[]

AMELIA. A MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT Of TWO ACTS. As it is Performed at the Theatre Royal in COVENT-GARDEN.

Vox et praeterea Nihil.

LONDON: Printed for J. DODSLEY, in Pall-Mall; and W. JOHNSTON, in Ludgate-Street. MDCCLXVIII.

PERSONS Repreſented.

[]
MEN.
Sir ANTONY WITHERS, Father to FREDERICK,
Mr. SHUTER.
FREDERICK,
Mr. MATTOCKS.
PETER, Sir ANTONY's Man,
Mr. MORGAN.
HENRY, a Country Youth,
Mr. DYER.
WOMEN.
AMELIA, diſguiſed as CLARA,
Mrs. MATTOCKS.
OLIVIA, a Relation of Sir ANTONY's,
Mrs. VINCENT.
  • Domeſticks of Sir ANTONY, Peaſants, Reapers, &c.
SCENE, Sir ANTONY WITHERS's Houſe, Garden, and the Country adjacent.
Time, One Day.

ACT I.

[]

SCENE I.

A Garden.
Enter CLARA and HENRY.
CLARA.

DO, good Henry, take my Cloak and Pattens, and wait for me at the Garden Gate; we ſhall very likely meet the old Knight again in our Way to the Houſe; and I know he won't be pleaſed with ſeeing thee in the Garden.

HENRY.

Let him chuſe; ſo long as I can be of any Service to you, I don't mind his huffing.

CLARA.

Thank you, Henry, but there can be no ſort of Danger.

HENRY.

The Yard Dog may frighten you; and if I was by, I ſhould be apt to give him a Flick for all his Worſhip.

CLARA.

No, no; he's always tied up in the Day-time, and you know there are no other Dogs belonging to the Houſe, but little Shock, and he has got no Teeth.

HENRY.
[4]

Well, I ſhould be ſorry to have any thing happen, and I not at hand to aſſiſt you.—But I won't be troubleſome; I hope I know better than ſo.—I'll take your Things then with me, and ſtay at the Gate we came in at.

CLARA.

Do ſo, my Lad; I'll ſoon return.

HENRY.

Oh! as for the Matter of that, uſe your Pleaſure; I don't think much of my time; I can't ſpend it better than in ſerving you.

[Exit.
CLARA.

AIR I.

Ah! take my Pity, gentle Youth,
'Tis all, alas! I can beſtow:
I own thy Conſtancy and Truth,
But Heaven can only heal thy Woe.

SCENE II.

Sir Anthony calls to Clara as ſhe is going out.

Hiſt! Clara, Mrs. Clara! Hem! Whither away ſo faſt, pretty Maid?

CLARA.

Oh! Sir Antony, I beg Pardon, I was ſtepping to the Houſe to enquire for Mrs. Olivia, who I underſtand is there.

SIR ANTONY.

Well, well, Mrs. Olivia won't be gone, and I ſhou'd be glad to ſpeak a few Words to thee, that's all.

CLARA.
[5]

What are your Commands, pray Sir?

SIR ANTONY.

I don't know what to ſay!—Why do you look ſo grave, Child? How do the good People, where you board, behave to you? I hope my Tenant Farmer Greygooſe and his Family do their beſt to pleaſe you; I ſhou'd be much offended with them if they did not.

CLARA.

Oh! Sir, they are the beſt Folks in the World, and the moſt obliging.

SIR ANTONY.

I hope you have recovered the Accident that has confined you in theſe Parts; the Hurt that you received by the Fall from your Horſe, I mean—(Ceremony upon theſe Occaſions is nothing more than a civil Excuſe for not being rude.)

[Aſide.
CLARA.

Perfectly, I thank you, Sir Antony; inſomuch that I think of taking leave of the Farmer this very Day.

SIR ANTONY.

Marry Heaven forbid it! You wou'd not leave us, Clara; you muſt not—Stay, ſtay!—I have ſomething to ſay to you—Odſlids! what am I going to do?—Why I was thinking—Gadſbud! ſure I am running mad.

[6]

AIR II.

My Paſſion confounds me,
Such Beauty ſurrounds me,
Such numberleſs Charms:
I gaze, I deſire,
My Blood is on fire,
Oh! come to my Arms!
CLARA.

Alas! poor Gentleman, I am afraid you are not well: Do, dear Sir, retire to your Chamber; wrap your Head up warm; your Imagination has been greatly heated.—Shall I call any body to help you into the Houſe, Sir?

AIR III.

O naughty naughty Garden!
What ail'd me to come in it?
I pray your Worſhip pardon,
I muſt away this Minute.
I muſt away:
Farewell! good Day!
Sir Antony, pray, excuſe me:
The more a Damſel views thee,
The ſurer ſhe'll refuſe thee.
Nay, let me paſs;
Oh fie! alas!
You'd nearly caught a Fall, Sir:
Good lack! if this be all, Sir,
I'll be within your Call, Sir.
[Exit.
SIR ANTONY alone.
[7]

Well, go thy ways for this Time.—What a twitter has this put me into, and all to no purpoſe!—I did not think ſhe cou'd have reſiſted me; but, all things conſider'd, perhaps, 'tis better as it is; ſince 'tis more than probable, I might have found it eaſier to conquer her Scruples, than my own.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

An Apartment in Sir ANTONY'S Houſe.
Enter OLIVIA, meeting CLARA.
CLARA.

Madam, ſhall I entreat your Patience for a few Minutes?—

OLIVIA.

Moſt readily, Child: what are your Commands?

CLARA.

I am an unhappy Woman; and as ſuch have a Claim to your Compaſſion.

OLIVIA.

I have conceived a very good Opinion of you, Clara, and am ſincerely ſorry for any Misfortune that may have happened to you. I hope the Hurt that you received by your Fall has had no worſe Effects than you at firſt apprehended.

CLARA.

Alas! Madam, my Injuries are of a different Nature. The Fall that I feigned to have receiv'd from my Horſe, as I was travelling homewards, was nothing more than a contrived Excuſe for concealing myſelf in theſe Parts. In ſhort, Madam, I am not what I ſeem.

OLIVIA.
[8]

That I have long ſuſpected, tho' I forbore to be inquiſitive.

CLARA.

You muſt know then, Madam, that I am a Woman of good Birth and conſiderable Fortune; my Name Amelia, the Daughter of Sir William Hartley. Perſecuted by my Family, who wou'd have driven me into the Arms of a Man, who is my mortal Averſion, I have taken Refuge here, under the Diſguiſe that you now ſee me wear.

OLIVIA.

Really, Miſs Hartley, your Diſtreſſes affect me, and I think you juſtified in the Step you have taken. Give me leave to aſk you what Preference directed you to this Neighbourhood?

AMELIA.

Alas! Madam, your Queſtion is a natural one, but the ſevereſt that can be aſked me. What Preference directed me hither? it was a Paſſion ſo deeply rooted in my Heart, that no Time, no Injury can diſplace it. 'Twas Love.—How ſhall I excuſe it to you?—Unhappy, diſappointed Love.—O Frederick, Frederick! dear falſe forgetful Youth!

AIR IV.

While on Earth's ſoft Lap deſcending
Lightly falls the feather'd Snow;
Nature awefully attending
Each rude Wind forbids to blow.
White and pure awhile appearing,
Earth her Virgin Mantle wears;
Soon the fickle Seaſon veering,
Her deluded Boſom bares.
[9]
Thus my fooliſh Heart believing,
Liſten'd to his artful Tongue;
All his Vows of Love receiving,
On each flattering Accent hung.
Fondly for a Time miſtaken
Love and Joy conceal'd my Fate;
Now alas! at length forſaken,
Sad Experience comes too late.
OLIVIA.

What do I hear? Was Frederick, was young Withers thus ingrateful, thus inſenſible? Let me hope, Amelia, there is ſome Miſapprehenſion in this Matter: I know his Intimacy with your Brother, and that he made him a Viſit this Summer of ſome Continuance.

AMELIA.

It was then, Madam, that my poor Boſom loſt that peaceful Indifference it had ever before enjoyed. My Family were then in Treaty with the Perſon I mentioned to you before: intoxicated with his extravagant Offers, they omitted no Meaſures to engage me to accept his Addreſſes; nay they were deſperate enough to employ Frederick to ſolicit me: but alas! their Advocate ruined their Cauſe; my Heart firſt conceived a Diſtaſte to Lord Wealthy, and the Interpoſition of young Withers confirm'd me in my Averſion.

OLIVIA.

But did Frederick betray his Commiſſion by turning it to his own Advantage?

AMELIA.

I cannot charge him with that Diſhonour; therein I muſt condemn myſelf: it was my own fond unguarded [10] Heart that told him too plainly what it felt; till one fatal Moment my Father ſurpriz'd him kneeling at my Feet, and the next tranſported him from my Sight for ever.

OLIVIA.

Your Relation, my dear Amelia, is truly pitiable; but as you know not what Motives Frederick had for ſo abruptly leaving you, ſo I think you cannot poſitively charge him with Infidelity.

AMELIA.

Dear Madam, how kindly you conſole me! I own to you I have ſome Hopes that Frederick ſtill remembers me, and ſtill loves me: thoſe Hopes conducted me hither; I find he is this Day expected home; this Event and Sir Antony's ridiculous Aſſiduities make it no longer poſſible for me to conceal myſelf at his Tenant's. I muſt therefore retire till by ſome means I can diſcover the real State of Frederick's Heart. What I have to entreat of you, Madam, is, for a ſhort Time to afford me the Protection of your Houſe.

OLIVIA.

Moſt gladly, my dear, let us betake ourſelves thither this Inſtant, before he comes and ſurprizes you. Come, my Chariot is now at the Door.

AMELIA.

Permit me, Madam, to ſtep as far as the Garden Gate, and excuſe myſelf to the young Farmer, who is waiting for me there with my Cloak: I'll make haſte and attend you.

OLIVIA.

At your own Time.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

[11]
The Outſide of Sir ANTONY'S Garden: HENRY is diſcover'd ſitting and compoſing a Garland of Flowers; he riſes.

I have made free with ſome of his Worſhip's Flowers; there is no Robbery in that I truſt. She ſtays a long while methinks! ſure no Accident has betided her! I am fit to think his old Honour does not bear an honeſt Mind towards her; he is always hankering about our Houſe, and I am ſure, before Mrs. Clara was with us, he never us'd to come to Father's, except upon Rent-day. I don't know what ails me; I am not half the Lad I was awhile ago; I neither eat, nor ſleep, nor work as I us'd to do; and as for Wakes and Paſtimes and ſuch like, lackaday! I have no longer any Heart for them, or any thing elſe.

AIR V.

Why heaves my Breaſt with frequent Sighs?
Whence riſes this ſoft Perturbation?
In vain my Heart each Effort tries
To combat its fond Inclination.
How helpleſs am I!
Where ſhall I fly?
Where ſhall poor Henry for Succour apply?
So fixt is the Dart,
Too feeble my Art
To aſſuage the unſpeakable Smart.
[12]AMELIA enters.
HENRY.

Oh! ifackins! I am glad you are come, Mrs. Clara: Look here; I have been plaiting a Garland for you to wear at the Harveſt-Home to-night, if you are ſo minded to accept it.

AMELIA.

Thank thee, Henry; I'll wear it for thy ſake.

HENRY.

That's kind now.—But come, will you be walking homewards: Father and Mother will wonder what's become of us.

AMELIA.

Alas! Henry, I came to bid you farewel. Some Reaſons which I can't explain to you, oblige me to take a haſty Leave of your Father and Mother, and depart this Night. Well, Henry, give me my Things.—Commend me kindly to the good Folks; tell them I'll call in the Evening, and ſettle Matters with them to their Satisfaction:—as for thee, my good Lad, I deſire you will accept this Purſe; I hope it will compenſate for the Trouble I have given thee, and the Ill-will thou haſt got from thy Landlord on my Account.—Why, what doſt weep for, Henry?

HENRY.

My Heart's too full to tell you; and I want Underſtanding to expreſs myſelf—but tho' I am a poor Lad, I ſcorn to be a mean one, and take Money. No, Mrs. Clara, I wou'd not touch your Purſe, if it was full of Diamond-Jewels. I ſee you deſpiſe me by your Offer.

AMELIA.

Far from it, Henry, believe me; nor will I preſs it further upon you, as I ſee it hurts you.

HENRY.
[13]

It does indeed—and not that only, but your leaving us, Mrs. Clara. I know it won't arguefy what ſuch a ſimple Clown as I am can ſay to a Perſon of your Breeding—but I beſeech you to tell me, wherein Father or Mother, or I have offended you! If any thing's amiſs, that they can remedy, they'll be proud to do it, I'll vouch for them—and as for me, If I be in Fault, I aſk your Pardon heartily on my Knees.

AMELIA.

Nothing is amiſs, nothing. Kneel not to me, young Man; your Humility, your Tenderneſs oppreſſes me. Neither thou, nor thy Father, nor Mother, nor any of you have ever offended me: on the contrary, I owe you all, (eſpecially thee, Henry) my Thanks for a thouſand Services, which are ten times more valuable, as I am ſure they ſpring from your Heart.

HENRY.

'Tis enough: I ſubmit. May Heaven protect you wherever you go?

AIR VI. Duetto.

Henry.
And muſt we part for ever;
Amelia.
Yes we muſt part for ever;
Hard Fate! ſuch Friends to ſever,
So faithful and ſo true:
Go and may Bliſs betide thee!
Each guardian Angel guide thee!
For evermore Adieu!
[Exeunt.
End of the Firſt Act.

ACT II.

[14]

SCENE I.

A View of the Country, with Corn Fields at a Diſtance, a Number of Peaſants, Men, Women, and Children, as from the Harveſt-field, repoſing themſelves on the Graſs, with various Implements of Huſbandry, &c.

AIR VII.

Come, my Laſſes, let's be gay
On this our yearly Holiday;
We've reap'd, we've mown, we've hous'd our Store,
And what can Maſter wiſh for more?
Chor.
Then freely paſs the Can about,
There's Day enough to ſee it out.
See the Sun is high at Noon,
And warns us not to part ſo ſoon;
Time enough to think of Care,
When dreaming Winter ſhall appear.
Chor.
Then freely paſs, &c.
Let every Swain propoſe his Toaſt,
A Health to her he loves the moſt,
Then ſhou'd ſhe but kiſs the cup;
What Clown can chuſe but drink it up?
Chor.
Then freely paſs, &c.
When Peace and Plenty crown our Iſle,
'Twere hard if Britons did not ſmile;
Nature's fair Example ſee;
She laughs and ſings, and ſo ſhou'd we.
Chor.
Then freely paſs, &c.
FREDERICK enters to them.
[15]

So, ſo, good People! this ſounds well; Muſic lightens Labour.—Sit ſtill, ſit ſtill—you've Work enough in hand, and Ceremony will but add to it.

1ſt PEASANT.

Heaven bleſs you, my young Maſter, we were drinking a Can to your Health, upon your coming home; and the Sun beating ſo main hot in the Field yonder, we were fain to lay ourſelves down under this Beechen Thicket.—Margery, why duſt'nt ſpeacke to his Honour?

MARGERY.

Gad a' mercy! ſpeacke to 'un? Why I ha' danc'd him in my Arms when he was a Babe, as poor as I am, many's the good Time.

1ſt PEASANT.

Ay, thee haſt ſo—why I ha' work'd in this Field, ſimple as I ſtand here, any Time theſe Thirty Years, and I hope to do ſo Thirty Years longer, an' it pleaſe Heaven.

FREDERICK.

I hope thou wilt, honeſt Man! There is ſomething to be merry with when your Day's Work is at an End: we muſt not muzzle the Ox—as the Proverb ſays. Happy People! how much more enviable is your Lot than mine!

AIR VIII.

See yon humble ruſtick Swains,
Reſting from their daily Pains;
Look how careleſsly they're laid
In the cool and fragrant Shade.
[16]
What is Wealth, and Fame, and Power?
Fleeting Pageants of an Hour:
Bluſh, Ambition, bluſh to ſee
Happineſs unknown to thee.
Soon as Phoebus ſtreaks the Skies,
Freſh and light as Air they riſe;
And when ſinking in the Weſt,
Gayly ſing him to his Reſt.
Boaſt not, Pride, thy lofty State;
Ah how little are the Great!
Wretches, amidſt all your Cares,
Can you find Content like theirs?
PEASANTS.

We humbly thank your Honour for your Bounty.

[Amelia is diſcovered in the Back Scene, fantaſtically dreſt out with Flowers and other wild Ornaments, and maſked; ſhe advances, diſcovers Frederick, ſtarts, and goes out.]
FREDERICK.

What have we here? A Woman maſk'd! And a fair one ſhe ſhou'd be.—Do any of you know who ſhe is?

1ſt PEASANT.

No, Sir, no: We have ſeen her in and about this Grove ever ſince Morning-break; and we are apt to think (poor Soul) ſhe is not in her right Mind; one or two of us 'coſted her, but ſhe was not much for talking, ſo we took no further 'count of her.

FREDERICK.

If that ſhou'd be the Caſe, the poor Wench may want ſome Aſſiſtance; I'll follow her and ſee.

[Exit.
2d PEASANT.
[17]

For my peart, I'll neither meddle nor make with her; Dame is ſure to lead me ſuch a Life.

1ſt PEASANT.

Come, Neighbours, let's to Field; now Simon's abſent I am Strokeſman for to-day; nay, but come along. Let's be merry and wiſe, as they ſay; ſome Work, ſome Play; 'twill laſt the longer.

Chorus repeated.
Then freely paſs, &c.

SCENE IV.

A more retired Part of the Grove; AMELIA enters.

How my Heart flutters at the Sight of Frederick! He ſeem'd ſtruck with my Appearance; ſurely he will follow me: Under this Diſguiſe I will endeavour to diſcover the real State of his Heart: ſhould my Suſpicions of his Falſhood prove true, this diſtracted Habit will then properly become my Condition. Hah! he's here.—

[She puts on her Maſk.
FREDERICK.

I follow'd you, Child, to know if you ſtood in need of any Aſſiſtance.—Who are you? and why do you wander about maſk'd, and in that fantaſtical Habit?

AMELIA.

Save you, Sir, may the Sun-beam never ſcorch you by Day, nor the Dew-damps ſtrike you by Night: for the Stars tell ſtrange Tales, and, if you are falſe-hearted, Perjury is wrote on the Face of the Moon, and every Owl-ey'd Wizard can read it. For my own Part, I care not who ſees my Face; 'tis honeſt, and ſuch as Nature made it; but there are Spies abroad, and therefore I go maſk'd.

FREDERICK.
[18]

Alas! poor Wench, thy Reaſon is diſſeated. Have you no Friends in this Neighbourhood to take Care of you?

AMELIA.

I had a Friend, Sir; my Soul lov'd him, and my Reaſon approved—but he forſook me, and I loſt my Wits and my Heart together.

FREDERICK.

There are no Tokens of Inſanity in that Expreſſion. There is ſome Myſtery under that Maſk; I'll queſtion her further—

[Aſide.]

Then you have lov'd—unſucceſsfully lov'd:—therein I pity you;—our Fortunes in that are alike. I myſelf adored the faireſt of her Sex.

[Half aſide.
AMELIA.

The faireſt did you ſay?—Was ſhe indeed the faireſt?

FREDERICK.

I thought her ſo.—Her Air reſembled yours; her Stature much the ſame; and her Voice ſo near upon a Pitch with yours, that, when I hear you ſpeak, methinks I am preſent with her.

AIR IX.

So profound an Impreſſion I bear
Of the Maid who was my fond Choice,
Every Nymph that I ſee has her Air,
Every Sound that I hear is her Voice.
When you ſigh, I can think ſhe was true,
When you ſmile, I cou'd ſwear ſhe was kind,
You give all but her Face to my View,
And alas! I ſee that in my Mind.
AMELIA.

Is it poſſible ſhe cou'd be inſenſible to your Paſſion?

FREDERICK.
[19]

She has forgot her Madneſs; I'll encourage this Adventure.

[Aſide.]

Alas! you ſearch too deeply—regardleſs of her Vows, ſhe is married, and I am abandoned and undone.

AMELIA.

Married! did you ſay? Is ſhe married?—What can he mean? Wretch that I am, I am miſtaken, and he loves another.

[Aſide.
FREDERICK.

You muſe.—But whom do I ſpeak this to, and what? Come, unmaſk; if your Features correſpond with your Limbs, 'tis cruel to conceal them.

[Attempts to unmaſk her.
AMELIA.

Not for the World, I beſeech you.—Suffer me to aſk one Queſtion more for Curioſity's Sake: What was your Miſtreſs's Name?

FREDERICK.

Prithee, Child, (for I ſpeak to thee now as a rational Creature) what Motive can'ſt thou have for aſking me that Queſtion?

AMELIA.

No ill one, believe me; yet I confeſs I am deſirous to have it reſolved.

FREDERICK.

Sure I have not made a Conqueſt of this poor Wench's Heart without knowing it; her Enquiries wou'd almoſt lead me to ſuſpect it.

[Aſide.]

Well, I know no Reaſon there is for concealing my Miſtreſs's Name, ſince ſhe is now another's:—It was Amelia Hartley.—You are now poſſeſs'd of my Story; which I know not how you have drawn from me. I muſt now leave you; if you have any Afflictions, I ſincerely compaſſionate you, but Inſanity I hope is not amongſt them. There is my Purſe; much may it comfort you! ſo farewel!—

AMELIA.
[20]

Hold Sir! Your Liberality is truly amiable, but I need it not; take your Purſe; and if you are not afraid to give me the Meeting between the Hours of nine and ten in the Evening, I may perhaps communicate to you ſome Tidings, that will both ſurprize and pleaſe you.

FREDERICK.

Between the Hours of nine and ten this Evening?—

AMELIA.

Preciſely.—

FREDERICK.

I will not fail to meet you: Farewel.

[Exit.

AIR X.

Now once again the ſportive Train
Awakes to ſprightly Meaſures,
Gay Hope ſucceeds, and with her leads
A Train of ſmiling Pleaſures.
See where the torturing Furies fly,
Pale Grief, Deſpair and Jealouſy,
Of meagre Cares the ghaſtly Family.

SCENE III.

HENRY diſcovers himſelf.
HENRY.

Don't be frighten'd, Mrs. Clara; 'tis I; 'tis a Friend.

AMELIA.

Henry!—What makes thee here?

HENRY.

Thank Heaven ſhe's not ſo far gone, but what ſhe knows me.—(I beg pardon, Mrs. Clara, for my Boldneſs)—How ſhe ſtares!—Alas my Heart bleeds for [21] her! Do be perſuaded to return home: We are broken-hearted at loſing you.—I'll watch you Night and Day, if you need it.

AMELIA.

How came you to know me, and to follow me hither?

HENRY.

Lackaday, how ſhou'd I fail knowing you? Don't be angry with me, but I have followed you moſt Part of the Day, yet feared to accoſt you till now, that I ſee you have been in Diſcourſe with the young Squire: Fine Folks I know have ſometimes foul Thoughts; and in ſo lone a Place as this is, I was fearful he might offer at ſome Rudeneſs; if that had been the Caſe, I wou'd have been your Defender; nay I was about to come forth when he attempted to unmaſk you, for, great as he is, I ſhou'd not ſtand by and ſee you wrong'd by any one.

AMELIA.

This honeſt Creature's Affection to me is diſtreſſing.

HENRY.

How ſorry am I to ſee you thus! What a piteous Change have a few Hours brought about! Is a Mind like your's ſo ſoon overthrown? Better be born a Clown like me without Wit or Underſtanding to loſe, than be learned to no better Purpoſe than this.

AIR II.

See thy Henry ſtills attends thee,
Still thy humble Friend defends thee,
Whither has thy Reaſon ſtray'd?
Turn and hear me,
Do not fear me,
O thou loſt, thou lovely Maid!
AMELIA.
[22]

Why ſhou'd I conceal any thing from this honeſt Creature? Come hither, Henry; don't be alarm'd: my Reaſon is no worſe than it was; I am not mad.

HENRY.

Oh! the Bleſſing! may I believe it? Then what do you do with all this diſtracted Geer about you?

AMELIA.

That you ſhall know in due Time; but tell me now, my good Lad, how can I reward the Services you have done me; pecuniary Gratifications, it ſeems, your Spirit diſdains; what can I do for you!

HENRY.

Nothing; I have deſerv'd nothing.

AMELIA.

Nay, but,—conſult your Heart.

HENRY.

I dare not; it is not fit I ſhou'd.

AMELIA.

How, Henry! is there any doubt then of its Honeſty?

HENRY.

No, Mrs. Clara, I hope I am honeſt; but I am ſure I am unfortunate.

AMELIA.

Alas poor Youth! Is it in my Power to alleviate your Unhappineſs?

HENRY.

Don't aſk me that Queſtion; I am but a Clown, and my Anſwer may offend you.

AMELIA.

I ſee the Cauſe of your Uneaſineſs, and have long regretted it.—I'll tell thee what, Henry, you and I have long been Friends; 'tis ſit I ſhou'd now diſcloſe [23] to you a Secret. I am not, as you conceive me, a low-born Country Wench, but am of ſome Rank and conſiderable Fortune. The Concluſion you will draw from thence may be uſeful.—I ſee you are in Surprize at what I have told you, but if you will walk with me to Mrs. Olivia's, I'll tell you why I have aſſum'd this Appearance of Madneſs.

HENRY.

I will attend you, Madam.—Heigh ho! how baſe am I not to rejoice at this Diſcovery!

AMELIA.

When I relate my Story more at large to you, Henry, you will find that all the Unhappineſs I have known in Life has ſprung from Love. 'Tis a dangerous Paſſion, and I wou'd caution every Friend of mine againſt it.

AIR XII.

When Love at firſt Approach is ſeen,
His dang'rous Form he veils;
A playful Infant's harmleſs Mien
The fatal God conceals.
When ſoon by us fond Dupes careſt
He acts his trait'rous Part,
And as we preſs him to the Breaſt,
He ſteals into the Heart.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Great Hall.
Sir ANTONY and PETER.
SIR ANTONY.

And ſo, Peter, you can hear no tidings of this Girl Clara yet?

PETER.
[24]

No, your Honour, not I: 'tis ſarten ſure ſhe have left the Farmer's, that's one Thing; but where ſhe has betaken herſelf, that's another Thing. For my Part I have been at a power of Places in queſt of her, up and down, all over the Village, quite from Dame Treacle's Shop at the further End of it, to the Parſon's Houſe here by the Church.

SIR ANTONY.

Was ever Accident ſo croſs! every thing in ſo fair a Poſture for Succeſs: the Wind in my favourite Corner, South-weſt, due as it can blow. Sciſſon's Barometer a full Degree on the Riſe ſince Morning, and my Pulſe at leaſt ten Thumps in a Minute by a Stop-Watch quicker than it was at our laſt Interview; I ſhou'd certainly have retriev'd that Miſadventure.—I cannot conceive, Peter, where this provoking Wench has conceal'd herſelf.

PETER.

Sure I was never ſo nonpluſh'd before; and yet I think under Favour, your Worſhip, I can give a gueſs where ſhe is.

SIR ANTONY.

Why, where is ſhe, think you?

PETER.

Why I'll ſtake my Head to a Turnip that ſhe is in our great Pond: Simon ſaw her walk that way, and 'tis my Thoughts ſhe has drowned herſelf for Love; for your Worſhip well knows no young Girl can have any Buſineſs by the Water-ſide, unleſs with that Intent.

SIR ANTONY.

Peter, leave me. There are Moments, in which no wiſe Man cares to be overlooked. Of a certain this Clown has hit it; poor fond Soul! I ſhall never have an eaſy Moment more. But ſoft! what do Socrates, Seneca, [25] and Sir Thomas More adviſe upon theſe Occaſions? Have I no Memorandum?—Phaw! a Fig for ſuch a Pack of Grey Beards: what ſignifies what a Man ſays in a Caſe that can never be his own? It has ever been my Fortune to be admired by the Fair Sex; but ſo melancholy a Proof of it I never met with before. I'll inſtantly give Orders for dragging the Pond: ſhe is moſt certainly drown'd: I cannot chuſe but weep for her.

AIR XIII.

Farewel, fond unhappy Creature!
See, for me poor Clara dies;
Lightning blaſt each murd'rous Feature,
Blind theſe fatal, fatal Eyes!
Yet what means this fond bewailing!
Let the wretched Fair one die;
If my Form is ſo prevailing,
Nature is in Fault, not I.

SCENE V.

OLIVIA enters with AMELIA brought in by a numerous Rabble of Peaſants; HENRY following at ſome Diſtance.
SIR ANTONY.

Heyday! who have we got here? Is the whole Pariſh ſtung with the Gadfly? What's the Matter with you all?

OLIVIA.

Why theſe honeſt People have a ſtrange Story to tell you, Sir Antony.

1ſt PEASANT.

Yes, and pleaſe your Worſhip, we have a ſtrange Story to tell you: But Things have gone very croſs with us all this Harveſt through; a Power of mildew'd Grain—Farmer Chaff's Horſes are in a Manner eat up with the [26] Botts, one and all—and Maſter Grubb's Cows are ſorely peſter'd with the Tail-worm; ſo that we are fit to think, pleaſe your Worſhip, that the poor Beaſties are Hag-ridden, as it were.

SIR ANTONY to AMELIA.

Well, Child, is it you have done all this? I ſee you are a Dealer in the Black Art.—

[Pointing to her Maſk.
1ſt PEASANT.

Noa, your Honour, we don't directly ſay ſo; but we were a little dubilous about the young Woman, ſo we pray your Worſhip to examine her a bit.

FREDERICK.

O Neighbours, leave her to me; I'll examine her.

1ſt PEASANT.

We are much beholden to your Honour: Pray you now, young Gentleman, aſk her why ſhe wears that black Thing athwart her Face, whereof I can take my Bible Oath on't that ſhe is ſometimes as ſightly a young Woman to look at, as ever my Eyes beheld; and why ſhe keeps hanging about the Grove at the Bottom of the Paddock; there can be no good Intent in that.

SIR ANTONY.

Go, ye ſimple People, get home, and leave the young Woman with us.

HENRY, to one of the PEASANTS.

I am aſham'd, Gaffer Dowling, to ſee an old Man like you make himſelf ſuch a Fool.

[Exeunt Peaſants.
SIR ANTONY.

Well, young Woman, let us know why you are maſked, and what your Buſineſs is in theſe Parts?

AMELIA.
[27]

My Profeſſion, Sir, is Fortune-telling; I deal with the Stars.

SIR ANTONY.

I rather believe 'tis with the Moon.

AMELIA.

Give me your Hands.

[Taking Sir Antony with one Hand, and Frederick with the other.

AIR XIV.

You love, and are belov'd again.
[To Frederick.
You love, alas! but love in vain.
[To Sir Ant.
The Grove.—The Garden was the Scene.
You've been to blame—
Oh! fie for Shame,
With Hairs ſo grey to wear a Head ſo green.
Your Maid is fled.—Your Miſtreſs gone:
Yet both theſe Loſſes are but one:
I, who conceal'd her, can reſtore.
Lament!—Rejoice!
Here is my Choice!
Come take, Oh! take, and never quit me more.
[Unmaſks, and runs into Frederick's Arms.
FREDERICK.

O tranſporting Surprize! Do I behold thee? do I again embrace thee, my dear, my deſtin'd Amelia?

SIR ANTONY.

What do I hear? And are you, that was my Clara, the Daughter of Sir William Hartley?

AMELIA.
[28]

I am, Sir, and can you be generous enough to forgive my Preference of your Son before you?

SIR ANTONY.

Oh! no more of that I charge you 'Tis well we are wiſer than our Children, for certainly they have ſome unaccountable Advantages over us.

AIR XV.

When my Children are wedded all and gone,
With a this Way, that Way, and every Way;
And a happy Day will be that Day,
When they've left me to myſelf alone,
With a this Way, &c.
And I wou'd they were gone every one.
Then will I ſeek out for a Wife,
With a this Way, &c.
And a happy Day will be that Day,
When I renew a wedded Life,
With a this Way, &c.
For every Way I'll pleaſe my Wife.
But ſhould ſhe prove wayward, pert and bold,
With a this Way, &c.
What a luckleſs Day would be that Day,
When I lighted firſt upon a Scold,
With a this Way, &c.
Oh! what Way's left for me that am old.
FREDERICK.
[29]

O my Amelia, I have News for you, which I flatter myſelf you will be pleaſed with: your Friends are impatient to receive you, and have conſented to our Union.

AMELIA.

Then is my Joy compleat. Now had I but a Friend that cou'd relate to them this Day's Events, as they really have happen'd—

HENRY.

You have a Friend, Madam, an humble and a faithful one; ready to undertake that Office, or any other you can lay upon him.

AMELIA.

I thank thee, my good Henry, and will accept your Services. Frederick, I have much to tell thee of this Youth, whom I deſire you will love for my ſake.

FREDERICK.

I know him well: his Fortune ſhall be my Care.

HENRY.

Thank Heaven! I ſhall now be abſent, when ſhe is married.

[Aſide.]
[Exit Henry.
AMELIA.

Sir Antony, as I croſt your Lawn I found your Harveſt Folks aſſembled at their Sports; the Serenity of the Evening, and the Chearfulneſs of the Scene, compoſe the moſt agreeable Sight in Nature.

FREDERICK.

Oh! by all Means, Sir, let us go thither; Joy is pleaſing in whatſoever Shape it appears.

SIR ANTONY.
[30]

Let this then be a Day of general Happineſs!

AIR XVI.

Fred.
Happy Nation! who poſſeſſing
Nature's Gifts in full Increaſe,
Sees around thee every Bleſſing,
Scenes of Plenty, Scenes of Peace.
Chor.
Happy Nation! &c.
Amelia.
Fields where golden Ceres waving
Gliſtens in the ripening Sun;
Streams their fertile Borders laving,
Scattering Riches as they run.
Chor.
Happy Nation! &c.
Fred.
Meads, where Flocks and Herds diſporting
Gayly paint the chequer'd Vale;
Groves, where happy Shepherds courting,
Softly breath their amorous Tale.
Chor.
Happy Nation! &c.
Amelia.
Cooling Zephyrs gently blowing
Fragrance from the flow'ry Plains;
Temperate Skies ſerenely glowing;
Virtuous Nymphs and valiant Swains.
Chor.
Happy Nation! who poſſeſſing
Nature's Gifts in full Increaſe,
Sees around thee ev'ry Bleſſing,
Scenes of Plenty, Scenes of Peace.
THE END.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3604 Amelia A musical entertainment of two acts As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-6003-4