Who, hourly with himself at war,
The foe does in his bosom bear!-
Shall this tempest in my breast
E'er cease, and I have rest?
E'er cease, and I have rest?

Enter JONATHAN.

Welf. Jonathan, Sir John tarries long.

Jon. That is not to be wondered at, when he is in such good company. I know my master never thinks himself so happy, as when he is with your fair daughter.

Welf. Jonathan, I have observed, of all Sir John's servants, that you, who indeed seem best to deserve it, have the greatest share in his confidence and favour: now you are not ignorant of my friendship for your master, nor of his pretensions of love to my Silvia; both which must interest me nearly in every thing that relates to him. I have lately heard some reflections on his conduct, that much alarm me. You, if you will, can satisfy my doubts, without prejudice to your own fidelity, or your master's honour.

Jon. Aye, dear Sir, I know that any discoveries, which I might make to you, would be as safe as in my own bosom, and all the use you would make of 'em, would be to improve 'em, if possible, to my master's advantage, and not at all to my prejudice. What a wicked, censorious world do we live in! My master is certainly the most virtuous, sober, modest gentleman in the country; and, to say truth, we are a mighty regular family. For my part, I am daily edified by his good example.

Welf. This fellow mocks me. [Aside.] The business of my farm, and the care of my flocks call me hence. Farewel. My best respects and service to Sir John. [Exit. Jon. Ha, ha, ha! a pretty jest truly! discover my

master's secrets for nothing!-when I'm so well

paid for keeping 'em.

Jon.

AIR II. [Gami'orum."]

The servant that betrays his trust,
Who's employ'd in search of beauty,
To his master and himself unjust,
Has neither sense nor duty.
Priests and Lawyers, by the throng,
Are well paid for their prattling;
What fool then would use his tongue,
Who loses by his tattling.-

Gami-'orum, &c.

[Exit singing.

SCENE, Another Room in Welford's House. Enter SIR JOHN FREEMAN and SILVIA. Sil. Urge me no farther-I have said too much. How have you drawn from me the fond confession?

Sir John. Merely to say you would obey your father! is that too much to pay whole years spent in adoration of your charms!

Sil. What can you ask, or what can I say more?

Sir John. Can ardent love be satisfied with duty? You might have said as much to any other man, who should have gained your father's approbation. You have not yet, my charming fair, confess'd you love.

Sil. Why will you press me to pass the bounds of modesty and prudence? you know my father does not force my will.

Sir John. Why then this needless caution and reserve? your cruel coldness chills me to the heart. You never felt love's animating fire; some other motive, in which love has no part, must influence you to admit of my addresses.

Sil. Your suspicions are as groundless as unkind.

There may be men false, designing, cruel and unjust, who court and flatter only to deceive: would it be therefore just to charge the crimes of some ou all? and, for your constant love, truth and sincerity, return you doubts, suspicions, and unjust reproaches? There may be women too, who, for wealth or power, would give their hands where they refuse their hearts. If you think me such a one, for my sake, and your own, desist at once: for love, that is not founded on esteem, can never yield true satisfaction, or continue long.

Sir John. Pardon, my dearest Silvia, a fault, caused only by excess of love-Thou art so great a blessing, 'twere presumption to be too secure. Long we suspect, and hardly are convinced that the treasure, on which our happiness depends, shall ever be attain'd. But now my fears are husht, and all my doubts are fled.

AIR III. ["Blithe Jockey young and gay."]

Sir John.

Sweet are the joys of love,

When doubt and fears are past:
Virtue does love improve;
Truth makes it ever last.

Sil.

Sir John.

All virtues in thee shine,

Sil.

Both.

Whate'er I am is thine.
Hearts, thus united, prove

Earth has no joy like love.

Sir John. When love is sincere and constant, how does it bless and how improve mankind? yet, ambitious Statesmen, and foolish meddling Priests, would bind in fetters the noble free-born passion. Vain attempt!Marriage ne'er yet kindled a mutual flame, where it was not, but often has extinguish'd it where it was; love is itself its own security, and needs no other bonds.

Sil. This idle talk, this common-place raillery on marriage, I think, at any time is best omitted; but sure, Sir John, 'tis most improper now. You can't

expect that a maid, who is not weary of her condition, will take upon her the defence of a cause in which she is not concern'd: yet, to pleasure you, who, I presume, delight to hear me talk, tho' I thereby discover my own simplicity, this I will say, the world owes its order, kingdoms their peaceful regular succession, and private families their domestic happiness, to marriage.

Sir John. The prejudice of education only makes you reason thus. I must instruct you better. Sil. Sir John, I understand you not

Sir John. You shall join with me, by our example to convince the world, that love can subsist without the marriage tie.

Sil. Sir John Freeman, I have known you long, bred up under one roof from infancy together. I don't remember when I knew you not. The innocent friendship, contracted in our childhood, in you improved to love, or you have been a thousand times forsworn. If I have been deceived, when may a virgin safely believe a man? I would not wrong your honour by unjust suspicions,--but if you have abused me

Sir John. If I love thee not, or if I ever cease to love thee, may I become the most wretched and most accurst of men.-May I

Sil. Imprecate no more.

and I am satisfied.

Wave this discourse,

Sir John. "Tis time, my Silvia, to compleat our joys. [Takes her by the hand.] You must now quit your father's humble roof, and shine with me. My wealth, great as it is, shall be exhausted to support thy pleasures. Love, only love, shall be the Priest to join us. Enjoyment shall be our marriage.

[She struggles.] Each day I shall a happy bridegroom be, and you a bride. Mahomet's Paradise shall be verified in us; and all our long lives shall be but one continued transport.

Sil. Let go my hand.

Sir John. And lest you should think I mean to deceive and to forsake you, no proud heiress, that brings a province for her portion, shall be jointured as you shall be. Half my estate shall be settled on

thee.

Sil. With brutal force to compel me to hear thy hated proposals, is such insolence.-Thy breath is blasting, and thy touch infectious. Oh that my strength was equal to my indignation! I'd give my hand a ransom for my body. [Breaks from him. Sir John. Stay, my charming angry fair, and hear me speak.

Sil. Would I had never heard you. Oh that 'twere possible to fly where I might never hear the voice of mankind more!-What, set a price on my immortal soul and spotless fame? Know, thou ungenerous man, I ne'er was influenc'd by thy wealth to hearken to thy vows; for notwithstanding my humble birth and fortune, I ever scorn'd riches, when compared to love, as now I do love and thee, compared to virtue. She, who capitulates on terms like these, confesses an equivalent may be had for innocence and fame, and thereby forfeits both.

Sil.

AIR IV. [Tweed Side."]

By our weakness we help the deceit,
If our virtue we balance with gold.
When dishonour's propos'd, if we treat,
We're to ruin and infamy sold.