse, but nobody knows how she gets there-Clod dog'd her 'tother night, but she took care to throw something in his eyes that struck fire and half-blinded him. Clcd. Ay, feath did she; and while I was rubbing them, she vanished away, and left me up to my middle in a bog. Wil. Poor Clod! you paid dearly for peeping. Bet. I wish she would sing! she's a perfect nightingale. Wil. Hush! hark! I hear something let's go back, or she may be sham'd fer'c- Ele's very young, and seems vely modest-True merit is always Lashful, and should never want for encouragement. She comes this waylet us keep back a little. (They retire. Enter Little GIPSY. GIPSY. ཉམས Hail, Spring! whose charms make nature gay, O breathe some charm on me, That I may bless this joyful day, And heal the wounds you gave. What a character am I obliged to support? I shall certainly be discover'd-the country folks I see are retir'd to watch me, and my sweet heart among 'em-I am more afraid afraid of a discovery from these than from wiser peopleCunning will very often overshoot the mark, while simplicity hits it. I must rely upon my dress and manner—If I can but manage to tell other peoples fortune, tho' but falsely, I may really make my own. Clod. She mutters something to herself; I wish I could hear what she is mandring about. Wil. Fortune-tellers always do so-the devil must be always talk'd to very civilly, and not loud, or he won't be at their elbow. Clod. Lord bless her, there no harm in her I wish I was the devil to be so talk'd to. Gip. What a frolic have 1 begun! should I succeed, our present distress will double our succeeding happiness[The country people come forward. Your servant, pretty maids, and to you also young men, if you are good; for naughtiness, they say, has found its way into the country-1 hope none of you have seen it. Will. O yes, I have seen enough of it; it hangs about one like a pest; and for fear my clothes should be infected, I order'd that they should be burnt before I left London. Clod, Ay, ay, wickedness there sticks to a body like pitch. Gip. Then I'll fly away from the infection. [Going. Wil. No, no, you little Gipsy, that wont' do; we must hear that sweet voice again, and have our fortunes told be(They lay bold upon ber. Jen. I vow, neighbours, I think I have seen this face before. fore you go away. Gip. It is not worth looking upon a second time. Clod. 'Ecod, and so could I, and buss it into the bar gain. Bet. Law, don't make such a fuss with the poor girl, as if Nobody was worth kissing but a Gypsy-Sing away child, and don't mind them. Gip. No more I will, mistress. (Curtseys Gipsy. |