SCENE II. A view of LORD AIMWORTH'S House; a Seat under a Tree, and Part of the Garden Wall, with a Chinese Pavilion over it; several Country People appear dancing, others looking on; among whom are, MERVIN, disguised, RALPH, FANNY, and a number of GIPSIES. After the Dancers go off, THEODOSIA and PATTY enter through a Gate, supposed to have a connexion with the principal Building. Theod. Well then, my dear Patty, you will run away from us?—but why in such a hurry? I have a thousand things to say to you. Patty. I shall do myself the honour to pay my duty to you some other time, madam; at present, I really find myself a little indisposed. Theod. Nay, I would by no means lay you under any restraint. Patty. Well, madam, you have the sages, poets, and philosophers, of all ages, to countenance your way of thinking. Theod. And you, my little philosophical friend, don't you think me in the right too? Patty. Yes, indeed, madam, perfectly. AIR. Trust me, Tould you taste true pleasure, Bless'd, who no false glare requiring, [Exit. Enter MERVIN and FANNY. Mervin. Yonder she is seated, and, to my wish, most fortunately alone.-Accost her as I desired. Theod. Heigh! Fanny. Heaven bless you, my sweet lady-bless your honour's beautiful visage, and send you a good husband, and a great many of them! Theod. A very comfortable wish, upon my word! who are you, child? Fanny. A poor gipsy, an please you, that goes about begging from charitable gentlemen and ladies. -If you have e'er a coal, or bit of whiting in your pocket, I'll write you the first letter of your sweetheart's name-how many husbands you will have, and how many children, my lady: or, if you'll let me look at your line of life, I'll tell you whether it will be long or short, happy or miserable. Theod. Oh! as for that I know it already-you cannot tell me any good fortune, and, therefore, I'll hear none.-Go about your business. Mer. Stay, madam, stay-[Pretending to lift a Paper from the Ground]-you have dropped something-Fan, call the young gentlewoman back. Fanny. Lady, you have lost Theod. Pho, pho, I have lost nothing! Mer. Yes, that paper, lady; you dropped it as you got up from the chair.-Fan, give it to her honour. Theod. A letter, with my address! [Takes the Paper, and reads. Dear Theodosia, Though the sight of me was so disagreeable to you, that you charged me never to approach you more, I hope my hand-writing can have nothing to frighten or disgust you. I am not far off; and the person that delivers you this, can give you intelligence. Come hither, child; do you know any thing of the gentleman that wrote this? Fanny. My lady Theod. Make haste-run, this moment-bring me to him, bring him to me; say I wait with impatience -tell him I will go-fly any where Mer. My life! my charmer! Theod. Oh, Heavens! Mr. Mervin ! Enter SIR HARRY and LADY SYCAMORE. Lady S. Sir Harry, don't walk so fast; we are not running for a wager. Sir Harry. Hough, hough, hough! Lady S. Heyday, you have got a cough! I shall have you laid upon my hands presently. Sir Harry. No, no, my lady; it's only the old affair. Lady S. Come here, and let me tie this handkerchief about your neck; you have put yourself into a muck-sweat already. [Ties a Handkerchief about his Neck.] Have you taken your bardana this morning? Not you, I warrant now, though you have been complaining of twitches, two or three times; and, you know, the gouty season is coming on. Why will you be so neglectful of your health, Sir Harry? I protest, I am forced to watch you, like an infant! Sir Harry. My lovey takes care of me, and I am obliged to her. Lady S. Well, but you ought to mind me then, since you are satisfied I never speak but for your good. I thought, Miss Sycamore, you were to have Bless'd, who no false glare requiring, Can, from grosser joys retiring, [Exit. Enter MERVIN and FANNY. Mervin. Yonder she is seated, and, to my wish, most fortunately alone.-Accost her as I desired. Theod. Heigh! Fanny. Heaven bless you, my sweet lady-bless your honour's beautiful visage, and send you a good husband, and a great many of them! Theod. A very comfortable wish, upon my word! who are you, child? Fanny. A poor gipsy, an please you, that goes about begging from charitable gentlemen and ladies. -If you have e'er a coal, or bit of whiting in your pocket, I'll write you the first letter of your sweetheart's name-how many husbands you will have, and how many children, my lady: or, if you'll let me look at your line of life, I'll tell you whether it will be long or short, happy or miserable. Theod. Oh! as for that I know it already-you cannot tell me any good fortune, and, therefore, I'll hear none.-Go about your business. Mer. Stay, madam, stay-[Pretending to lift a Paper from the Ground]-you have dropped something-Fan, call the young gentlewoman back. Fanny. Lady, you have lost Theod. Pho, pho, I have lost nothing! Mer. Yes, that paper, lady; you dropped it as you got up from the chair.-Fan, give it to her honour. Theod. A letter, with my address! [Takes the Paper, and reads. Dear Theodosia, Though the sight of me was so disagreeable to you, that you charged me never to approach you more, I hope my hand-writing can have nothing to frighten or disgust you. I am not far off; and the person that delivers you this, can give you intelligence. Come hither, child; do you know any thing of the gentleman that wrote this? Fanny. My lady Theod. Make haste-run, this moment-bring me to him, bring him to me; say I wait with impatience —tell him I will go-fly any where Mer. My life! my charmer! Theod. Oh, Heavens! Mr. Mervin ! Enter SIR HARRY and LADY SYCAMORE. Lady S. Sir Harry, don't walk so fast; we are not running for a wager. Sir Harry. Hough, hough, hough! Lady S. Heyday, you have got a cough! I shall have you laid upon my hands presently. Sir Harry. No, no, my lady; it's only the old affair. Lady S. Come here, and let me tie this handkerchief about your neck; you have put yourself into a muck-sweat already. [Ties a Handkerchief about his Neck.] Have you taken your bardana this morning? Not you, I warrant now, though you have been complaining of twitches, two or three times; and, you know, the gouty season is coming on. Why will you be so neglectful of your health, Sir Harry? I protest, I am forced to watch you, like an infant! Sir Harry. My lovey takes care of me, and I am obliged to her. Lady S. Well, but you ought to mind me then, since you are satisfied I never speak but for your good. I thought, Miss Sycamore, you were to have - |