[]

FONTAINBLEAU; OR, OUR WAY IN FRANCE.

A COMIC OPERA, IN THREE ACTS. AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES-ROYAL IN COVENT-GARDEN AND SMOCK-ALLEY, WRITTEN BY J. O'KEEFE, ESQ. THE MUSIC SELECTED AND COMPOSED BY WILLIAM SHEILD.

DUBLIN: Printed for W. WILSON, No. 6, Dame-ſtreet

M, DCC, LXXXV.

TABLE OF THE SONGS.

[]
ACT I.
  • AIR. I. A Londre, I vas taylor nice, Page. 11
  • AIR. II. My morning of life, ah, how tranquil, how bright, Page. 13
  • AIR. III. The Britiſh Lyon is my ſign, Page. 15
  • AIR. IV. Oh lingering time, why with us ſtay, Page. 19
  • AIR. V. Flow'rs their beauties all ſurrender, Page. 21
  • AIR. VI. Indeed I'll do the beſt I can, Page. 22
  • AIR. VII. The night when paſs'd in golden ſkies, Page. 24
  • AIR. VIII. Brooks to your ſources ah ſwiftly return, Page. 25
ACT II.
  • AIR. IX. In London my life is a ring of delight, Page. 31
  • AIR. X. Search all the wide creation round, Page. 32
  • AIR. XI. Love does ſo run in my head, Page. 35
  • AIR. XII. Through circling ſwetts I freely rove, Page. 36
  • AIR. XIII. No burry I'm in to be married, Page. 37
  • AIR. XIV. I'm here in France, the more fool I, Page. 40
  • AIR. XV. The morning we're married, how funny and jolly, Page. 46
ACT III.
  • AIR. XVI. Kilkenny is a handſome place, Page. 49
  • AIR. XVII. Tol lol, de rol, lol, my Tolly, my Toll, Page. 60
  • AIR. XVIII. 'Twas you, ſir, 'twas you, ſir, Page. 63
  • AIR. XIX. When dreſt in all my fineſt things, Page. 64
  • AIR. XX. How can man ſuch pleaſure find, Page. 67
  • AIR. XXI. Let fame ſound the trumpet, and cry "to the war," Page. 68
  • AIR. XXII. How ſweet, how kind the joyful hours, Page. 71
  • AIR. XXIII. Let faſhion with her glittering train, Page. 74

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

[]
 London.Dublin.
Lord Winlove,Mr. Davies,Mr. Waterhouſe.
Sir John Bull,Mr Wilſon,Mr Moſs.
Colond Epaulette,Mr. Wewitzer,Signora Seſtini.
Sir Shenkin ap Griffin,Mr. Edwin,Mr. O'Reilly.
Henry,Mr. Johnſtone,Mr Wood.
Lackland,Mr. Lewis,Mr Daly.
Lapoche,Mr. Quick,Mr. Ryder.
French Inn keepor,Mr. Gaudrey,Mr Baker.
Fobin,Mr. Darley,Mr. Murphy.
Jackey,Mr. Kennedy,Mr Lynch.
Faſtboy,Mr. Jones,Mr. Barrett.
Fuſt Waiter,Mr. Helme,Mr. Smith.
Second Waiter,Mr. Thompſon,Mr. Malone.
Lady Bull,Mrs. Webb,Mrs. Hannam
Roſa,Mrs. Banniſter,Mrs. Billington.
Celia,Miſs Wheeler,Miſs Romanzini.
Miſs Bull,Mrs. T. Kennedy,Miſs Hitchcock.
Mrs. Caſey,Mrs. Kennedy,Mrs. Sparks.
Nannete,Mrs. Martyr,Mrs. Hitchcock.

Servants, Porters, &c.

SCENE, Fontainbleau.

FONTAINBLEAU; OR, OUR WAY IN FRANCE.

[]

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Street.

Two Hotels.—The Sign of the Red Lion on one Side of the Stage, underneath the Name "HOTEL CASEY." —On the other Side the Fleur de Luce, "HOTEL GARNI."—
(Ringing of Bells.)
Enter Mrs. Caſey and 1ſt Waiter.
Mrs. Caſey.

KEEP a ſharp look out, Bob. The company tumble in upon us like ſmoke.

Exit Waiter.
Lackland
(within)

You raſcal, I'll kick you down ſtairs. How dare you behave ſo to a gentleman?

Caſey.

Heighday! what's the matter?

2d Waiter entering.

Oh, it's very well, ſir, it's very well.

Caſey.

What's the matter now?

2d waiter.

Only Mr. Lackland, madam. You know you ordered me to keep the Globe for the large company. There he takes poſſeſſion of it; and though I told him it was beſpoke, he would dine no where elſe; ordered a bottle of Champagne, and [6]becauſe I did not fly with it, kicked me down ſtairs, though I cried, coming up, ſir!

Caſey.

Champagne without a louis in his pocket! the fellow has not a ſecond coat to his back, and yet he's as proud as a Galway merchant. But I ſhall deſire he'll quit my houſe.

2d Waiter.

You deſire! Ecod, madam, he ſays he'll make you bounce.

Caſey.

Make me bounce! he wou'd not find that ſo eaſy. Becauſe I'm a lone woman, he thinks to impoſe upon me. A pretty fellow indeed! Make me bounce, will he!

Lackland .
(within)

Where the devil are you all?

Caſey.

Don't you hear?

(Waiter going)
Lackland
(within.)

Where's that infernal—

2d Waiter
(ſtepping ſhort.)

Infernal! Oh, madam, It's you he's calling.

Enter Mr. Lackland.
Lack.

Where the devil are you all? Where are thoſe impudent waiter? Mrs. Caſey, it is my deſire—

Caſey

Your deſire!

(taking ſnuff)
Lack.

Yes, my deſire.

Caſey

A ſpunging fellow, giving himſelf airs. My waiters have enough to do, if they mind thoſe who pay for what they call for.

(He takes ſnuff from her in a pet.)
Lack.

And even your ſnuff too—is execrable.

Caſey

Lookee, Mr. Lackland, every body knows that you're a gentleman—and that you've a good eſtate, only it's all gone;—and we all know too, that you're a ſix bottle man, and a choice companion. Now, during the races, I'll give you a ſeat at the table d'Hote, and put money in your pocket to pay your reckoning, if you'll only entertain the company [7]with a funny ſong and a comical ſtory. Oh! a good ſong at the end of a bottle is an excellent thing, and of great ſervice to a houſe.

Lack.

Live by entertaining company! Mrs. Caſey, you're a widow; why don't you marry? You'd oblige me exceedingly if you'd marry again.

Caſey.

Marry again! for what?—Why do you wiſh me married again?

Lack.

That I might have the ſuperlative felicity of taking your huſband by the noſe.

(turns up.)
Caſey.

Oh! I wiſh I had a huſband for your ſake. I wiſh I had a huſband.

Enter 1ſt Waiter.
Waiter.

There's a Paris chaiſe juſt ſtopped, and the lilly of France is after them already.

Caſey.

The devil take that lilly! He'd graſp every thing if he could.—Who is there in it?

Waiter.

An Engliſh family.

Caſey.

An Engliſh family! Do you run and endeavour to bring them here, while I go and prepare for their reception.

(Exit Waiter.)

Oh, my lad, I wiſh I had a huſband.

To Lackland, then exit.
Enter Henry and Poſtboy.
Poſtboy.

Ah monſieur, too petite louſone.

Henry.

Never ſatisfied.

Poſtboy.

Seven poſts, de poſt royal from Paris to Fontainbleau.

Henry.

There; ſeven you ſay. Now I hope you're ſatisfied.

Poſtboy.

Ay, dis bon.

Exit Poſtboy.
Henry.

But if we approach the manſion of the grand monarch, we muſt pay for it.

Lack.
[8]

By heaven, my college chum, Harry Seymour!

Henry.

Pray, friend, can you tell me—Eh! why —I heard ſomething of this before. Can you be Charles Lackland?

Lack.

How d'ye do, Harry?

Henry.

Why ſure my eyes deceive me! Why you look—

Lack

Never mind the outſide. In ſnow or ſunſhine I've always a warm heart to an old friend and a new bottle.

Henry.

I've paſſed ſo many happy days with you that I ſeel for you. exceedingly. But what is the cauſe of all this?

Lack

Pho! pho! never mind.

Henry.

What all gone, Charles?

Lack.

All, all, Harry.

Henry.

What, at play?

Lack.

Ay, play and pleaſure—and wine and women—and—But you're come to ſport here at the races, fluſh, fluſh, eh!

(tapping his thigh.)
Henry.

Why, as to caſh, my affairs are little better than your own.

Lack.
(aſide)

Damn'd unlucky that for both of us.

Henry.

No. You ſee me here an exile forced to fly from my native country. You remember my ſiſter Roſa—

Lack.

What, my little, mad Roſa, that uſed to ſteal our fiſh, and throw the cards into the fire? Either I dream, or there was a match talked of between her and lord Winlove.

Henry.

There was; but guidde by the weakneſs of her ſex, and the arts of ours, he prevailed on her to ſet out for this country. I overtook them at Rocheſter, and demanded (perhaps too raſhly) reparation [9]of my ſiſter's honor by an immediate marriage. He refuſed. Piſtols were the umpire. He loſt his life; and the coroner's verdict has made mine doubtful if ſound in England.

Lack.

Bravo! ſhot a lord! I wlng'd a marquis the day before yeſterday.

Henry.

In this dilemma I was forced to aſſume the habit of a woman to eſcape from my native country.

Lack.

Where's Roſa now?

Henry.

I brought her to France, and left her at the convent at Villeneuve. But to ſay the truth, I'm here at Fontainbleau in queſt of a lady I fell in love with at the Sunday opera at Paris. She would not tell me her name, but talked ſomething of her brother having horſes to run here, whither ſhe was coming.

Lapoche (without).

Whether is monſieur Lackland? —I muſt and I vill ſee him.

Lack.

Oh, this damn'd French taylor! Now ſhall I be dunn'd and peſter'd.

Enter Lapoche.
Lapoche.

Ah, monſieur Lackland, I am glad I have found you. I ſay I will not truſt any longer, for dey mon—

Lack.

I ſay

(ſtopping his mouth)

Lapoche, do you ſee that Engliſh officer? He's full of caſh; and I'll recommend him to lodge with you.

Lap.

Engliſh officer! Oh, de bon new cuſtomer.

Lack.

Captain! that little, ugly, ill-looking fellow.

Aſide to Henry.
Lap.

Ver much oblige to you—

bowing.
Lap.

If you want a taylor and a lodging, here's your man, and there's his houſe.

Lap.
[10]

Tank a you, monſieur Lackland.

Lack.

You'll find it convenient, as you're ſhort of caſh.

Lap.

Ver obliging.

Lack.

Becauſe when he aſks for his money, you may kick him down ſtairs.

Lap.

Ver much oblige to you indeed.

Lack.

'Twas my way.

Lap.

Vaſtly kind indeed.

Lack.

We were very good friends. Lapoche. I was a good cuſtomer.

Lap.

Oui, monſieur, it does a tradeſman's heart good to ſee a you—out of his houſe

(aſide).
Lack.

What was it I gave you a week? Eight livres wasn't it?

Lap.

Oui, monſieur, you did inteed—promiſe me eight livres.

Lack.

Eh! Faith, I ſee ſome ladies. I muſt attend where beauty calls; afterwards I am yours from a beef-ſteak to a bottle of Burgundy. You muſt excuſe me, Harry, the ladies—you know I was always a Philander among the ladies.

Lap.

Oui, you was always great gander indeed.

Henry.

So you ſpeak Engliſh; you've been in London?

Lap.

Yes, I was ver great man in Londre, but now I am anoter man.

Henry.

Another man!

Lap.

England is de grand field of battle for the ſoldier of fortune. I vas de taileur, de cook, de jugler, take off a de ſhirt, de maitre d'hotel, de tooth-drawer vid a touch; but at laſt my lor forget to pay a me, ſo den I did imitate my lor, and when I could no longer fight a my way—

Henry.
[11]

What then?

Lap.

Why den, I run away.

Henry.

So you have a character for every country. And pray what are you here?

Lap.

My true character, a tailleur.

Henry.

A taylor!

Lap.

Oui, monſieur, at your ſervice.

AIR I.
A Londre, I vas taylor nice,
And work for lor ſo gay,
He never beat me down my price,
But den he never pay;
From lor I could no money get,
My draper wou'd not ſtay;
So, like my lor, I run in debt,
And den I run away.
Vid trick on card, I pleaſe my lor,
He wonder how I do't,
And ladies, all, my ſkill adore,
Ven cock in glaſs I ſhoot.
De Britiſh guinea I command
My pocket to recruit,
I ſhirt it off by ſleight of hand,
Shirt off by ſleight of foot.
Now here en France, I have no dread
For lor to move my ſhear,
For here in France, dey cannot plead
De privilege of peer.
Monſieur, if you employ a me,
And pretty coat vou'd vear,
Your little tailleur here I be,
Très humble ſerviteur.
[12]
To touch the little ready pelf
I ſell the cordial drop,
But none would drink except myſelf,
So I ſhut up my ſhop.
Of chimney-ſweep the tooth ſo white,
In noble mouth I pop,
My lor he grin, and den he bite,
Bon jour, and off he hop.
Henry.

A taylor, and come to ſport your louis upon the jockies of France?

Lap.

No, I am come here to ſport de jacket upon de jockey; de blue, de red, de green, de orange de emperor's eye, upon the jockey of France. Who give de grand brilliance to de race but de tailleur? Dey may talk of de boot and de ſpur; but de beauté of de race is oblige to de ſhear and de timble.

Henry.

This unfortunate duel! to be forced to live here, an exile from my native England—I wiſh, like my unhappy ſiſter, I could find a comforter in oblivion.

AIR II.
My morning of life, ah, how tranquil, how bright!
No care found a place in my breaſt;
My noon now is evening, and ſoon muſt be night;
A night without comfort or reſt.
The floods bow reſplendent with clear azure ſkies!
Tho' tempting, —too late, to his coſt,
Beneath, for his heaven, who wantonly tries,
In ſtreams of falſe pleaſure is loſt.
Henry.

Pray which is the hotel?

Lap.

Hotel! Why, von't you lodge at my houſe —de bon apartment?

Henry.
[13]

Why, faith, at this time, as I wiſh to be as private as poſſible, I think that will be the beſt way.

Lap.

Von't you look at my logement?

Henry.

With all my heart.

Lap.

Dis way if you pleaſe. But I won't let him ſee my new lodger, my little Roſa, becauſe I mean to have her myſelf. Nannette, ſhew a de apartment to the gentleman.

Exeunt.
Sir John
(without)

Why how far farther do you mean to jolt us over theſe damn'd ſtones?

Enter 1ſt Waiter and Mrs. Caſey.
1ſt Waiter.

This way, your honour.—Madam, here's Sir John Bull, my Lady Bull, and the whole family.

Caſey.

Ay, this is the truth of an Engliſh family.!

Enter Sir John and Lady Bull, ſherved in by the maſter of the Lilly, with porters, &c.
French Inn-keeper.

Welcome from Paris!

Sir John.

Welcome from Paris!—Why how ſat farther are you taking us over this damn'd pavement?

Lady Bull.

Fie, Sir John, conſider where you are. When gentlemen come to France, they always leave their damme's at Dover.

Sir John.

I wiſh I had left you or myſelf there, damme.—Who the devil are there?

Lady Bull.

Why don't you ſee the gentlemen are porters.

Sir John.

Porters! pickpockets. Paid by the ounce. Why, one of our Thames ſtreet porters would carry ten times as much; and here's a proof of it. What, Robin, you've got my trunk I ſee.

[14] Enter Coachman, with a large trunk.
Coachman.

Yes, your honour, four mounſheers had it, but they dropt it in the dirt.

Lady Bull.

Robin, when you've carried it in, you muſt find out colonel Epaulette. Give our compliments, tell him we are come, and deſire to know how he does.

Sir John.

Yes, and if Sir Shenkin ap Griffin is at his houſe, tell him too that we are come, and that Doll is impatient to ſee him.

Lady Bull.

Dolly! why Dolly Bull!

Enter Dolly Bull.
Dolly

Here, mamma.—Pray, mamma, which is the inn?

Lady Bull.

Inn! hotel, miſs, if you pleaſe.

Dolly.

Miſs! mam'ſelle if you pleaſe.

Sir John.

Well ſaid, Doll; there's French upon French for you.

Lady Bull.

Pray, monſieur, will you do us the favour to ſhew us to the hotel?

To the maſter of the Lilly.
Sir John.

Favour to ſhew us to the hotel! How polite we are, and to a waiter, only becauſe he's French!—Ay, come ſhew the larder, for I'm deviliſh hungry.

Maſter.

Dis vay, if you pleaſe, mademoiſelle. I keep a de lilly of France, where you may have de ragout, de fricaſſee, de Vermicelli ſoup, de ſalad.

Caſey.
(very loud)

Waiter, carry the roaſt beef up to the Lion.

Sir John.
(turning quick about)

Ay, and carry me up to the Lion too!

Caſey.

Oh, to be ſure, your honour.

Sir John.
[15]

So this is your houſe, eh! And you are Engliſh?

Caſey.

Engliſh! that's what I am. I was born in Dublin.

Sir John.

And pray what's your name?

Caſey.

Caſey, at your ſervice; and I keep the Lion of England here.

AIR III.
The Britiſh Lion is my ſign;
A roaring trade I drive on;
Right Engliſh uſage, —neat French wine
A landlady may thrive on.
At table d'hote, to eat and drink,
Let French and Engliſh mingle,
And while to me they bring the chink,
Faith, let the glaſſes jingle;
Your rhino rattle, come
Men and cattle, come
All to Mrs. Caſey,
Of trouble and money,
My jewel, my honey,
I warrant I'll make you eaſy,
II.
When dreſt and ſeated in my bar,
Let ſquire, or beau, or belle come,
Let captains kiſs me, if they dare,
It's, Sir, you're kindly welcome!
On Shuffle, Cog, and Slip, I wink,
Let rooks and pigeons mingle,
And if to me they bring the chink,
Faith, let the glaſſes jingle.
Rhino rattle, come, &c,
[16]III.
Let love fly here, on ſilken wings,
His tricks I ſtill connive at;
The lover who would ſay ſoft things,
Shall have a room in private.
On pleaſure I am pleas'd to wink,
So lips in kiſſes mingle,
For while to me they bring the chink,
Faith, let the glaſſes jingle.
Your rhino rattle, come
Men and cattle, come
All to Mrs. Caſey;
Of trouble and money,
My jewel, my honey,
I warrant I'll make you eaſy.
Sir John.

Bravo! Mrs. Caſey. Introduce us to your roaſt beef. Come along.

Exeunt all but Sir John, who drives the French porters before him, then comes forward on ſeeing Lackland]
Enter Lackland.
Lack.

Sir John Bull's family. I hear they're from the city. Voulez vous parlez?

Sir John.

Don't parley me. I'm an Engliſhman.

Lack.

I ſee you are, by that honeſt face.

Sir John.

Honeſt face! Well, and what have you got to ſay to my honeſt ſace, eh?

Lack.

The devil take me if I have any thing to ſay, but how do you do?

Sir John.

Pretty well, I thank you, how do you?

(looks ſuſpiciouſly at him.)
Lack.

Well, and pray how do all our friends in Throgmorton-ſtreet?

Sir John.

Throgmorton-ſtreet!

Lack.
[17]

Sir, I am happy to ſee you. My heart warms at the ſight of an Engliſhman, and I'm always happy to do them any ſervice. I am Engliſh, ſir, but a little unfortunate, or ſo.

Sir John.

What, you're poor, eh! Yes, faith, you're a little ſeedy. Have you no eſtate?

Lack.

I have bad.

Sir John.

And what have you done with it?

Lack.

Turned it into money.

Sir John.

Well, and pray what have you done with that?

Lack.

Laid it out to advantage, bought experience.

Sir John.

Bought experience! Why then by this time you're a damn'd witty fellow.

Lack.

Yes, fir, I know the world. I have had manſions, arables, freeholds, leaſeholds, ſlewards, waſtes, leaſes, releaſes, paſtures, quarter-days, and ſuch damn'd incumbrances.

Sir John.

And ſo you've got rid of 'em all. It's all gone, eh?

Lack.

Every acre.

Sir John.

Why you're a deviliſh clever ſellow. And why did'nt you get your teeth drawn at the ſame time?

Lack.

Very ſmart and clever.

Sir John.

Becauſe by this time I ſuppoſe you've no uſe for them.

Lack.

Damn'd ignorant old dog!

(aſide)

But, ſir, you're juſt come to France, that is, you're a ſtranger here. Sir, my heart warms at the ſight of my countryman; and 'tis my greateſt pride and pleaſure to warn honeſty of the deceits practiſed here. Some of our own countrymen appear very ſerviceable and obliging; but their aſſiduity always ends in borrowing money.

Sir John.
[18]

Sir. I'm very much obliged to you.— Sir, will you eat a bit of mutton with us?

Lack.

Whith all my heart; but, ſir, as there are ladies, this coat is not quite the thing to appear before the ladies in. There, do you ſee that taylor's over tae way? I have a deviliſh good ſuit lies there for a trifle. Will you be ſo obliging as to lend me a guirea, juſt that I may appear like a gentleman?

Sir John.

A guinea! ſuit! eh!—Oh! what till the arables coat back?

(lawghing).

Diſstreſs to be ſure in a ſtronge coutry is very hard. What's your name?

Lick.

Lackland, at your ſervice, ſir.

Sir John.

Well, Mr. Lackland, there's a guinea for you.

Lack.
(puts it into his pocket)

I fancy, Sir John, I may pats very well in theſe clothes, eh!

Sir John.

Paſs! Oh, yes, you may—for a ſhopliſter

(a fide).
Lack.

Sir John, if you'll give me leave, I'll treat you with a flaſk of moſt excellent Champagne.— Walter, a bottle of Champagne.

Sir John.

Here's a raſcal! Treat me to Champagne! my own money too—and I doubt if the raſcal has got a ſhirt to his ruffles.

Lack

I ſay, my old friend

(putting his hand on his ſhoulder

above all beware of ſtrangers—be ſure you mind my advice—they're curſed aſſiduous, though it always ends in borrowing money, and laughing at you afterwards—Ha! ha! ha!

Sir John.

Ha! ha! ha! And laughing at me afterwards. That's a good joke—ha! ha! ha!— damn'd impudent fellow!

Lack

Now you know their ways, be ſure you keep a tight hand upon your caſh. Ha! ha! ha!

Sir John.

I ſhall, depend on't; eſpecially if they mention Throgmorton-ſtreet.

Lack.
[19]

True, true, ha! ha!—I'm thinking, ha! ha! —how ſurpriſed you'll be when I pay you this guinea to-morrow.

Sir John.

Yes, I ſhall be ſurpriſed indeed.

Lack.

You ſee, ha! ha! l've fold all my arables, and have bought experience wholeſale.

Sir John.

Yes; and now you retail it out at a guinea a doſe, ha! ha! ha!

Lack.

Ha! ha! Bleſs that jolly face!—How a laugh becomes you! ha! ha!

(taking hold of it.)

I ſhall for ever acknowledge myſelf your debtor.

Sir John.

I date ſay you ever will, ha! ha!

Lack.

Here, waiter, ſhew a room. A bottle of Champagne, and change for a guinea.

Exit laughirg, and taking bold of Sir John's arm.

SCENE A room at Lapoche's.

Enter Roſa, reading.
Canſt thou forget what tears that moment fell, When warm in youth, I bade the world farewel? As with cold lips I kiſs'd the ſacred veil, The ſhrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale.

Poor Eloiſa in her cloiſter ſpoke my ſenſe. I begin to repent my elopement. My lady abbeſs has ere this diſcovered it. I wonder if lord Winlove has received my letter. I hope it did not miſs him. I wiſh he was come.

AIR IV.
Oh, lingering time, why with us ſtay
When abſent love we mourn!
And why ſo nimbly glide away
At our true love's return!
[20]
Ab, gentle time, the youth attend,
Whoſe abſence here I mourn;
The chearful hours in pity ſend
That bring my love's return.
I feel my heart with rapture beat;
No longer ſhall I mourn;
My lover ſoon with ſmiles I'll meet,
And hail bis dear return.

Hey! ſure my lord Winlove himſelf!

Enter Lord Winlove.
Lord Winlove.

My charming Roſa!

(embracing her.)
Roſa

My lord!

Lord W.

But, my dear Roſa, how could you come to ſuch a public place as Fontainbleau; and at ſuch a time, when there are ſo many Engliſh families? Fifty people may know us.

Roſa.

If I had remained in the village, the lady abbeſs would have diſcovered me.

Lord W.

Your letter ſays you eſcaped from the convent in boy's cloaths.

Roſa.

Yes, and I was obliged to change them before I reached Fontainbleau, to elude all ſearch from Vi [...]leneuve.

Lord W.

And how unlucky to get into the houſe of Lapoche! ſuch a buſy, talking taylor!

Roſa

I did not know what lodging to get. 'T was better I thought, than being at a hotel. I with I was any where elſe.

Lord W.

Don't ſigh, my Roſa; for though I was not to be threatened into a marriage by the young Chamont your brother, when he overtook us at [21]rocheſter; yet I ſhall with pride acknowledge you Lady Winlove on my return to England.

AIR V.
Flow'rs their beauties all ſurrender,
When the ſun withdraws his ray;
Now they ſhine in borrow'd ſplendor,
Painted by the beam of day.
With each good fair Eden planted,
Ev'ry ſweet that ſenſe could move;
Paſſion ſighs tho' all is granted,
No enjoyment without love.
Deareſt maid, thy ſmiles beſlowing,
Bright and gay my hours ſhall be;
By this heart with rapture glowing,
Thou art light and love to me!

The ſtory of your brother's killing me is every where believed; therefore I mean to leave Fontainbleau, and by a croſs route reach Paris.

Roſa.

Oh, my lord, I ſhall never forgive myſelf for this wicked, impious ſtep.

Lord W.

The impiety was mine, my Roſa, to rob heaven of an angel.

Enter Nannette.
Nannette.

Oh, madam, my maſter has brought in a new lodger, a young officer, and our countryman.— Oh, dear! I did not know this gentleman was here.

Lord W.

An Engliſh officer! I'll inſtantly order a poſtchaiſe, for your removal from this group of jockies, grooms, peets and pickpockets.

Exit Lord W.
Nan.
[22]
(opening the folding doors)

Madam, look here, come and have one.

Kiſſes her hand to be heard.)
Roſa.

Oh fie, Nannette. When that gentleman returns, vou'll call me to him.

Exit Roſa.
Nan.

Lord! how nice we are! I've a great mind to win the gloves myſelf

(going.)

Lord! he wakes!

Henry
(coming forward.)

This travelling by night is very fatiguing. I thought to have ſlept in the chaiſe, but was diſappointed by the jolting on the road.

Nan.

Did you call, ſir?

Henry.

Ay. Who are you, my pretty laſs?

Nan.

My name is Nancy, ſir; but my maſter will cal! me Nannette after the French faſhion.

Henry.

Oh then, you're fille de chambre to the maſter of this lodging?

Nan.

At your ſervice, ſir.

AIR VI.
Indeed I'll do the beſt I can
To pleaſe ſo kind a gentleman:
To lodge with us, and you ſhall ſee
How careful poor Nannette will be;
So nice, ſo neat, ſo clean your room,
With bow pots for the ſweet perfume:
A'n't pleaſe you, ſir,
When you get up,
Your coffee brown
Inchina cup,
Dinner, deſſert,
And bon ſouper:
Sur mon honneur, at night you be
With waxen taper lit to bed
By poor Nannette your chambermaid.
[23] Enter Lapoche.
Lap.
(during the ſong.)

Here's fine doings in my houſe!—Oh, fie, Nannette, why do you come here ſinging? Oh, you jade, I'll—Hope you had a good fleep, ſir.—Get out! Vat do you come here for?— I'll knock a his head—Hope you refreſh ver much after your ſleep, ſir—Get out—go yonder, dat vay— I hope you like your lodging—Get out, Nannette—

(he puſhes her off.)

—Curſe a deſe red officier; de girls ſo fond—you'll find a my houſe ver convenient. You may have a de von, two courſe—de petite chanſon; invite whom you pleaſe, your countrymen eat, drink, ſing, roar, be ſo jolly, ſwear and knock a your fiſts againſt von another's head, a la mode de Londrèe.

Enter Nannette.
Nan.

Sir, monſieur.

Lap.

Nannette, vhy do you come dis vay, peeping at de man in de red coat? Get out

(puſbes her).
Lap.

Get a you gone, you jade—I know ver well vat you want. You come peeping at de officier. Vhy you come peeping at de men?

Nan.

Lord, ſir, I had a meſſage. Sir Shenkin ap Griffin has ſent for the new jackets for the jockies; and Colonel Epaulette has ſent to know if the Engliſh liveries are made.

Lap.

Deſe are my grand cuſtomer

(to Henry).

Vill you get out of de vay?

(to Nannette).

Sir Shenkin is ver great man. I make a de jacket for de race.— Get a you firſt, Nannette—Dis vay if you pleaſe.

Exeunt.

SCENE, another room at Lapoche's.

[24]
Enter Roſa.
Roſa.

I wonder what ſhould keep lord Winlove ſo long. I'm ſurpriſed he does not return. Should he and my brother meet—this ſuſpence is tormenting. Would we were on the road! Yet why do I wiſh to ſee England, when thoſe whom moſt I love are in this kingdom!

AIR VII.
The night when paſs'd in golden ſkies,
If whiten'd cliffs the ſailor ſpies
The ſailor ſpies, completely bleſt;
The ſight each tender though inſpires,
His love's on ſbore, and fancy fires,
And fancy fires his faithful breaſt.
The dancing waves ſalute his oar,
He pulls, and ſings, my love's on ſhore,
He waves his hat, and cries adieu,
Farewell, good ſhip and loving crew,
Farewell, good ſhip, for love I ſteer,
And as around he turns his face,
To view the happy, well known place,
The happy place that holds his dear,
He pulls and ſings, my love's on ſbore.
Nannette and Henry .
(within)

The lady deſires not to be ſeen by any body.

Henry.

I will come in. The boy ſaid the lady was impatient to ſee me.

[25] Enter Henry.
Roſa.

What do I ſee?—My brother!

Roſa.

My ſiſter Roſa!

Roſa.

My dear brother, though appearances are againſt me, yet when you're acquainted with the circumſtances, you'll forego your reſentment.

Henry.

Why did you quit the convent where I placed you, that you might find an aſylum for your ſhame?

Roſa.

My dear brother, if you knew ſome particulars, that prudence ſorbids me to mention—

Henry.

Talk not of prudence. Are you not loſt to every ſenſe of virtue? And have you not involved me in a misfortune, that will for ever diſturb my peace?

Roſa .
(aſide)

He don't know that my lord is alive; and I dare not inform him, leſt his ill-placed paſſion ſhould relapſe.

Henry.

I'll lodge you ſafe at Villeneuve once more. And yet, as my charmer ſaid ſhe was coming to the races, if I quit them without finding her, I may never ſee her again. But my ſiſter muſt go to the abbeſs, and I ſhall deſire her to ſtrengthen your ſpiritual claims—and yet love ſo ſympathizes in my own breaſt, that I'll chide no more.

AIR VIII.
Brooks, to your ſources ah ſwiftly return,
Tear drop on tear, and give life to the urn;
Truth and virtue paſs away,
Ere I for another my true love betray.

ACT II.

[26]

SCENE I. View of Fontainbleau Race Courſe.

Enter Sir Shenkin ap Griffin and Jockey, ſeveral other Stablemen, with cloths, bottles, rubbing ſticks, &c.
Sir Shenkin.

YOU are a pig plockead. You have done very pad inteed.

Dick.

I won the race; what would you have me do more?

Sir Shenkin.

Won the race! You ſhould have tiſtanced his Plack Prince with my Merlin.

Dick.

Why, if I had puſhed ſo hard, I ſhould have loſt the firſt heat, when I was ſo cock-ſure of winning.

Sir Shenkin.

Cock-ſure! Dick, don't tell me of your Yorkſhire tricks.

Dick.

Why then I ſay it was quite the policy of the thing.

Sir Shenkin.

Policy! follies! His Joan of Arc is to run againſt my Winney, and if you had tiſtanced, I ſhould have had all the long odds in favour of my own horſe.

Dick.

I did the beſt I could: I won the race; and if you arn't ſatisfied, you may ride the match yourſelf to-morrow.

Exit.
Sir Shenkin.

Tid your peſt! Get out, you impertinent—goot jockies ſhould know how to tiſtance, to [27]win, or to loſe. Ay goot jockies ſhould know how to loſe as well as to win.—My Merlin is full brother to Winney; and if he had tiſtanced to-day, I ſhould have taken in the whole field to-morrow, man, woman and child.—Oh, here comes Mr. Lackland, the ſhentleman ragamuflin.

Enter Lackland.
Lack.

Ay, give you joy, my boy Shenkin

(pats his ſhoulder).
Sir Shenkin.

Shoy is a fery pretty thing, Mr. Lackland, pecauſe it kives pleaſures; put your kiving me ſhoy py the name of poy, does not kif me pleaſures: for look you, Mr. Lackland, I am a man and a ſhentleman; my name is Shenkin ap Griffin, Paronet; and I am of as high a teſcent—

Lack.

As ever came from the mountains. Ay, come, Sir Shenkin, you and I are both of us very good blood.

Sir Shenkin.

I know you are teſcended from Welch extraction py the mother's ſide; put my family, look you, is as creat and as antient, look you, as any in the county of Flint.

Lack.

Come, Mr. Welchman, don't ſtrike your flint againſt me: if you do, I ſhall take fire.

Sir Shenkin.

Yes, I think you would take fire inteed, for your coat is tinder. Ha! ha!

Lack.

Come, come, though you won the race, don't ride the high horſe with me, but ſtart ſome other ſubject for your jokes.

Sir Shenkin.

Why yes, as you ſay, 'tis rather a threadbare ſubject.

Lack.

Well, ſir, I wiſh you'd have done with your jokes; if not, I—

(pulling his hand to his ſword.)
Sir Shenkin.
[28]

Pleſs my ſoul! I to always put myſelf into a goot humour with my jokes. Put come, kif me your hard. If I tid laugh at your coat, I will get you a petter. Ha! ha! ha!—Look you yonder, my eye is your wardrobe. I have a coat in my eye for you.

Lack.

Who is that?

Sir Shenkin.

Colonel Epaulette.

Colonel
(without, ſinging.)

Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, &c.

Lack.

Oh! 'tis the Engliſh Frenchman, that I have heard ſo much of.

Sir Shenkin.

Ay, there he koes as merry after his teſeat, as if he was dancing to parſon Morgan's fittle.

Lack.

They ſay he has a moſt benevolent nature, that he's very ſond of the Engliſh, and wiſhes to learn all out cuſtoms and manners, and ſtyle of doing things.

Sir Shenkin.

Yes, and he loſes his money, and is as happy as if he won. I am his preceptor, and to teach him all polite accompliſhments, the Engliſh cuſtoms and language.

Lack.

You teach—I ſuppoſe then by this time he can ſmoke, ſwear, and play at cricket.

Sir Shenkin.

Perhaps he may; and he has twenty thouſand a year peſides.

Lack.

Introduce me to him. I like a man that has twenty thouſand a year.

Sir Shenkin.

Ay, he is your mark. Ha! ha! ha! He's in ſpirits, and thinks himſelf very clever if he interlards his conferſation with a dozen tamme's.

Enter Colonel Epaulette, ſinging.
Of a noble race was Sir Shenkin
In de land of Mr. Tudor.

[29] Your ſervant, Sir Shenkin, your ſervant. Your Merlin did peat my Plack Prince for five touſand, ſo dere they are, damme—one touſand bank of Paris, two touſand bank of England, one Drummond, and one Child.

Lack.

Sir Shenkin, as I've none of my own, if you pleaſe I'll adopt that child.

Sir Shenkin.

A very good joke! Ha! ha! ha! Sir, with your leave and your likings, this is Mr. Thingemmy—Mr. Thingemmy, this is Colonel what-d'ye-call'em, and now you know one another.

Lack.

Colonel What-d'ye-call'em, your moſt obedient.

Colonel.

Mr. Thingemmy, your ſervant.

Sir Shenkin.

Colonel, this is your preceptor, to fight your duels, or carry on intrigue.

Colonel.

Sir, ven my king does not command me to be your enemy, I ſhall be very happy to be friends with your Engliſh nation.

Sir Shenkin.

That's right; he's a tutor for you. He's a man of wit I aſſure you. Faith! he lives by his wits

(aſide).

He has ſlats and ſharps for the ſhentlemen, and ſmiles for the ladies.

Lack.

No, no, ſir; you ſee what I am, an ordinary fellow. To be ſure, now and then I do come out with a little ſally.

Colonel.

Sir, I ſhall be ver proud to be introduced to your little Sally.

Lack.

Sir, your moſt obedient, with pleaſure. To be ſure, now and then the ladies do ſquint at me a little. Juſt now, as I paſſed along what-dy'e-call e'm ſtreet, there were five or ſix peeping out at the windows. There he is, ſays one. Ay, that's him, ſays another. Oh! 'tis the Engliſh ambaſſador, ſays the third. No, no, ſays a ſourth, 'tis the Emperor [30]incog. That it is, ſays another. So they all agree, nem. con. that I'm the Emperor incog.

Sir Shenkin.

Mr. Emperor, I will help you to a coat to carry on the war. I will new robe your imperial majeſty.

(aſide to Lackland.)

—I ſay, Colonel, get rid of yoar tinſel, and ket a coat more in out ſtyle, ha, Lackland!

Lack.
(adjuſting his coat.)

I own I was always partial to the New-market ſtyle.

Colonel.

I think his coat is in the old-market ſtyle.

Lack.

Why 'tis rather—Upon my ſoul, you've a deviliſh deal of wit. Ha! ha! ha!

(Sir Shenkin whiſpers the Colonel)
Colonel.

Sir, you do me great honour. Will you eat a bit of dinner with me?

Lack.

Sir, I'll breakfaſt, dine and ſup with you. Sir, I'll ſtay a month in your houſe.

Sir Shenkin.

Yes, and you'll find it tamn'd hard to ket him out of your houſe.

Colonel.

Indeed! Sir, you are de moſt hoſpitable fellow.

Lack.

Is that your ſuler Celia? I had not ſeen her ſome time. She's a charming girl.

Sir Shenkin.

Yes, ſhe was a fine girl, but her Paris education has ſpoiled her.

Lack.

I ſhall dance with her to-night.

Sir Shenkin.

Inteed you won't, for Celia has moneys, and you are poor.

Lack.

Well, has her money ſpoiled her dancing?

Sir Shenkin.

No, put tancings pring palmings, and palmings pring matrimonies; and you muſt not marry into the ap Griffin's. Only ſuppoſe now to yourſelf I am her guardian. So, Mr. Mogul, don't drop your handkerchief at my ſiſter. I find you've thruſt your [31]noſe into Sir John Pull's Family; and I will adviſe you to keep out of the field there too.

Colonel.

Sir John Bull! dat is de famille dat is recommend to me from his grace de duke.

Lack.

You adviſe! why ſo? Oh! I hear you are to marry miſs Dolly Bull; but where's the Welch pride there? What! mix the blood of Cadwallader with the puddle of Thames-ſtreet?

Sir Shenkin.

Look you, Mr. Lackland, I know my pops and ſharps as well as you; ſo let's have none of your London tricks there.

Colonel.

Oh charming London!

Sir Shenkin.

Ay, London for ever, colonel!—I'll kive you my idea of it. Now, you muſt fancy me a puck or a plood, look you.

AIR IX.
In London my life is a ring of delight,
In frolicks I keep up the day and the night;
I ſnooze at the Hummums till twelve, perhaps later,
I rattle the bell, and I roar up the waiter:
Your honor, ſays be, and then tips me a leg,
He brings me my tea, but I ſwallow an egg;
For tea in the morning's a ſlop I renounce,
So I down with a glaſs of the right cherry bounce.
With ſwearing, tearing, ranting, jaunting, ſlaſhing, ſmaſhing, ſmacking, cracking, rumbling, tumbling;
Laughing, quaffing, ſmoaking, joking, ſwaggering, ſtaggering;
So thoughtleſs, ſo knowing, ſo green and ſo mellow;
This, this is the life of a frolickſome fellow.
[32] My phaet'n I mount, and the plebs they all ſtare,
I handle my reins and my elbows I ſquare;
My ponies ſo plump, and as white as a lilly,
Through Pall Mall I ſpank it, and up Piccadilly;
Till loſing a wheel, egad down come I ſmack,
So at Knightſbridge I throw myſelf into a back;
At Tatterſall's fling a leg over my nag,
Thus viſit for dinner, then dreſs in a bag.
With ſwearing, &c.
I ſtroll round the garden, and call at the Roſe,
And then at both Playhouſes pop in my noſe;
I lounge in the lobby, laugh, ſwear, ſlide and ſwagger,
Talk loud, take my money, and out again ſtagger,
I meet at the Shakeſpeare a good natur'd ſoul,
Then down to our club at St. James's I roll;
The joys of the night are a thouſand at play,
And thus at the finiſh begin the next day.
With ſwearing, &c.
Enter Celia.
Celia.

There he goes. A pleaſant brother, I muſt confeſs. I wiſh I had ſtayed at Paris. No ſoul to ſpeak to here but the Bull family. Now if chance would but throw the handſome officer in my way that I ſaw at the opera.

AIR X.
Search all the wide creation round,
Or earth, or air, or deep profound,
To ſome great univerſal end,
Power, ſenſe, inſtinct, reaſon, tend;
'Tis love, ſweet univerſal love!
[33]
Why Phoebus ſmile upon the morn?
Why lend a ray to Dian's horn?
Why flowers perfume the breath of ſpring?
Or why do birds on hawthorns ſing?
'Tis love, ſweet univerſal love!
With honour join'd, oh! form'd to bleſs,
Thy power let every heart conſeſs;
If ſenſe and reaſon but remove,
The bandage from the eyes of love,
Of love, ſweet univerſal love!

Deuce take the man! If his ſmiles were worth a thought, he'd have followed me to Fontainbleau.— Oh, temptation! yonder he comes—I muſt retire.

Enter Henry and Roſa.
Henry.

Indeed, Roſa, I'm glad you've not cſcaped farther.

Celia.
(behind)

Ay, hold of that lady's arm.—I wonder women have no decency in public.

Exit.
Henry.

Ha! yonder is the very charmer I ſaw at the Sunday opera at Paris. I muſt follow her.

Exit.
Roſa.

If lord Winlove ſhould follow, death to him or my brother muſt enſue.

Celia ſings a few notes, and exit.
Enter Lapoche.
Lap.

Ah! my dear Rofa, I was afraid I had loſe you. I am glad you have eſcape from that rogue—

Enter Henry.

Oh, my friend, I'm glad to meet a you—I rn ſo faſt, and aſk every body, all de little jockey Boys, and was ſo whip and kick about as I came acroſs, dis big horſe fiehl

Henry.

Well, what do you want?—If I don't follow her now, I may never ſee her again.

Lap.
[34]

Oh, ſir, I only forget to give a you your recept in your hurry.

Henry.

I ſuppoſe you mean I forgot to pay you your bill. Well, I ſhall be back in a moment. D'ye hear? take care of that lady, and don't quit her till my retum.

Exit.
Roſa.

What is he gone?

Lap.

I hope he will never come back again, unleſs to pay me my bill.

Roſa.

Ay, I ſee that lady has a charm for him. Unkind Henry, to be angry with me for a paſſion your own heart is ſo ſuſceptible of!

Lap.

My deare ſweeteſt—

Roſa.

Well, Sir, did you ſee the gentleman?

Lap.

What, the pretty gentleman that loves you?

Roſa.

Yes.

Lap.

Every morning in my looking-glaſs.

Roſa.

Pſhaw! have you ſeen the gentleman that enquired for me at your houſe?

Lap.

Oh, you ſly, little devil! You run away from the convent to von gentleman, in de mans coat, den from de gentleman to de officier; and now you want to be with the gentleman again.

Roſa.

You're not much out there.

Lap.

Oh, you be von ſly coquin.

Roſa.

If lord Winlove and my brother ſhould meet, I dread the conſequences.

(a ſide)
Lap.
(who has been looking after Henry)

De capitaine is ſafe, dere is no danger

(aſide)

he is making love to another lady. Let a me revenge his ſlighted vows —Oh! her ſkin is ſmooth as Engliſh broad cloth, ſoft as Genoa velvet! and her eyes are as bright as de poliſh of de Birmingham button. Oh! ſhe's a pattern for a taileur's wife!

Roſa.

It certainly will be the beſt way to ſee lord [35]Winlove, notwithſtanding the impertinence of this fellow.—Well, ſir, ſhall we go to your houſe?

Lap.

My houſe!—Yes, I ſee ſhe loves me; and I adore the dimples of her pretty chin.

AIR XI.
Love does ſo run in my head,
Devil a ſtitch can I do;
From my jump out of my bed
Till my jump in it vid you.
Oh!
Sweet
Pet
Liver once cold as a cucumber.
Heigho!
Go,
Get away, littel Nannette.
Welcome, my boſom, a new comer,
Who like me loves you? oh, not a man!
My handkerchief, was I a great Ottoman,
Drops at your pretty toe.
Sweet Hen, in your beauties, I'll ſun me,
Your twinkles and dimples have won me,
Den vink and ſmile pretty upon me,
Your game cock den vil I crow.
Exeunt.

SCENE, a Grove.

Enter Henry and Celia.
Henry.

Charming woman! From the minute I firſt ſaw you at the opera houſe to this inſtant, I have not had a moment's happineſs.

Celia.

Oh then, you think this a happy moment. I congratulate your good fortune, and leave you to the enjoyment of it

(going.)
Henry.
[36]

Don't leave me. Permit me to follow. I'm a captive bound in your chains.

Celia.

And ſo, my captive would make his conqueror a priſoner of war!

Henry.

Thus then, I kiſs the chains, and thus adore—

(kneeling.)
Celia.

Oh, have a care, captain, you'll ſoil your regimentals.

Henry.

Charming woman! I'm enchanted! charmed with your vivacity!

Celia.

Was you never ſo enchanted, or charmed before, as you call it?

Henry.

Enchanted and charmed, but never loved.

AIR XII.
Through circling ſweets I freely rove,
And think my paſſion true,
But every charm that man can love,
Sweet love, I ſind in you.
I will not boaſt with ſtoic pride,
That I've a heart of ſtone;
That I have often gaz'd and ſigh'd,
To you I frankly own.
For circling ſweets, &c.
That beauty bears a gentle mind,
The ſource of every joy,
Is now the hope I wiſh to find,
Then don't that hope deſtroy.
For circling ſweets, &c.
For ſince that each external grace
Is by my fair poſſeſs'd,
In pity let ber mind keep pace,
And make her lover bleſt.
For circling ſweets, &c.
Celia.
[37]

If you are ſerious, pray walk it off that way, and I'll walk this. But if you really mean to meet in the field again, I'll ſend you a challenge by my brother.

Henry.

Your brother!

Celia.

Yes, and then, in reſpect of what you mentioned, I—but no; you're conceited enough already.

AIR XIII.
No hurry I'm in to be married,
But if it's the will of my brother,
I'd much rather ſtay;
Yet ſince in the way,
I as well may have you as another.
A ſtrange cuſtom this to be married,
Though follow'd by father and mother,
The grave and the gay;
But ſince in the way,
I as well may have you as another,
A prude though ſhe long to be married,
Endeavours her wiſhes to ſmother,
I'd give you her nay;
But ſince in the way,
I as well may have you as another,
Exit.
Henry.

Charming Celia!—Oh, here comes Sir Shenkin ap Griffin. As her brother is one of the turf, I'll juſt ſtop and aſk if he knows her; and then for my ſiter Roſa.

Enter Sir Shenkin and Groom.
Sir Shenkin
(entering)

Give Winney a horn of milk, and let her here be crowned with miſletoe, and let Jones play the harp before her, that every true Priton may rejoice at Winney's victories.

Exit Groom.
Henry.
[38]

Your ſervant, Sir Shenkin. You ſaw that handſome lady that parted from me juſt now? Is not ſhe very handſome?

Sir Shenkin.

Yes; ſhe is handſome, like me.

Henry.

I ſhall ſhortly call her mine.

Sir Shenkin.

The tevil you ſhall!

Henry.

The chief obſtacle to our union is her thick-headed brother. Perhaps you may know him. He's one of the turf, and has not an idea in his head beyond a cock or a horſe. But no matter for that; I'll have her.

Sir Shenkin.

Perhaps not. How dare you talk of my thick head? For fifty pounds, I have as many iteas in my head as you.

Henry.

Here's a blunder! her brother!

Sir Shenkin.

Yes, ſhe is my ſiſter; and that's your ſhare of her

(ſnapping his fingers)

ſo my head may be aſh, or oak, look you, or elm, or mahogany, or any wood you pleaſe.

Henry.

But, Sir Shenkin, hear me.

Sir Shenkin.

Hold!—I've thought of a way. This may turn to my advantage.

(aſide)

—Colonel Epaulette is a ſhentleman. He's teſcended in a ſtraight line from king Pippin the creat; but though a prince in politics, in affairs of jockeyſhip, he's no more than an aſs. Look you, my Winney is to run his Joan of Arc to-morrow. Do you lay all the bets you can againſt her; for look you ſhe ſhall loſe, that is, my jockey ſhall lame her. I'll pay forfeit, and after the race we'll meet and ſhare the caſh like honeſt fellows.

Henry.

Sir Shenkin, honeſty, generoſity and pure ſincerity of heart have ever been the characteriſtics of your country; but I find the pernicious practice of gaming is a decoy ſufficient to ſeduce the honour even of a Welchman.

Sir Shenkin.
[39]

It may be ſo; but it's very good turf honour for all that.

Henry.

Then on or off the turf, I muſt beg leave not to be a ſcoundrel.

Sir Shenkin.

Why then, give over all thoughts of my ſiſter; don't look at her. I have heard of your fighting a lord for your ſiſter; ſo take care of me. Piſtol pullets are not cherry-ſtones, and ſharp ſwords are not green leeks.

Henry.

I muſt ſeem to comply, or loſe all hopes of Celia. I've thought of it, and I will puniſh him

(aſide).

—Sir Shenkin, upon ſecond thoughts I'll join you in this roguery.

Sir Shenkin.

Will you? then you are a damn'd honeſt fellow. So come along; my ſiſter's your own, and ſhe ſhall tell you ſo this minute. I'll leave you with her; and then for my own affair with miſs Pull.—Pleſs her ſoul! how full of puſineſs her is! what with marriage matches and ſlang matches— Come along.

Exeunt.
Enter Sir John Bull.
Sir John.

Deviliſh lucky I happened to meet with this Engliſh hotel: The mounſheers would have poiſoned me elſe. My wife and daughter are making mademoiſelles of themſelves to pay a viſit to this colonel Epaulette.—Oh! here they come.

Enter Lady and Miſs Bull.

Mademoiſelle a la mode de Paris.—Hollo! George!

Lady B.

What's the meaning of all this noiſe, Sir John?

Sir John.

Here, George, get me a pipe.

Lady B.

A pipe! What, do you think you're at Dobney's bowling-green?

Dolly.

Papa conſider you are now at Fontainbleau, the very ſeat of elegance and faſhion.

Sir John.
[40]

Mrs. Caſey, get me a ledger, and tankard of porter.

Lady B.

Fie, Sir John.—There now, he's at Gallaway's coffee-houſe. Sir John, do behave yourſelf. You're not now at Margate, raffling for toys.

Dolly.

No, nor dancing with your boots on at Dandelion, papa.

Lady B.

Do, get a little into the a la mode de Paris, I've ſent for a French tailor to make you a ſuit of cloaths, that you may appear a little gay. The colonel may introduce us to the prince; but how would the prince be ſhocked at your appearance!

Sir John.

I don't think my appearance quite ſo ſhocking. No, my lady Bull. I think a Britiſh aldermen may ſtand before the firſt potentate in Chriſtendom without ſhocking him.

AIR XIV.
I'm here in France; the more fool I
To quit my beef and pudding;
At ton and taſte you all will cry,
Oh yes, John Bull's a good' an.
In air or dreſs no travell [...]d mac
Of joint ſhalt put my noſe out,
At ſhrug and grin I've got the knack,
And ſee I turn my toes out. Toll, lol, lol, &c.
Gadzooks! ſo fine myſelf I'll rig,
That nobody ſhall know me;
My ſtining pate I'll ſtraight unwig,
In ſilk mounſ [...]eer ſhall ſow me.
My arm ſhall ſqueeze a chapeau bras,
No more I'll block my beaver;
I'll ſtare and cock my opera glaſs,
And, [...] ſo monſtrous clever. Toll, lol, lol, &c.
[41]
I'll take a lady to the ball,
And leſt that I ſhould ſhock her,
My head I'll puff with Mareſchal,
And to my back a knocker.
To make my fiſt appear a hand,
I'll draw on gloves of chicken,
While the caſſino plays the band,
And cotillons we're kicking. Toll, lol, lol, &c.
Enter Servant.
Servant.

Mr. Lackland, ſir, deſires to be admitted.

Sir John.

Ay, ſhew the poor fellow up.

Exit Serv.
Lady B.

There's a pretty fellow indeed! And you, Sir John, to come to France, to get acquainted with your countrymen—and ſuch ſhabby—

Enter Lackland.
Sir John.

Shabby! eh! does that look like ſhabby? —What, you've recovered the arables again, or have you met with another fool from Throgmorton-ſtreet?

Lack.

Do, be quiet, Bull.—Ladies, your moſt obedient. Don't let my appearance diſconcert any body. I am juſt come from my friend Colonel Epaulette. He begged I would give his compliments, and he'll wait on you preſently.—That's a monſtrous fine girl, Bull.

Sir John.

Who, Doll? She's a damn'd fine girl. Ay, and I ſhall give fourſcore thouſand pounds with Doll.

Lack.

Fourſcore thouſand!—a good hint. Oh yes, I'll marry Doll; but then that curſed mechanic—

Lady B.

Summons the graces, my dear.

Dolly.

Oh dear! the powder's all gone. What [42]ſhell I do? I wiſh I could get a barber to titivate me up a little.

Lack.

Pray, Bull, did not you keep a ſhop once?

Sir John.

Ay, fifteen years; the Graſshopper upon Garlick-hill

Lack.

Garlick-hill! And perhaps you ſold raiſins?

Sir John.

Raiſins! ay, and figs too.

Lack.

Pho!—Figs!—Yes, I'll marry her, though ſhe's a dowdy, and her father a ſeller of figs.—Do, ſit down. Bull.

(Pulling him back.)
Sir Johr.

Sit down! No, I won't.

Lack.

Miſs—miſs—you're handſome, and—

Dolly.

Lord! I like him monſtrouſly.

Lack.

No—I believe I had beſt ſpeak firſt of all to the mother. Know—

Sir John.

Why, do you know—

Lack.

Prythee, be quiet, Bull.—Madam, you're monſtrouſly well dreſſed. It would be cifficult to ſay, whether the perſon ornaments the dreſs, or the dreſs the perſon.—This lady

(to Dolly)

is the picture of true Engliſh liberty; and you are from top to toe the madame Ninon of France.

Sir John.

Dan-na-non!—The follow ſpeaks French too.

Lack.
(to miſs.)

Madam, may I hope to have the honour of your hand at the ball?

Dolly.

Yes, if you pleaſe, ſir, with all my heart.

Sir John.

Yes! Why, have not you promiſed Sir Shenkin ap Griffin?

Dolly.

Yes; but I did not know this gentleman then.

Lady B.

Miſs, don't you remember I've promiſed you Colonel Epaulette ſhall dance with you? You ſhould not be ſo forward with your yes.

Dolly.

But perhaps the Colonel may not like me, or I may not like the Colonel.

Lack.
[43]

Conſider, madam, if you had never ſaid yes, this beautiful creature had never been the exact reſemblance of her accompliſhed mother.

Lady B.

Oh, dear ſir!—Lord! he's vaſtly well bred.

Sir John.

Eh! why, what the devil!—If Sir Shenkin comes ſhew him up immediately.

Lady B.

Shew him up! Shew him out of the houſe.

Enter Sir Shenkin.
Sir John.

I have been fighting your battles. I am glad you are come, or faith! you might have loſt Doll.

Sir Shenkin.

Oh yes, I ſee if the grey mare is the better horſe, I ſhall loſe the field.

Lack.

Madam

(to miſs)

will you do me the honour of your lilly hand?

Sir John takes her away.
Sir Shenkin.

Look you, Mr. Lackland, her hand may be lilly, or tulip, or daffidowndilly, you've no puſineſs with it.

Lack.

Do you know who you are talking to?— Come, madam—If you inſult me, you know I won't take it

(feeling in his pocket).

Do, Bull, ſtep and fetch my ſpuſt-box out of the parlour—Sir Shenkin, if you mean to inſult, you ſhall go out with me.

Exeunt Lackland and Lady Bull.
Sir Shenkin.

Mr. Lackland, my Lady Bull will go out with you.

Sir John.

An impudent dog, to ſend me for his ſnuff-box!—Go out!—Pray, is not that one of your fighting phraſes?

Sir Shenkin.

Yes; he's ſery fond of it: And ſometimes 'tis meat and drinks to him. With a pair of piſtols he muſt be ſery pretty company in a little room.

Dolly.

Yes, he muſt be excellent company in a little room.

Sir John.
[44]

I don't know where you have been; but if you mean to marry Doll, you muſt look about you, my boy

(patting Sir Shenkin's back).
Dolly.

Ay, that you muſt, my boy.

Sir John.

Sir Shenkin, give me your hand. I'm ſo pleaſed at your winning the race, that if I had fifty daughters, you ſhould have them all, though they had a plum a piece.

Sir Shenkin.

Thank you, Sir John.—But that's true—Look you,

(taking his pocket book out)

you owe me fifty pounds.

Sir John.

Me!

Sir Shenkin.

Yes, fifty pounds that you loſt.

Sir John.

Loſt! I had a fifty pound note this morning. I hope I have not loſt it out of my book. —Oh no; there it is; it's ſafe.

Sir Shenkin.

Then you may as well give it me.

Sir John.

Give it you! for what?

Sir Shenkin.

Pecauſe you do owe it me.

Sir John.

Me! no; that's too bad. I never borrowed fifty pence of you in my life.

Sir Shenkin.

Pho! pho! You laid me fifty pounds on the race, and did loſe.

Sir John.

I remember I ſaid I thought the brown horſe run the faſteſt.

Sir Shenkin.

You laid me fifty pounds on my Winney, and Joan of Arc did peat her.

Sir John.

Who I!

Sir Shenkin.

Yes. When I ſaid ſhe would loſe, you ſaid a done; and tone and tone is pet.

Sir John.

Pſha! pſha! Damn your Winney! I never laid—

Sir Shenkin.

I ſay, cot pleſs her—why do you tam my Winney?—The biſhop of Bangor, look you, durſt not tam my Winney.

Sir John.
[45]

Hold your tongue!

Sir Shenkin.

Then why do you tam my Winney? Look you, Sir John, you laid me fifty pounds that my mare was the winning horſe; and I always make it a rule to pay and receive all my tebts of honour.

Sir John.

Honour! fie, fie!—What, do you think I'll give you fifty pounds, becauſe one horſe thruſts his noſe farther than t'other?

Dolly.

Lord! give him fifty pound, pappa.

Sir John.

Doll, that fellow's a rogue.

Sir Shenkin.

Rogueries and honeſty's are incompataples. And look you, I'll pung you down, though you were pig pold eagle upon the top of Snowdon.

Sir John.

There! he calls your father a bald eagle.

Sir Shenkin.

Sir John, you're to be my father; and look you, I will refer it to the jockey club, and then, if you don't pay me, I'll poſt you at Tatterſall's.

Sir John.

Eh! there's your fifty pound.—Come here, Doll. That's a rogue.—There, Sir Shenkin, by gaining fifty pounds, you have loſt my daughter and foreſcore thouſand. So, your ſervant, Sir Shenkin. —Poſt me at Tatterſall's!—There now, you may poſt that at Tatterſall's.

Exeunt Sir John and Dolly.
Sir Shenkin.

The peard of a leek and the peard of a goat for you!

(hums a tune)

a pretty commence! —Pleſs my ſoul! how hot it is!

Enter Miſs Dolly.
Dolly.

Sir Shenkin, I have run away from the old fogrum.

Sir Shenkin.

Old fogrum! a pretty name that to give a father! I've a great mind to run away with miſt Toll, to be revenged on old fogrum. It will he pretty retaliations.

Dolly.
[46]

Lord then! what ſignifies talking about him? Why don't you run away with me at once?

Sir Shenkin.

I'm going to colonel Epaulette's. His houſe is near the caſtle. Meet me there, look you, in half an hour; and then his chaplain ſhall make us two patchelors one married couple.

Dolly.

Indeed. I won't be married here though; for I've been told that the parſons are all popes.

Sir Shenkin.

You'll find an honeſt fellow in father Bluebottle, as he calls himſelf. Put however, if you toan't like it, I'll run away with you to Chychwechlyn; and on the morning of our marriage we ſhall have all our friends and neighbours under our windows to ſing us merry miſcellanies and epithalamiums of muſic; and there'll be the oboe, the drum, the trumpet, the marrowpones and cleafers, and peſt of all, the harp.

AIR XV.
The morning we're married, how ſunny and jolly,
The pridegreom Sir Shenkin, the pride Lady Tolly!
When rous'd by ſweet clamour we open our peepers,
And Phoebus ſalute in our night-gowns and ſlippers;
Then under our windows muſicians all come,
Play fittle, ſweet hautboy, ſharp flagelet, drum.
But till the harp's melodious tingle,
All is puff, rattle, ſqueak and jingle.
The cymbals they grind, and the baſſes they grumble,
Pianos and fortes, a delicate jumble.
All joy to your bonors. See, ſee how they flock,
Whilſt cleaver and marrowpone go nick y knock,
Tantivy the horn tantara the trumpet
Sound, ſound—while we ſwallow our coffee and crumpet.
But till, &c.

ACT III.

[47]

SCENE I. Enter 1ſt Waiter from Mrs. Caſey's Houſe, meeting 2d Waiter.

1ſt Wait.

BOB, why do you go about ſo with your hands in your pocket, when you know the houſe is ſo full of company?

2d Waiter.

Why, miſtreſs ſent me for captain Huff, to ſee if he can bully this Lackland out of the houſe.

Exit.
1ſt Waiter.

Bully him out!—Faith! the captain's whole regiment would not do it.

Exit.
Enter Mrs. Caſey.
Caſey.

Upon my ſoul, my friend ſhall do it. Indeed, an he'll bully this Lackland out of the houſe. Faith! he ſhall be ouſted.

Enter Lackland.
Lackland.

You impertiment ſcoundrels, no attendance! —Pray, Mrs. Caſey, why don't you turn theſe fellows off, and get civiler waiters?

Caſey.

Civiler waiters! Upon my conſcience, the lads are civil enough. Why don't you pay your ſcore, and get out of my houſe, ſpunging upon my beſt cuſtomers, and ſtrutting about in their old cloaths [48]like a Baſhaw. There you are fairly copied down ſeven pages, and not a penny of money.

Lark.

I'm the beſt cuſtomer you have. There is not a table in your houſe, on which I have not left the mark of a dice box. Is there a morning I don't order a Sandwich, or a day I don't drink my four bottles after dinner?

Caſey.

A how many do you pay for?

Lack.

Well, that's my affair, not yours.

Caſey.

Here, Bob, bring Mr. Lackland his bill. It lies in the bar.

Waiter.

Bill! what is the tide turned? Here, chamberlain, oſtler, waiter!

Exit.
Lack.

Have you a man comes to your houſe, that calls about them like me, except my friends? When I'm gone, yo'll have no more carriages and coronets calling at your door. If I have you, your houſe will be ruined.

(The Waiter gives the bill to Mrs. Caſey—Servants enter.)
Caſey.

My houſe will be ruined indeed, if I have not money to pay my wine-merchant. Why don't you take up a brown muſket, or the end of a ſedan chair! inſtead of which, you ſtrut about like a lord, and give yourſelf airs like a lord, and drink like a lord, and ſweat like a lord, ay and—here's your bill, and I dare ſay, you'll pay it like a lord.

Lack

Perhaps I may. What do you give me you curſed long pieces of paper for? Do you think a gentleman has got nothing elſe to do but to lug about great lumps of damn'd heavy gold in his pocket, to pay you ſuch ugly, long, curſed bills as theſe

(tearing them)

when Bob and you think proper to thruſt them into his hands?—Here, you raſcals, get my baggage, and ſend it to the lilly.

Caſey.
[49]

D'ye hear? Carry it upon a china plate, for 'tis a nice affair.

Waiter.

Your honour will remember the waiter.

Cook.

The cook, your honour.

Cham.

I am de chamberlain.

Boy.

And de jack a de boots your honour.

Lack.

Get out, you raſcal! I've no boots.

Drives them off, and exit.
Caſey.

See how I'm uſed, becauſe I'm a lone woman. Why don't I marry!—Oh! I wiſh I had a bit of a man for your ſake

(looking after Lackland.)

Ah! it was not always thus.

AIR XVI.
Kilkenny is a handſome place
As any town in Shamrockſhire;
There firſt I ſaw my Jemmy's face,
There Jemmy firſt beheld his dear:
My love he was a baſhful boy,
And I a ſimple girl to ſee;
Yet I was Jemmy's only joy,
And Jemmy was the lad for me.
But Dublin city bore the bell
In ſtreets and ſquares, and houſes fine;
Oh! there young Dick his love could tell,
And there I told young Dickey mine:
For Dick he was a roving blade,
And I was hearty, wild and free;
He lov'd, and I his love repaid,
Then Dickey was the lad for me!
When Dover ſtrand my happy lot,
And William there my love did crown;
Young Dick and Jemmy I forgot,
Kilkenny fair, and Dublin town:
[50] For William was a gentle youth,
Too baſhful, nor too hold was be;
He ſaid be lov'd, and told me truth,
And William was the lad for me.
Exit.
Enter Lackland.
Lack.

No getting on this way. The road! take a purſe—No, I never thought ſeriouſly of that. No, marriage—Miſs Bull is to be had—Garlick hill— Oh! but even that requires a ſmall ſum, and I've nothing to ſet about it with. I think Henry would aſſiſt me with a trifle, bad as his finances may be. But where to find him—He's ſkulking about the town, thinking he has killed lord Winlove, a man, whom not an hour ago I ſaw alive and well. Marriage then is my dernier reſort.

Lap.
(without)

Tell Sir John Bull I'll wait on him preſently.

Enter Lapoche.
Lap.

Monſieur Lackland, I am angry—I am enragec—

Lack.
(ſnappiſtly)

Well! what about?

Lap. .
(ſtarting)

What about! I am not afraid, ſir. De fine lodger that you did recommend—

Lack.

What! he has taken French leave I ſuppoſe!

Lap.

I would take leave to put him into French priſon if I could find him.

Lack.

Eh! a thought ſtrikes that may raiſe the ſupplies, and put a few guineas into my pocket.—Ay, Lapoche, this fine officer, as we thought him, is no other than an impoſtor eſcaped from England in woman's cloaths.

Lap.
[51]

In woman's cloaths! Nothing but impoſtors. The nun I have in my houſe eſcaped from the convent of Villeneuve in boy's cloaths.—In woman's cloaths! Ah den, if de captain is in woman's cloaths, it is the nun that is in boots.

Lack.

In boots! Why what the devil is he at now! —No, no, you're—But why the devil ſhould I undeceive him?—You're right, my little Lapoche; they're both impoſtors.

Lap.

And why did a you not tell me a ſo before?

Lack.

Why, I knew you'd find it out, you ſagaclous monkey! But what will you promiſe me if I put you into the way to get an hundred guineas?

Lap.

Oh! I'll promiſe every thing.

Lack.

Why then, you muſt know—come here— this officer

(looking round)

is no other than a fellow eſcaped from England for ſhooting a lord.

Lap.

Shoot a lord! Oh de proſligate!

Lack.

And there's a hundred guineas reward on his head, that's all.

Lap.

Oh! dis is lucky. De ſly coquin! Why you not tell a me dis before?

Lack.

Now I have told you, what will you give me for my intelligence?

Lap.

I vill give a you fifty tanks ven I do get de money.

Lack.

Thanks! Is that all? Have you got any caſh about you? Come, come, let me touch five pieces now.

Lap.

De diable touch and take me if I do!

Lack.

No, then you are a ſcoundrel!

Lap.

Oui. I know I am ver great ſcoundrel, but I vill keep a my money for all dat. Five Guinea indeed! No, no, monſieur Lackland. I know a you too well for all that; but I muſt find out dis officier, [52]and that to me vill be de grand affaire. It vill get a me—

Lack.
(aſide)

Yes, a good beating, and I hope Henry will pay it you.—Then marriage is my laſt card. So Mifs Bull of Garlick hill, have at you and your four-ſcore thouſand pounds.

Exit.
Enter Coachman.
Coachman.

Is your name Lapoche? If it is, you muſt come directly to Sir John Bull, or he'll ſend to ſomebody elſe.

Lap.

Oh! for de ſuit of cloaths. I vill come direct— Bleſs a me, I have more buſineſs than do grand financier.

Coachman.

Well will you come or no!

Lap.

Oui. Alons, monſieur.

Coachman.

Eh, what?

Lap.

Dat is, go along, if you pleaſe,

Coachman.

Oh! is that it? Come along.

Exeunt.

SCENE, inſide the HOTEL.

Enter Colonel Epaulette, with Waiter.
Colonel.

You may tell Sir John Bull, and my lady Bull, and miſs Bull, dat colonel Epaulette is come to vall on dem.

Waiter.

Yes, ſir.

Exit.
Colonel.

I ſuppoſe, from vat I am told, dis famille muſt be fine ſolis; but as dey were recommend from my good friend the duke, and as dey are Engliſh, I will ſhew dem every civility in my power.— Dis dreſs in de Engliſh ſtyle vill pleaſe a de young lady. I'm ſure I am ver much oblige to monſieur backland.

[53] Enter Sir John and Coachman.
Sir John.

Well, Robert, is the taylor coming?

Coachman.

Yes, ſir; he's come.

Sir John.

Is he? Then I'll be meaſured directly,

(Exit Robert.)

for my lady won't be eaſy till I get a ſuit of cloaths a la mode de Paris, as they call it. —Oh! this is the taylor I ſuppoſe.

Colonel.

Sir, your moſt obedient. I preſume, ſir, your name is Sir John a de Bull?

Sir John.

At your ſervice, ſir Ay, ay, this is the taylor. Mr. Lackland mentioned you in very high terms.

Colonel.

I am ver much oblige to Mr. Lackland; and, ſir, I ſhall be ver happy to render you any ſervice in my power.

Sir John.

Very obliging truly! And I ſuppoſe you'll expect to be paid for it.

Colonel.

Sir, any obligation you do a me in return I ſhall conſider as repaying; but ſir, my good friend de duke—

Sir John.

His good friend the duke!—Oh! he muſt be a very great taylor indeec!

(aſide)
Colonel.

I have de honneur to be ver dear to him.

Sir John.

Oh! if you are ſo dear to your friends, to be ſure your terms muſt be very high indeed to me. But come, I can't help it; ſo, take out your meaſure.

Colonel.

Meaſure!

Sir John.

Ay, and out with your ſhears. Have you brought your book of patterns?

Colonel.

Vat do you mean? Book of pattern.

Sir John.

Oh! I ſuppoſe he's too great a taylor to carry patterns.

(aſide)

Yes, juſt that I may ſee your colours.

Colonel.
[54]

Colours! Oh ho, becauſe I be in de army you take a me for an enſign? Do you ſuppoſe I carry de colour?

Sir John.

Ay, I thought ſo, too great for that— pray now how many men may you employ?

Colonel.

About a touſand.

Sir John.

A thouſand journeymen! a damn'd great taylor indeed

(aſide)

—A thouſand men!

Colonel.

Yes, dat dere is my regiment.

Sir John.

Oh! what you work for a regiment, do you?

Colonel.

Vat does he mean? Sir John, I am come to vait upon de lady.

Sir John.

Oh! what you do buſineſs for the ladies too! Oh! you're a great rogue!

Colonel.

Sir John, I know that you are privilege to joke by the cuſtom of your country.

Sir John.

What you want the cuſtom of my country. I can't promiſe you that, but you ſhall have mine.

Colonel.

And, ſir, from de recommendation I have had, I ſhall be proud to ſhew you all de civility in my power.

Sir John.

Sir, I am very much obliged to you. Proceed.

(Buttoning his coat without looking).
Colonel.

I wiſh to ſhew you every reſpect, and vill introduce you to de prince—

Sir John.

You introduce! introduced by a taylor! Ha! ha! Damme, that's too much.

Colonel.

Taylor, ſir! I don't know vat you mean; but, ſir, if you vas not Engliſh, your life—your life ſhould anſwer this behaviour.

Sir John.

My life! you need not be ſo hot, my little taylor.

Colonel.

I don't know, ſir, whether you are fool by nature, or clown by habit. If de former, you are [55]beneath my notice: if de latter, I will have ſatisfaction for dis groſs behaviour to colonel Epaulette. But, ſir, I vill inſtantly ſpeak to my good friend Mr. Lackland; and den, ſir, I vill be revenged for this affront.

Exit.
Sir John.

Colonel Epaulette! Oh, the devil!— my Lady Bull! my Lady Bull!

Enter Lady Bull.

My dear, here has been the colonel here, and I thought it had been the French taylor you ſent for to take meaſure of me; and here has been the damn'deſt miſtake!—

Lady B.

Miſtake Colonel Epaulette for a taylor! Oh, Sir John, why will you ever attempt to ſpeak to perſons of diſtinction? Oh! it's like your blunders, to take a man of faſhion for a taylor!

Sir John.

Why, they dreſs, and ſcrape, and ſhrug ſo much alike, that there's no knowing a prince from a pickpocket. But I'll order the chaiſe, and ſet out for Garlick-hill to-morrow morning.

Lady B.

Then you may go by yourſelf, Sir John; for my part, it would be monſtrous for a perſon of my figure and deportment to leave the continental land without an introduction to the grand monarch. Call the colonel back.

Sir John.

Me—damme, I'd as ſoon call his regiment as him.

Exit.
Lady B.

Robin! Robin!—

(Enter Coachman.)

— Deſire that gentleman to walk up ſtairs.

Coachman.

Gentleman! What the taylor, madam?

Lady B.

Yes; the taylor, as your maſter calls him.—

(Exit Coachman.)

—Oh! what a blundering family! He thinks the colonel a taylor as well as his maſter.—Oh! here the colonel is.

[56] Enter Lapoche.

Oh! ſir, I bluſh to ſee you.

Lap.

Madam, I am your moſt obedient, very humble ſervant; but I thought Sir John was here.

Lady B.

Oh ſir! Sir John is ſo hurt at his appearance—

Lap

Oh! dat does not ſignify, madam. I vill foon equip him to make a better appearance

Lady B

Sir, you're vaſily obliging; but, ſir, this miſtake is all owing to having contracted ſuch unfaſhionable habits—

Lap.

Never mind, madam. I vill give him de habit moſt faſhionable.

Lady B.

Very kind indeed, ſir. Oh ſir, I'm ſorry you have had ſuch a loſs to-day.

Lap.

Loſs!—Oh yes, madam, I have loſt my lodger.

Lady B.

Some friend, I ſuppoſe. Ay, he's too genteel to mind his loſs of the race.—The running I mean—the match.

Lap.

Oh, yes, madam, they are run away to make a de match!

Lady B.

Well, ſir, I wiſh you better ſucceſs with your Joan.

Lap.

My Joan!

Lady B.

And, ſir, we were told in Paris, that you were very much with the prince.

Lap.

Oh yes, madam. I muſt lie a little.

Lady B.

I am told you are a great man in the privy council, committees, and board of works

Lap.

Board of works—ſhe means my ſhop-board.

Lady B.

Sir, I ſhall eſteem it a particular favour, when it is convenient, if you will be kind enough to introduce us.

Lap.

Why, madam, I don't know that I can introduce you to de head butler.

Lady B.
[57]

Butler! What does he ſuppoſe that we keep company with ſervants!—Ay, from Sir John's behaviour he thinks we are fit company for nobody elſe.

Enter Sir John.

Sir John, I have been making all the apologies I can for you to the colonel there.

Sir John.

There!—Where?

Lady B.

There.

Sir John.

Colonel there! Why damme, this is the real taylor.

(The taylor takes out his book of patterns.)
Lady B.

How! the taylor!

(turns about)

Ay, he is a taylor ſure enough.—Arn't you aſhamed, ſellow? How dare you have the impudence to paſs for a colonel? Heigh, ſellow!

Lap.

Miſs, your mother would not call me ſo.

Sir John.

Her mother! Get out!—

Lady B.

Oh! my dear, don't be angry with the young man.

Sir John.

Get out with your patterns

(pulls him off)

my lady, I wonder you will under take to ſpeak to perſons of diſtinction. Not know a taylor from a man of faſhion!

Enter Coachman.
Coachman.

Miſs Doll's gone off, Sir John.

Lady B.

Where is ſhe gone?

Coachman.

Mrs. Caſey ſays, ſhe thinks to be married; for ſhe ſaw her in cloſe confab. with Sir Shenkin.

Lady B.

There's your Briton, Sir John.

Sir John.

But which way is ſhe ſhe gone?

Coachman.

She went down towards Colonel Epaulette's.

Sir John.

There's your Frenchman, my lady!— Come along with me, Robin. Oh, for an Engliſh conſtable, or a ſearch warrant.

Exeunt.

SCENE, a Room at the Colonel's.

[58]
Enter Colonel and Miſs Bull.
Colonel.

Oh miſs, I do congratulate myſelf on de felicity of meeting you dus at home.—If I can carry her away, I ſhall be even vid her father for calling me a tailleur.

Dolly.

But law, colonel, how ſhocking you're dreſſed!

Colonel.

Do you think ſo? Mr. Lackland ſaid 'twas ver pretty my dear.—Oh! you be von lovely girl! how I do love you! Pray, miſs, was you ever in love?

Dolly.

Oh yes.

Colonel.

Have a you?

Dolly.

Only nine times. Let me ſee. Three times before I was out of my ſlips; twice while I was at Hackney boarding-ſchool; once with my guitar maſter; then with Frank Frippery; then with Dicky Pettitoes. No, only eight; for I don't reckon the handſome ſtay-maker of Duck-lane.

Colonel.

Then be in love with me the ninth time; and ſcamper off with me.

Dolly.

Scamper with you! Why dont you aſk father's conſent.

Colonel.

No, it ſound a ſo mean.

Dolly.

Why, as you ſay, it does ſound a little of Bow Bell. Well; and then it w [...]l make a pure noiſe in the papers—the elopement—the purſuit— the marriage—the making up—Beſides, I'm in love with your vis a vis. So come along; I'll ſcamper off with you.

Colonel.

Vel ſaid, my little angel, come along.

Dolly.

But hold—Will you excuſe me to Sir Shenkin ap Griffin?

Colonel.

Excuſe you to Sir Shenkin! for what?

Dolly.
[59]

Becauſe I promiſed to run away with him; and I came here to meet him.

Colonel.

Indeed! but you know I came a de firſt.

Dolly.

Why that's true. And firſt come firſt ſerved, as father ſays to his cuſtomers in the ſhop at home—Come along.

Colonel.
(ſtops)

Hold, my dear, I muſt juſt ſtep—

Dolly.

Why I thought you was going to ſcamper off with me.

Colonel.

I ſhall ſoon be back—but as I don't know what may happen, I vill juſt order my man to put up de powder, de pomatum, and de dancing pump

Exit.
Dolly.

Well then, do make haſte, colonel.

Enter Sir Shenkin.
Sir Shenkin.

I have prought the prieſt. He looks as merry as a pard and as ſmart as a truid.

Dolly.

But why did you ſtay ſo long? I have been crying my eyes out.

Sir Shenkin.

Ton't cry, my tear. Wipe a your eye, ton't weep.—My dear, the chaiſe is ready for us, and a ſulky for father Domine.

Dolly

But muſt I deſert the colonel for you?

Sir Shenkin.

To be ſure you muſt. But I will put on a pair of jack boots, and trive you myſelf, for the poys here are as ſluggiſh as their horſes. They ſmack their whips, and they cry gee whu! but they are as ſlow as ſnails, though they gabble like turkey cocks.

Dolly.

Well, but come now, don't let us wait for the boots.

Sir Shenkin.

I'll be your poſtpoy, and trive you to Chychwechlyn, and as you was never married, how telighted you'll be with noiſes, and viſits, and confuſions!

[60]
AIR XVII.
Tol lol, de rol, lol,
My Tolly, my Toll,
With me when you canter to Wales,
For petticoat white,
Buff breeches ſo tight,
Away go needles and flails.
Young Taffy throws by hur wheels,
Then Winney kicks up her heels,
With follow
And halloo,
And waddle
And ſtraddle,
So merry to ſee us come;
With fiddle
And diddle,
In giggle
And wriggle,
They give us a welcome bone.
The joy ſo great,
So noble we treat,
An oxen is roaſted whole!
And tho' on the lawn
The ſpiggot is drawn
For punch, you may ſwim in the bowl!
We give the ladies a ball,
We foot it away in the ball.
With follow, &c.
Miſs Howell ſo nice,
And Lady ap Rice,
And couſin Sir Evan ap Floyd,
Parſon Montgomery,
Counſellor Flummery,
[...] ap Williams, Ap Floyd.
[...] when the ſtocking is thrown,
[...] I a [...]o [...]e;
Then follow, &c.
Exit.
Dolly
[61]

So, one can't go without dancing pumps, and the other can't go without jack-boots. If any of my old ſweethearts were to come in now, I ſhould be inclined to give them both the double.

Enter Lackland.
Lack

So, at laſt I've found her.—Madam, your moſt obedient. Well, it's ſettled. I'll marry you.

Dolly.

Marry me!

Lack.

Yes; but don't let your joy carry you away. I ſaid I would.

Dolly.

Said! to who?

Lack.

To myſelf. And if a gentleman breaks his word with himſelf, who do you think he'll keep it with?—You're very handſome, my dear, that you are; and I would not tell a lie for all the women in France.

Dolly.

Lord! what a high notion of honour he has! and he's a much handſomer man than either Sir Shenkin or the Colonel—But my father ſays, that you arn't worth any thing, that you've no eſtate.

Lack.

That's a good joke i'faith! No eſtate! He might as well have ſaid I borrowed a guinea of him.

Dolly.

I'faith! and now I do think of it, he did ſay ſo.

Lack.

Did he indeed? that's very diverting truly. Ay, and he might as well have ſaid I borrowed theſe cloaths.

Dolly.

That's what I thought of your fine cloaths, that you muſt have a great eſtate.

Lack.

Not an acre. And to be ſure I've no ſeat in Herefordſhire—no parks—no orchards—

Dolly.

Orchards in Herefordſhire! Then I dare ſay you make twenty Hogſheads of Cyder in a year.

Lack.
[62]

Cyder—Oh! you accompliſhed—Garlick Hill—Yes; and he might as well have ſaid that I've no houſe in Portman Square. Ha! ha!

Dolly.

Portman Square! Oh dear!—then I ſhall live in Portman Square!

Lack.

Ay, and without a guinea in the funds, or half a crown in my pocket at this moment. Ha! ha!

Dolly.

Ha! ha! that's very true. Now then, will you anſwer me one queſtion? If you was to agree to run away with me, would you wait for jack boots or dancing pumps?

Lack.

Jack boots and dancing pumps! Not for the button of king Lewis's hat. You are frank and free. I love you; and thus I throw myſelf and all my fortunes at your feet. Now if we had but a parſon and a chaiſe!—

Dolly.

There's one in the houſe, and t'other at the door.

Lack.

Is there? Then my dear—Garlick Hill— come along.

Carries her off.
Enter Colonel and Sir Shenkin.
Sir Shenkin.

Now, madam, now I'm for you; now I'm piſtol'd and booted.

Colonel.

Come, Miſs a de Bull.

Sir Shenkin.

Come, Miſs Pull, my tear.

Colonel.

Why, where is ſhe gone?

(Seeing each wher.)
Sir Shenkin.

Where did you put her?

Colonel.

Why, vat have you done vid her?

Sir Shenkin.

I did leave her here.

Colonel.

Vell, and I did find her here.

Enter Sir John and Lady Bull.
Sir John.

Where's my child? where's Dolly Bull?

Colonel.

Dat fellow in de boots can tell you.

Sir John.
[63]

Come, come, none of your Welch tricks upon me. Give me my daughter.

Sir Shenkin.

'Tis that deviliſh Gaul has got her.

Sir John.

Ay, you would not give your daughter to a Briton, and now you ſee ſhe's ſnapped up by that Frenchman. But I'll Creſſy and Agincourt you! Why, with Doll's fortune, I could build a man of war, and batter your breaſt-work. I'll come like the ghoſt of Hawke, and beat you! I'll be a Black Prince to you!

Colonel.

You are much miſtaken now, as you vas ven you took me for a tailleur. I tell you that poſtillion in boots has ſtole her.

Sir Shenkin.

No, no, I ſay 'twas you.

Colonel.

I ſay 'twas you.

AIR XVIII.
Sir John.
'Twas you, ſir, 'twas you, ſir;
I'll thraſh you black and blue, ſir;
'Twas you that ſtole my daughter Doll;
'Twas you, ſir, you.
Lady B.
'Tis true, ſir, 'tis true, ſir;
But this affront you'll rue, ſir;
'Twas you that ſtole my daughter Doll;
'Twas you, ſir, you.
Sir Shen.
Oh, Ma'am, no, ma'am, no, no, no, no, no, ma'am;
How can you wrong me ſo, ma'am?
I did not ſteal your daughter Doll;
But I know who.
Colonel.
No, ſir, no, ſir; no, no, no, no, no, ſir;
How can you wrong me ſo, ſir?
I did not ſteal your daughter Doll;
But I know who.
Colonel.
[64]

Diable! n'importe—Damme!

Sir Shenkin.

This is frantics and inſanities. But by the got of war, if I had you at home, you ſhould give me ſatisfaction.

Colonel.

Satisfaction!—I can a fight, or I can a let it alone. "I can fight and can conquer again and again."

Sir Shenkin.

Got pleſs hur! I wiſh I had him at Tover, I'd teach him to conquer. You are now in your own houſe, and you may ſtay there. For my part, I've got on my boots, and I am reſolved—I am reſolved—to walk down ſtairs.

Exit.
Sir John.

Oh! what a bloody reſolution!—ſtop the boots!

Exeunt Sir John and Lady Bull.
Colonel.

"I can fight, &c.

(ſinging.)
Exit.
Enter Nannette.
Nan.

Lord! how I do wiſh to get back again to England!—A girl like me to be a chambermaid, and to a taylor!—Well, I'm convinced if I'd as good cloaths, I ſhould look as well as Roſa.

AIR XIX.
When dreſt in all my fineſt things,
My gold repeater, bracelets, rings,
In toilet glaſs,
A lovely laſs
I view, ſo gaily glancing;
I can't tell how,
But ne'er till now
I felt my heart a dancing.
With a fal, lal, la,
And a ha, ha, ha!
You've ſet my heart a dancing.
[65]
The coach is come—down ſtairs we trip,
The Opera—Robin plies his whip,
What ſparkling eyes!
Sir Fopling cries!
As to our box advancing;
I don't know how,
Yet ne'er till now,
I felt my heart a dancing.
With a fal, lal, la, &c.
Sultana queen at maſquerade,
Or nun, or humble village maid,
So fine, ſo bright
The ſparkling night,
Like fairies nimbly prancing;
I don't know how,
Yet ne'er till now,
I felt my heart a dancing.
With a fal, lal, la, &c.
Enter Lapoche.
Lap.

I have de two impoſteurs ſafe, if I can keep them.—So, mam'ſelle Nannette, you tink ver little of me. Noting vill ſerve a you but de Engliſh officier. Juſt now I was taken for Colonel Epaulette. You ſay I ugly. Never you tell a man he's ugly in his own houſe.

Nan.

Lord, ſir! I don't think you ugly.

Lap.

Don't you? Den I vill give a you de ſilk gown.

Nan.

No, ſir, I never did think you ugly. I always, I always thought you very pretty.

Lap.

Did a you?

(ſmiling.)
Nan.

I did indeed—as I hope for the ſilk gown.

Lap.

No, not prett—but very ſmart, comely—a very ſmart, comely, little fellow.

Non.
[66]

No, ſir, very pretty.

Lap.

Vel den, pretty—a very pretty, little, ſmart fellow. But know, I have von grand affaire, great buſineſs, as good as hundred guinea; ſuch diſcovery of my two lodger—

Nan.

Indeed, ſir!

Lap.

Ay, Nannette know nothing of de diſguiſe.

(Bell rings.)
Nan.
(going)

Miſs Roſa rings her bell.

Lap.

Stay. Where are you going? You are in a deviliſh hurry to get to de fellow.

Nan.

Fellow! who do you mean?

Enter Roſa.
Roſa.

When the bell rung, why did you not ſend the girl to me?

Lap.

Send a de girl? vat an impudent fellow!— Pray von you did take a my lodging, vas dat in de bargain?

Roſa.

Nannette, will you ſtep into my chamber?

Lap.
(ſtopping her)

No, indeed, ſhe von't.

Nan.

I was juſt coming, ma'am.

Lap.

Yes, ſhe vas coming.—Get out of de room! Yes, ſhe vas juſt coming—Get out of de room from de fellow.

Roſa.

I only want ſome powder.

Lap.

You ſhall get no powder or ball here. Fighting fellow!—I viſh he vas out of my houſe

(aſide.)

If you want ſuch cut-throat tings, vhy don't you go to your own Hyde Park? Dat's the beſt place for lord-ſhooting.

Exit.
Roſa.

How impertinent the fellow is! And lord Wi [...]love to forſake me at ſuch a time! For him I gave up all my peace of mind—But I'll aſk pardon of heaven and my brother, and return to the convent.

[67]
AIR XX.
How can man ſuch pleaſure find,
Still in trying each endeavour
Thus to win the virgin's favour,
Softly ſteal into her mind,
And deſtroy her peace for ever;
With her heart,
To depart,
I eaving only grief behind.
Thus the boy, a linnet caging,
How engaging!
Now her ſweet and warbling ſong,
Soon neglected,
All rejected;
Poor thing! ſhe may her ſong give o'er,
Her ſweeteſt notes can charm no more.
Exit.
(Lapoche watches her off, then runs and locks the door.)

Dere now I tink I have de bold capitaine ſafe. Now I have got lock up dis deſperate fellow I have got de hundred guinea under my own key; and de diable a penny ſhall monſieur Lackland get. But I muſt go for de archer.—Here comes de nun in boots.

Enter Henry.
Henry.

Well, ſir; where is the lady?

Lap.

De lady not far off. I fancy ſhe may be found in boots.

Henry.

In boots!

Lap.

Yes. Don't a you feel yourſelf uncomfortable in boots?

Henry.

In boots!—Come, come, where is the lady?

Lap.

How finely I vas deceived to take you for a gentleman?

Henry.
[68]

Pray, ſir, what have I done to forſeit that character?

Lap.

But pray a now, don't you find yourſelf uncomfortable without de petticoat?

Henry.

Ha! ha! ha! will you fetch me one?

Lap.

I dare ſay Nannette will accommodate you.

Henry.

Very acommodating truly!—No, Mr. Frenchman; I have crimes enough already without adding the ruin of Nannette.

Lap.

Ruin! She may give you von you know; von can't ruin her.

Henry.

Very commode indeed!—Yes, ſiſter Roſa, you're got in a very pretty ſort of a houſe.

Lap.

Pray—ha! ha!—pray—upon my vord, ſhe looks vaſtly well in her boots.

Henry.

Go, ſir, do you banter?

Lap.

Ay, and do you go to your chamber, child, and I vill ſend Nannette to you. Poor thing! I dare ſay ver fatigue.

Exit.
Henry.

Oh Roſa! She was my ſiſter. Lord Winlove was a friend; and but for thoſe uhappy misfortunes, for thoſe fatal circumſtances, my proſpects with Celia appeared ſo pleaſing—how bleſt might I have been!

AIR XXI.
Let fame ſound the trumpet, and cry "to the war!"
Let glory re-echo the ſtrain;
The full tide of honour may flow from the ſcar,
And heroes may ſmile on their pain.
The treaſures of autumn let Bacchus diſplay,
And ſtagger about with his bowl;
On ſcience, let Sol beam the luſtre of day,
And wiſdom give light to the ſoul.
[69] Let India unfold her rich gems to the view,
Each virtue, each joy to improve;
Oh, give me the friend that I know to be true,
And the fair that I tenderly love!
What's glory but pride? a vain bubble is fame,
And riot the pleaſure of wine;
What's riches but trouble? and title's a name,
But friendſhip and love are divine!
Exit.
Lapoche watches him off, then locks the door on him.
Lap.

Vell ſaid, Roſa—Dere now I have got yo both ſafe; and I have de archer ready for dis capitaine.—Oh! here be de gentlemam that came after the lady firſt.

Enter Lord Winlove.
Lord W.

Now I ſhall ſee Roſa's new flame.— Well, my friend, where is the captain that run away with Roſa?

Lap.

What the nun in boots?

Lord W.

Nun in boots! I mean the officer that went off with the nun that you told me of.

Lap.

I have him ſafe; but he's the diable of a fellow, and has been aſking for powder; ſo have a de care.

Lord W.

Well, let's ſee this devil of a fellow.

Lap.

Shall I call in de archer? I have him ready.

Lord W.

Pho! Let me ſee the the captain. Open the door.

Lap.

Yes, but I'll have de reward

(opens the door.)

—Dere—

(runs round to the other door.)

Now I'll ſee if my nun in boots is ſafe.

Enter Roſa.
Lord W.

My dear Roſa!

Roſa.

My dear lord!

Celia .
[70]
(within)

I only want to ſee the gentleman.

Enter Celia.

I beg pardon. I want to ſpeak with the gentleman.

Lap.

Well, here are three gentleman.

Celia.

Yes; but I want to ſpeak with the Engliſh officer that lodges here—that is in cuſtody.

Lap.

Oh! de nun in boots—more diſguiſe. I dare ſay this is ſome Engliſh conſtable come over to take up de capitaine for killing de lord.

Henry .
(within)

What do you mean by locking me in? Open the door, or I'll break it open

Lap.

Break open my door! for ſhame, is dat behaving like a nun?

Enter Henry.
Henry.

Lord Winlove alive!

Lord W.

Yes, Henry. Are you ſorry to ſee me?

Henry.

Indeed, my lord, I am doubly happy to find myſelf guiltleſs of your blood, and you alive to do my ſiſter that juſtice I'm ſure you intend.

Lord W.

Harry, my intentions were ever honourable; and that my immediate union with my Roſa ſhall evince. Your love for your ſiſter hurried you to a raſhneſs that was near proving fatal; but this cancels every error.

Henry
(turning round.)

My Celia!

Celia.

Indeed I don't know how to apologize for this ſtrange intruſion. Captain, don't be vain if I ſay 'twas on your account.

Henry.

Siſter Roſa, this happineſs is unexpected. And now give me leave to introduce you to a lady, who intends ſhortly to honour our family with her alliance.

[71]
AIR XXII.
Lord Winlove, Henry, Celia, and Roſa.
How ſweet, how kind the joyful hours,
With peace and virtue crown'd!
They come like ſoft deſcending ſhowers,
To cheer the landſcape round
Huſh, throbbing heart, as truth alone,
Should light the virgin's breaſt,
Retire, cold freezing doubt, begone,
Retire, 'tis love's requeſt!
Enter Dolly, Lackland, Sir John and Lady Bull.
Dolly.

Make haſte or they'll catch us.

Lack.

Let's rally and face them.

Sir John .
(entering)

I know they are here. You're a pretty lady

(to Dolly.)
Lack.

Softly, Bull; no abuſe.

Sir John.

Why damme, mayn't I ſpeak to my own child?

Lack.

Nobody, ſir, muſt abuſe my wife.

Sir John.

Wife! I ſhall run mad! My daughter married to a fellow without a ſhirt! a fellow that borrowed a guinea of me this morning!

Lady B.

Ay, you would have an Engliſh huſband! She may have married Barrington for aught you know.

Sir John.

I hope he's a rogue.

Lord W.

Wiſh your ſon a rogue!

Sir John.

If he's myſelf I hope he's a rogue. I'll have no more mercy on him than the king of Pruſſia would have upon a Dutch alderman.

Enter Sir Shenkin.
Sir Shenkin.

So, Miſs Toll, I hear you have made matches and matrimonies.

Dolly.
[72]

Yes; ſo now you may canter off to Cychwechlyn as faſt as you pleaſe.

Sir Shenkin.

Give you joy of your tom-tit; for ſhe was never good, egg or bird.

Lady B.

Oh Dolly, how could you take up with ſuch a perſon?

Dolly.

Why, the colonel could not go without dancing pumps, nor Sir Shenkin without jack-boots, ſo that I was very glad to take up with any body.

Lack.
(bowing.)

Very much obliged to you, madam.

Enter Colonel.
Colonel.

How do you all, good peoples? How does my lady Bull-dog! damme?—So, miſs, you're married?

Dolly.

Yes, and without waiting for dancing-pumps.

Lady B.

Bull-dog! If you are a Frenchman, behave like one.

Colonel.

I never will behave myſelf, damme!

Lack.

Colonel Epaulette, let me entreat you to leave off attempting the blunt honeſty of the Engliſh. It only transforms your countrymen into brutes. The attempt is as ridiculous as for the rough Engliſh to ape the cuſtoms and manners of the French, where we ever miſs the mark, and poliſh into puppies.

Sir Shenkin
(to Henry.)

Well, you made the bets, when ſhall we ſhare?

Henry.

I don't underſtand you.

Sir Shenkin.

No! I paid forfeit. Joan did walk over the courſe.

Henry.

And did you ſuppoſe I could behave ſo contemptible to join in ſuch a ſcheme?

Sir Shenkin.

It's fery well; you ſhan't have my [73]ſiſter. Look you, I do deſire that you will never ſpeak to, look at, or think of Celia again.

Henry.

Look you, Sir Shenkin, if you don't immediately pay me the five thouſand you laid me, and give your conſent to my marrying your ſiſter, I'll refer your conduct to the jockey club; and 'tis ſo notorious, that you'll not only be excluded the turf here, but at every race in England.

Sir John.

Why, my little Welchman, I am afraid you'll be poſted at Tatterſall's.

Sir Shenkin.

I'm nick'd, ſous'd and ſlamm'd. Here, take my ſiſter Celia. I'll back him againſt the field; for he has tricked me that have nicked hundreds.

Henry.

Sir Shenkin, this is the firſt good I ever knew derived from gaming. For what ſenſation muſt that man be capable of, that builds upon the miſery of others; and raiſes a fortune on the ruin and bankruptcy of his fellow-creatures!

Sir Shenkin.

It may be ſo; but as I ſet out a young pigeon, I'm reſolved to die an old rook.

Sir John.

But how ſhall I get this rook out of my pigeon-houſe?

Colonel.

Vell, monſieur Lackland, I have procured you a commiſſion in my regiment; and 'tis much at your ſervice.

Lack.

I thank you, Monſieur; but while I can raiſe the price of a drumſtick, I'll never pull a trigger or draw a ſword againſt my native country.

Sir John.

Bravo! my boy. Give me your hand. And at dinner time you ſhall never want a nail in my parlour to hang your hat on. You ſhall poſt my ledger, and drive a gig.

Lack.

Gig! Why you ſhall ride in a vis-a-vis, to the amazement of all Garlick hill.

Sir John.
[74]

Oh rare! My dear and I tide ſide by ſide in a vis-a-vis!

Sir Shenhin.

And look you, for all your underminings and circumventings, if you whip your tomtit down to Chychwechlyn, I'll give you a haunch of rock veniſon, and a pottle to waſh it down.

Sir John.

Rock veniſon!—Oh! he'll give you the leg of a goat.—Well now; as we ſeem now to be all tolerable good friends, we'll retire to the inn—

(Lady Bull locks)

Hotel I mean, where Engliſh hoſpitality ſhall receive the zeſt of French claret.— Heigh! what ſay you to that, my antigallican ſonin-law?

Lack.

With all my heart. But, ſir, I'll have no illiberal prejudices in my family. National reflections are unworthy the breaſt of an Engliſhman; and however in war each may vindicate his country's honour. in peace let us not know a diſtance but the ſtreights of Dover.

AIR XXIII.
Henry and Celia.
Let faſhion with her glittering train,
Abroad a while deceive us;
We long to ſee dear home again,
The love of England muſt remain,
And that can never leave us.
Lord Winlove, Henry, Roſa, and Celia.
This patrist fire within each heart,
For ever let us nouriſh,
Moy England over flouriſh!
Sir John.
[75]
My future range,
The ſtock-exchange,
'Tis there I'll mind my paces;
Nor gig, nor nag,
Jack Bull ſhall drag
To French or Engliſh races.
Lady Bull.
At feaſt or ball,
At Grocers-hall,
'Tis there I'll mind my paces;
Yet nothing keep
Me from a peep
At French or Engliſh races.
Sir Shen.
Our bard ſtill in your favour thrive,
His jokes your fancies tickling,
This boon in laugh and claps then give
To Shenkin of Cychwechlyn.
Chorus of Men.
And now of each doubt and perplexity eas'd,
From Fontainbleau races we'll prance.
Chorus of Women.
In hopes that all errors our friends will be pleas'd
To excuſe, as 'tis "Our Way in France."
Full Grand Chorus.
A patriot fire within each heart
For ever let us nouriſh,
Of glory ſtill the golden mart,
May England ever flouriſh!
THE END.

Appendix A This Day is Publiſhed,

[]

By order of the Lords Commiſſioners of the Admiralty, in three volumes large octavo, illuſtrated with a volume in quarto of Plates, neatly engraved, Price One Guinea in boards, or 1l. 6s. bound.

A NEW EDITION of AVOYAGE TO THE PACIFIC OCEAN. undertaken by order of His Majeſty, for making diſcoveries in the Northern Hemiſphere, with a view to determine the poſition and extent of the Weſt Side of North America, its diſtance from Aſia, and the practicability of a Northern Paſſage to Europe.

Performed under the direction of Captains COOK, CLERKE, and GORE, in his Majeſty's ſhips the Reſolution and Diſcovery, in the years 1776, 1777, 1778, 1779, and 1780.

Written by JAMES COOK, Commander of the Reſolution, and, from the time of his death, By JAMES KING, late Commander of the Diſcovery. The Maps and Charts are from original drawings, by Lieutenant H. Roberts, under the inſpection of Captain Cook.

DUBLIN, re-printed for W. WILSON, No. 6, Dame-ſtreet. the corner of Palace-ſtrees.

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3376 Fontainbleau or our way in France A comic opera in three acts As performed at the Theatres Royal in Covent Garden and Smock Alley Written by J O Keefe Esq The music selected and composed by. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5953-3