3 Cour. I can't tell which way his Majefty went, ner whether any body is with him or not; but let us keep together, pray.

4 Cour. Ay, ay, like true courtiers, take care of ourfelves whatever becomes of master.

2 Cour. Well, it is a terrible thing to be loft in the dark.

4 Cour. It is. And yet 'tis fo common a case, that one would not think it should be at all fo. Why, we • are all of us loft in the dark every day of our lives. Knaves keep us in the dark by their cunning, and fools by their ignorance. Divines lofe us in dark myfteries, lawyers in dark cafes, and ftatesmen in dark intrigues: ་ nay, the light of reason, which we fo much boast of, what is it but a dark lanthorn, which just serves to prevent us from running our nofe against a post, perhaps; but is no more able to lead us out of the dark • mists of error and ignorance in which we are loft, than an ignis fatuus would be to conduct us out of this • wood.

1 Cour. But, my lord, this is no time for preaching. methinks. And, for all your morals, day-light would be much preferable to this darkness, I believe.

3 Cour. Indeed wou'd it. But come, let us go on; · we fhall find fome houfe or other by-and-by.

4 Cour. Come along.'

Enter the King alone.

[Exeunt.

King. No, no, this can be no public road, that's certain: I am lost, quite loft indeed. Of what advantage is it now to be a king? Night fhows me no refpect; I cannot fee better, nor walk fo well as another man. What is a king? Is he not wifer than another man? Not without his counfellors, I plainly find. Is he not more powerful? I oft have been told fo, indeed; but what now can my power command? Is he not greater and more magnificent? When feated on his throne, and furrounded with nobles and flatterers, perhaps he may think fo; but when loft in a wood, alas! what is he but a common man? His wifdom knows not which is north and which is fouth; his power a beggar's dog would bark at; and his greatnefs the beggar would not bow to. And yet how oft are we puffed up with thefe false attributes;

attributes! Well, in lofing the monarch, I have found the man. [The report of a gun is heard.] Hark! fome villain, fure, is near! What were it beft to do? Will my majefty protect me? No. Throw majesty afide then, and let manhood do it.

Enter the Miller.

Mil. I believe I hear the rogue. Who's there?
King. No rogue, I affure you.

Mil. Little better, friend, I believe. Who fir'd that gun?

King. Not I, indeed.

Mil. You lie, I believe.

King. Lie! lie! How ftrange it feems to me to be talk'd to in this ftyle. (Afide.) Upon my word, I don't. Mil. Come, come, firrah, confefs; you have fhot one of the king's deer, have not you?

King No indeed; I owe the king more refpect. I heard a gun go off indeed, and was afraid fome robbers might have been near.

Mil. I'm not bound to believe this, friend. Pray who are you? what's your name? King. Name!

Mil. Name! yes, name. Why, you have a name, have not you? Where do you come from? what is your bufinefs here?

King. These are queftions I have not been us'd to, honcft man.

Mil. May be fo; but they are questions no honeft man would be afraid to anfwer, I think: fo if you can give no better account of yourself, I fhall make bold to take you along with me, if you please.

King. With you! What authority have you to-—-—-—-Mil. The king's authority, if I muft give you an account. Sir, I am John Cockle the miller of Mansfield, one of his Majefty's keepers in the forest of Sherwood; and I will let no fufpected fellow pafs this way that cannot give a better account of himself than you have done, I promise you.

King. I muft fubmit to my own authority. (Afide.) Very well, Sir; I am very glad to hear the king has fo good an officer; and fince I find you have his authority,

I will give you a better account of myfelf, if you will do me the favour to hear it.

Mil. 'Tis more than you deserve, I believe; but let's hear what you can fay for yourself.

King. I have the honour to belong to the king as well as you, and perhaps fhould be as unwilling to fee any wrong done him. I came down with him to hunt in this foreft; and the chace leading us to day a great way from home, I am benighted in this wood, and have loft my

way.

.

Mil. This does not found well; if you have been ahunting, pray where is your horfe?

King. I have tired my horfe fo, that he lay down under me, and I was obliged to leave him.

Mil. If I thought I might believe this now.
King. I am not used to lie, honest man.

Mil. What? do you live at court, and not lie? that's a likely ftory indeed!

King. Be that as it will, I fpeak truth now, I affure you; and, to convince you of it, if you will attend me to Nottingham, if I am near it, or give me a night's lodging in your own houfe, here is fomething to pay your trouble; and if that is not fufficient, I will fatisfy you in the morning to your utmost defire.

you

for

Mil. Ay, now I am convinc'd you are a courtier; here is a little bribe for to-day, and a large promise for to-morrow, both in a breath: here, take it again, and take this along with it-John Cockle is no courtier, he can do what he ought-without a bribe.

King. Thou art a very extraordinary man, I muft own, and I thould be glad, methinks, to be farther acquainted with thee.

Mil. Thee and thou! prithee don't thee and thou me: I believe I am as good a man as yourself at least. King. Sir, I beg your pardon.

Mil. Nay, I am not angry, friend; only I don't love to be too familiar with any body before I know whether they deferve it or not.

King. You are in the right. But what am I to do? Mil. You may do what you please. You are twelve miles from Nottingham, and all the way thro' this thick wood; but if you are refolved upon going thither to

ight, I will put you in the road, and direct you the b eft I can; or if you will accept of fuch poor entertainment as a miller can give, you shall be welcome to ftay all night, and in the morning I will go with you myself. King. And cannot you go with me to-night?

Mil. I would not go with you to-night if you were the king.

King. Then I muft go with you, I think.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Town of Mansfield.

Dick. (alone.) Well, dear Mansfield, I am glad to see thy face again. But my heart aches, methinks, for fear this fhould be only a trick of them to get me into their power. Yet the letter feems to be wrote with an air of fincerity, I confefs; and the girl was never us'd to lie till The kept a lord company. Let me fee, I'll read it once

more.

"Dear RICHARD,

"I am at laft (tho' much too late for me) convinc'd "of the injury done to us both by that base man who "made me think you falfe: he contriv'd these letters "which I fend you, to make me think you juft upon "the point of being married to another, a thought I "could not bear with patience; fo, aiming at revenge

66

on you, confented to my own undoing. But, for your own fake, I beg you to return hither, for I have fome "hopes of being able to do you justice; which is the only comfort of your moft diftrefs'd, but ever affec❝tionate, PEGGY."

There can be no cheat in this, fure! the letters she has fent are, I think, a proof of her fincerity. Well, I will go to her, however: I cannot think she will again betray me: if he has as much tenderness left for me as, in fpite of her ill usage, I ftill feel for her, I'm sure she won't. Let me fee, I am not far from the house, I believe.

4

SCENE changes to a Room.

Peggy and Phoebe.

Phabe. Pray, Madam, make yourself easy.

[Exit.

Peggy. Ah, Phoebe ! fhe that has loft her virtue,

• has

has with it loft her eafe and all her happiness. Belie 'ving, cheated fool! to think him falfe.

Phabe. Be patient, Madam, I hope you will fhortly ⚫ be reveng'd on that deceitful lord.

Peggy. I hope I fhall, for that were just revenge.But will revenge make me happy? will it excuse my fafehood? will it reftore me to the heart of my muchinjur'd love? Ah no: that blooming innocence he us'd to praife and call the greatest beauty of our fex, is gone.. I have no charm left that might renew that fame I took fuch pains to quench.

[Knocking at the door. See who's there. O heavens, 'tis he! alas, that ever 'I fhou'd be afham'd to see the man I love!

Enter Peggy meeting Richard, who stands looking on her at a diftance, fhe weeping.

Dick. Well, Peggy, (but I fuppofe you're Madam now in that fine drefs), you fee you have brought me back: is it to triumph in your falsehood? or am I to receive the flighted leavings of your fine lord?

Peggy. O Richard! after the injury I have done you, I cannot look on you without confufion: But do not think fo hardly of me!-I ftay'd not to be flighted by him; for the moment I difcover'd his vile plot on you, I fled his fight, nor could he ever prevail to fee me fince.

Dick. Ah, Peggy, you were too hasty in believing, and much I fear the vengeance aim'd at me had other charms to recommend it to you:-fuch bravery as that (pointing to her cloaths), I had not to beftow; but if a tender, honeft heart could plcafe, you had it all; and if I with'd for more, 'twas for your fake.

Peggy. O Richard! when you confider the wicked ftratagem he contriv'd to make me think you bafe and deceitful, I hope you will at least pity my folly, and in fome measure excufe my falfehood; that you will forgive me, I dare not hope.

Dick. To be forc'd to fly from my friends and country for a crime that I was innocent of, is an injury that I cannot eafily forgive, to be fure: But if you are lefs guilty of it than I thought, I fhall be very glad; and if your defign be really as you fay, to clear me, and to ex