[]HARVEST-HOME. A COMIC OPERA.

ACT I.
SCENE I. A Lawn pretty far back, terminating with a Country-ſeat; on one Side, the Entrance to Muzzy's Houſe; and on the other, an Avenue of large Trees.—All the Spaces are interſected with Corn-Fields.

JOHN Muzzy!—John Muzzy!—I tell thee, the poor thing ſha'n't be impoſed upon!—She is friendleſs, and helpleſs; and, what's worſe than all, loveſick.—Ah! I have been loveſick, myſelf, before now!—You know ſhe was left by her lover, Patrick O'Liffy, laſt hay-time; and if it had not been for me, and my good Lady Signora Eſtella, Heaven knows what would have become of her!—Lord, Lord, how I do love to hear her chaunt her wild Iriſh notes! and then her comical brogue—

Haſt done?—Why, what harm do I intend to do the wench! I like her Lango-lee's, and her Gramacree's, and her Lilly Lilly Loo's, as well as thee doſt; and don't I prove it, by giving her a good huſband?

Yes, with a vengeance!—Old Congo, the exciſeman.

An honeſt fellow, like myſelf.

A drunkard, like thyſelf!

Why that's the ſame thing: all drunkards are honeſt fellows!—I hate your ſober, ſneaking raſcals; give me the man that will take a dobbin with his friend!—But ſtay, ſtay, who have we here!

Some of your honeſt fellows, I ſuppoſe. Won't you aſk them to take a dobbin with their friend?

Pray, Meaſter—

What!

Zur.

Oh, ho! Hem.

Your worſhip!

What do you ſay, friend?

Craving your pardon, and under favour, a'n't you Mr. Gaffer Muzzy; game-keeper of the hundred, bailly of the village, and ſteward to our outlandiſh lady of the manor?

I am, friend.—Hem!

I know'd it!—for they ſaid I ſhou'd find you out by your portly belly and your handſome feace.

Yes; and they ſays you have the fineſt yeal in the kiounty!

Wife—get theſe honeſt people ſomething to drink.

I thought ſo!—Well, I may as well fetch a quart; for, if he went, he'd bring them a gallon.

And now, friends, what's your buſineſs?

Why, hearing as how harveſt was begining in theſe um here pearts, we comed to lend you a hond.

Can you drink like a fiſh?

You don't mean the ſame liquor, I hope?

Well anſwered!—I take you for my right-hand man.— As for you—

But here comes the liquor.

I do wonder, John Muzzy, thou canſt take delight in this filthy liquor! 'Tis fit for nothing, but to make thee quarrel with thy neighbours.

Well, well; don't abuſe it, wife, but give it me.

Why, haſt no more manners? Let me drink to the ſtrangers firſt!—Young men, your healths.

Faith, well pull'd!—Well, my lads, we ſhall have rare work this harveſt: 'tis to begin with a wedding; how it will end, is another matter.

'Wounds! I do like a wedding, hugeouſly!—And who is to be married, pray?

Slidikins, ſhe is a nice one!—You muſt know that my wife—

John Muzzy, let me tell my own ſtory!

What a good creature it is!—She hates ale, and will [5] drink firſt: ſhe never talks, and yet nobody muſt tell a ſtory but herſelf!

Meaſter Muzzy, you are wanted in field. Madam and the gentlefolks be there.

Run, John Muzzy! run.

One pull firſt.

Now for the love-ſtory, Goody?

Why, you muſt know, that my dear child is to be mar⯑ried to-morrow.

I never heard as you had a datur.

Lord love you!—not my own child, Miſs Cleora, Madam Eſtella's daughter! I nurs'd her—I am ſorry I ſhall loſe her.

'Wounds, never mind it! She'll find thee half a dozen young ones to nurſe, in good time.

And pray does ſhe love the gentleman intended for her?

Why, I don't know what to ſay to't. There was a rake of a young man ſhe ſaw in London—one Glanville—he cer⯑tainly did ſteal her heart; but I'll take care ſhe ſha'n't ha' he!

You will!

Yes; he!—a vile wretch, making the poor dear child's heart ache—

But ſuppoſe his own aches at the ſame time?

His, indeed!

Yes; his happineſs, his very exiſtence, depends upon Cleora's ſmile! He diſſolves in rapture at her name! — he con⯑templates her charms with adoration! Inexpreſſible are his pangs at her abſence! and, though he would even conſent to this marriage, if it made her happy, it would be to him a ſource of irretrievable miſery!—In ſhort, I am Glanville, the wretched lover of Cleora.

And I his man Trim.

Never heard ſuch a pretty-ſpoken young man in my life!

Pity me, then!—Aſſiſt me.

I can't think on't! — My lady will never conſent.

Then we muſt manage it without her conſent, Goody Muzzy.

Let me think!—Will you promiſe to do nothing but what I bid you?

Moſt willingly, my dear Goody Muzzy.

Solemnly!—Sacredly!

Ah! ſhe ſaid you were a coaxing creature.—But will you love her dearly?

Tenderly!—Rapturouſly! — My life, my deſires, my every wiſh, ſhall be devoted to my dear Cleora!

And mine—to Goody Muzzy.

What! two at a time, Goody!

Lord, now, if that little villain has not diſcovered us!

Yes, yes; nothing eſcapes me. I ſhould be a town ſervant to little purpoſe, if I did not know all the ſecrets of the family.

Ecod! well zed, younker.

Ha! now don't palm your clod-hopping dialect upon me: for, do you ſee—'I am Glanville, the wretched lover of "Cleora!"

What a little villain!

Oh! I've ſeen all your tricks for theſe three days— But, Goody, 'twas ſhameful in you to impoſe upon the young gentleman!—Mr. Glanville, upon my honour, Cleora is not the daughter of Madam Eſtella.

Why, you little prating—

Choo! choo! choo!—Mother Muzzy, Mother Muzzy! didn't her dying friend leave the little ſoul to the good lady's care?—Eſtella was never married in her life—though, I fancy, if there was a good handſome fellow in her way—like me, if I was a little bigger—ſhe would have no objection!—Hey, Muzzy? You elderly ladies, you know, love to have the young fellows at your feet.

The dog! how did he diſcover this!—We muſt not af⯑front him.

Not for the world!—Upon my word—So you have found us out, then—He! he! he!

What d'ye think on't?—Ha! ha! ha!

What's to be done?

Why, you muſt buy me for as much as I am worth.

That's ſoon done.

Soon, is it!—I'll go this minute, and tell my lady every thing that has paſs'd

Whew!

Here, here! come back. He did but jeſt!—Thou ſhalt have any thing; every thing: in ſhort, favour my pre⯑tenſions, and I'll make thy fortune.

That's what I call ſpeaking out. Hitherto I have been a ſpy on you, by my lady's directions—now, like other ſpies, if I find yours the ſtrongeſt ſide, I'll forſake my own, and turn deſerter. But mum—Ah! little Unah, are you here!

I have brought you the milk, and the pigeons, fait [...] and a long tireſome way it was. But the fatigue was a plea⯑ſure to me; becauſe I did it for you, Goody

What, you loikes to ſarve Goody, mayhap!

Muſha, my heart! I'd toil for her a whole day and a night, and all the reſt of the twenty-four hours into the bargain.

Thank thee kindly, Unah!

Zounds! this is the girl I was ſo mad after laſt hay-time!—I pr'ythee, young woman, what's becom'd of the Iriſh⯑man that uſed to be ſo ſweet upon you?— Has he left you?

Ah! now, don't ax me.—If he had let me go along wid him, I would not have minded his leaving me a pin!

Well, chear thy heart; thou art a good girl, and mayſt get a better.

Aye, aye; never mind that fellow!

Fellow! Fait, honey, if you were his fellow, there would be a better pair of you, than if he was yours—Ah! now, don't abuſe him. I am ſure, if it was not for his being fa [...]e to me, and forſaking me for ever, he is the beſt creature in the world.

All matters being now clearly explain'd, each muſt have a ſeparate taſk. My maſter muſt marry Miſs Cleora, and I Unah; Old Congo muſt be puniſh'd for his impudent preten⯑ſions to her; and John Muzzy muſt be cur'd of going to the ale⯑houſe.

Ah! if thou could'ſt but manage that—

I'll undertake it, if thou'lt manage the other.

Aſſiſted by me, if you pleaſe, Mr. Trim!

Sir, I humbly beg your pardon.

Begone, begone! here comes Miſs Cleora.

Like another Proſerpine, ſurrounded by her nymphs!— Oh! I'll reſcue her from that infernal Pluto, or loſe my life.

My dear child, we want to talk to you.

Here I am, Madam, ready to hear you.

Here is a gentleman, for whom you ſeem to have an eſteem; he aſks your hand Speak for yourſelf, Mr. Scandaroon.

Why, Madam, you ſee I have but little to ſay. I have ſeen all the world; and men, and manners; and everything, and every body. I want to marry Miſs. My way is to make but few words about any thing!

In one word, daughter, what do you think of my friend for a huſband?

I am proud of your choice, Madam. I thank the gen⯑tleman for his good opinion of me; and yet, if I marry him— you know I ſhall leave you!

My ſweet girl, I brought thee up! It was a delicious taſk; but, were you even to forget me, you ought to marry— 'tis a duty you owe ſociety.

I forget you, Madam!

'Twas unkind to ſay ſo.

Come, come, Madam, we muſt not be too haſty with the young lady. Give her a little time. I can't preſs her, Ma⯑dam. I have not the language of a lover; for I make but few words about any thing.

Yes, but I want to ſee her chearful. When I was of her age—

My angel! my Cleora! one ſingle word, for Heaven's ſake!

Not for the world—I'll ſee you in the meadow—I have much to tell you.

Exquiſite ſounds!—

—I've ſeen my angel, Trim! She ſpoke to me; I heard her ſing, and liſten'd with the ſame rapture as a bleſt ſoul attends to the voice of the ſeraph that wings it's way to heaven!

My maſter's in a rare rapturous humour!—Oh, here come my aſſociates!—Well, good people, 'tis time we ſhould enter upon our different ſtations!—My little Unah, if I ſerve the exciſeman a good trick, will you love me?

Yes; to be after being ſerv'd as I was by Patrick!

Oh, no; I'll love you for ever.

And a fortnight!

Come, come, ſhe ſha'n't be teaz'd.

Well, well; I'll take ſome other time.—Goody Muz⯑zy, I know you hate old Congo; and therefore I ſhall ſet him and your huſband together by the ears.

What to do!

To keep him from the alehouſe.

Lord help your head!

I will, I tell you; but you muſt aſſiſt.

I! why, ſo much I love him, that, rather than he ſhould injure his health, I'd drink all the liquor myſelf.

Very conſiderate, upon my word!—Pray, was he ever jealous?

Jealous!—I never gave him cauſe.

Oh, you muſt give him a little directly.

A little!—If I do any thing, I had better give him a good deal; for John's woundy dull of apprehenſion.

Oh, as much as ever you pleaſe.

But can't you be telling us what all dis [...]s for?

I want Goody to appear fond of the exciſeman; let me alone for the reſt.

Oh, Lord! not I. What would John ſay?

He won't be thumping you, will he?

Oh, no, child! 'tis I thump him. But ſuppoſe the old fellow ſhould make love to me in good earneſt?

Why den, ſure, can't you conſent to it in jeſt?

Aye, aye; we ſhall be too near for him to uſe force.

Force! I ſay, force!—Oh, I ſhould like to catch any body forcing of me!

You muſt find him, Unah; and break it to him, while I ſtay here to receive Old Muzzy.—Pickle, you go and watch down in the meadow—And, Goody, do you go and prepare Cleora.

Well ſaid, Goody. The old girl has ſome ſpirit yet!— Oh, here comes John, half-ſeas over, i'faith!—Ah, Meaſter! you have been at the barrel.

Ah! what, Ruſſet-grey!—Yes, I have. We muſt empty the poor things, how could they get fill'd elſe? Where's your partner?

At your houſe, with the women-folks. I am of your way of thinking. Hang the petticoats, I ſay; give me yeal.

Strike us thy fiſt!—Remember, I give you a general invitation to the buttery. You are my friend—I'll tell you all my ſorrows; nothing but ſorrow makes me drink!

Indeed!

You know I have a wife.

So you have.

She is the devil!—Don't you tell her I ſaid ſo!—She has ſuch a tongue—I ſhould never go to the alehouſe, if it was not for her damn'd tongue!—Never.

'Wounds! that's well enough.—But I have heard 'em ſay, a wife and a guinea are two bad things; one a body can't keep, and t'other one can't get rid of.

Well ſaid, Linſey-woolſey!—There's one thing in my wife, though, that all men are not bleſt with—She's honeſt!

Icod! ſo we be all, till we be found out.

What do you mean by that?

Mean! that I can ſing your ſong to another gueſs- [...]ort of burden.

Pooh! pooh! all nonſenſe. Odd's wounds! I ſhould like to ſee her old wither'd jaws trying to ſmile at a lover! No, no! ſhe is a devil of a fury, to be ſure; but all's ſafe here, for all that.

Doſt think ſo?—Why, then, come along with me; and I'll ſhew thee one old fox that's after thy poultry.

Here's to thee, however, all the ſame.

But here come the reapers!—Do you go, Maſter Muzzy, and ſleep off your ale; and then well ſet to work at this diſcovery.

So! ſo!

In ſhort, my dear Cleora, there is not a moment's time for heſitation: we can get a chaiſe inſtantly.

You know, Glanville, this was our former quarrel!

You cannot be more obedient to the will of Eſtella than I could wiſh you: but conſider, charming Cleora, ſhe was al⯑ways inexorable to me; and her title to your eſteem is not, per⯑haps—

You muſt part! you muſt part! The reapers are coming this way, and my lady and Mr. Scandaroon with them!

Here they are, ſure enough!

ACT II.