Thus to sorrow never ceasing, [Exit. END OF THE SECOND ACT. ACT III. SCENE, a Grove. Enter SILVIA and WELFord. AIR XLVI. ["Midsummer wish."] Sil. WHEN flatt'ring love, and stern despair, -In soft Welf. Still sighing!-Still in tears! and gentle murmurs still complaining! Yet she, innocent even in thought of any guilt, that might deserve a punishment so severe, accuses not the heavens, nor me, nor him, the cruel author of her woes. No any storm of rage ruffles her lovely face; no thought of vengeance swells her beating breast; virtue, love, and grief, so amply fill her mind, there is no room for ruder guest. Never did passion in a female breast run with so deep, so strong, so smooth a stream. Sil. My father here! Welf. Weeping, my Silvia ! Could'st thou think how deep thy sorrows wound me, I know thou would'st endeavour to subdue them. Sil. I did not know you was so nigh. -I had not else indulged this burst of grief. It adds to my unhappiness, to afflict so tender and so good a father. Welf. Thy more than child-like duty and affection, thy yielding sweetness, and determined virtue, of which each hour you give me fresh examples, do so affect me, that I am torn 'twixt joy and wonder, sorrow and remorse, whene'er I look upon thee. I, I, wretched as I am, have contributed to all the wrongs you suffer. Sil. My dearest father, do not thus aggravate our common grief; let not your affection for me, cause you to wrong yourself. If you have permitted me to love, and I have been deceived, were not you deceived too? Welf. Indeed I was; but all shall yet be well; shortly you shall be convinced, that he's so far unworthy of your love, that gentle peace and joy shall fill your breast, and he be scorn'd at first, and soon forgot. AIR XLVII. ["How happy are young Lovers."] Welf. On some rock, by seas surrounded, When the shipwreck'd wretch, confounded, 1 Hopes of life do then forsake him, Such are your afflictions; and they, from their excessive greatness, shall, like some dreadful vision, find their end. Sil. Good man! He knows not that all has been discovered to me already. [Aside.] Shall I deceive the best of fathers, and by hypocrisy make that my crime, which is but my misfortune? No. Whatever discovery you make of his faults, forgive me, if I say, that I must love him still. True, virtue forbids all converse with him, and I—obey; his crimes I hate; his fall from virtue I lament; his person, tho' I never see, nor wish to see again, 'tis still certain I must ever ever love. AIR XLVIII. ["One Night when all the Village slept."] Sil. You happy maids, who never knew Be warn'd by me, and never do Wisdom, here, brings no relief, Enter GOODY BUSY, GOODY COSTIVE, &c. G. Busy. A good day to you, Mr. Welford; I have brought with me all my neighbours, as you requested; and hearing you were here, with your daughter, I left them at your house, and chose with Goody Costive and Goody Gabble, to come to you, that we might have the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Silvia. Welf. 'Tis kindly done of you; there is my daughter; I'll leave you with her, and go and bid friends welcome.-You may follow at your leisure. your [Exit. G. Busy. Do so, do so; I must have a little talk with her. It is some years ago since I saw her, never since she was christened, as I remember. It is a great way, and I (Heaven help me) grow old, I don't use to be so sparing of my visits else.- -Dost not know me, pretty one? Sil. I don't remember to have seen you before; but, as my father's friend, I am pleased to have the opportunity to know you now. G. Busy. Pretty sweetness! thou'rt grown out of my knowledge too, to be sure; but we have been better acquainted; I was thy mother's midwife.Let me see- -you will be eighteen come the time, and not married yet! Now out upon thy father, for a naughty man! it must have been his fault, for you are so pretty, that you must have had offers enow. Sil. It is soon enough to know care and trouble. G. Busy. Now out upon it! we have never had any good times since people talk'd so.- -Was not I young myself? and don't I know that the most troublesome and careful part of a woman's life, is from the time that she is fit for a husband, till she has got one? Our greatest care and trouble is over then, for the men, who seldom take any before, are bound to do it then. AIR XLIX ["A Dame of Honour."] G. Busy. A maid, tho' beautiful and chaste, Man, like a figure, by her plac'd, The tyrant, man, fast bound for life, She becomes a dame of honour. G. Cost. Goody Busy, you are always talking to people in praise of marriage; now I suspect you, being a Midwife, do it for your own ends. G. Busy. Suppose I did, Goody Costive, where is the harm of that? I am sure, times, are so bad, that what with one thing, and what with another, an honest woman, in my way of business, can hardly get bread; and I never expect to see it otherwise, while matrimony is so much despised as it is; why, the men are grown so horrible cunning, that few of them will marry at all; and the women are grown so forward, that they won't stay till they are married.- -But you are melancholy, Mrs. Silvia. me. Sil. A little thoughtful; I hope you'll excuse G. Gab. Why truly neighbour Busy, these must needs be great hardships upon you; for no marriages, no lyings-in. G. Busy. It is that which I complain of; for, to say the truth, I don't find but that single people have as many children as those that are married; but then they are such infidels as to let their children die without Christening, and what signifies, to the Midwife, a lying-in, without a Christening?—I had once some thoughts of going to London, but I am informed that it is worse there than here; for there are, it seems, a number of women who get their livelihood by being naught with any man that will pay them for it, and yet never have any children at all. Sil. I can't guess what my father designs by sending for these people. [Aside. |