A Town.—Sign on one Side, the Lily of France, on the other, the British Lion.

Bells ring.—Enter Mrs. Casey and First Waiter.

Mrs. Casey. Come, Bob, what are you about, boy? The company tumble in upon us like smoke; quick, all the cooks at work, do you hear me now?

[Bell rings.

1 Waiter. Yes, ma'am. Coming, coming.

[Exit.

Lackland. [Within.] You scoundrel, I'll teach you to talk to a gentleman!

2 Waiter. [Within.] Oh, very well, very well, sir.

Mrs. Casey. Hey day!

Enter Second Waiter, stumbling in.

What's the matter now?

2 Waiter. Only Mr. Lackland, ma'am; you know you ordered me to keep the Globe for the large company; there, he takes possession of it; and though I told him it was bespoke, he would dine no where else:—orders a bottle of champagne, and because I didn't fly with it, kicked me down stairs, though I cried coming up, sir.

Mrs. Casey. Champagne, and not a Louis in his pocket!—d'ye hear, tell Mr. Lackland, it's my desire he'll quit my house.

2 Waiter. Your desire! Ecod, ma'am, he said he'd make you bounce.

Mrs. Casey. Make me bounce! A shabby, spunging——though without a second coat, the fellow's as proud as a Galway merchant.—Make me bounce in my own house!—pretty well, that, upon my honour!

Lack. [Within.] What! house!

Mrs. Casey. Run, don't you hear?

Lack. [Within.] Where is that infernal——

2 Waiter. Infernal! that's you, ma'am, he's calling.

Mrs. Casey. Hush! here he is. [Exit Second Waiter.] Because I'm a lone woman, he thinks to impose upon the house.

Enter Lackland.

Lack. Landlady, your attendance is shameful!

Mrs. Casey. Why, the truth is, sir, my waiters have enough to do if they properly attend on folks who have money to pay for what they call for.

[Takes out her Snuff Box.

Lack. [Takes a Pinch.] And even your snuff, is execrable!

Mrs. Casey. Lookye, Mr. Lackland, that you're a gentleman every body knows; and you've a good estate, only it's all gone; and you're allowed to be a six bottle man, and a choice companion. Ah! the beginning of a good song at the latter end of a bottle is a capital thing for a house—Now, here, during the race time, I'll give you your board at the table d'hÔte, and money in your pocket to pay the reckoning, if you'll only be a good jolly fellow, and encourage the company to drink, by a funny song, or a comical story.

Lack. What! live by entertaining a company?

Mrs. Casey. Yes; that's what I call earning your bread like a gentleman.

Lack. Make me your decoy-duck? Mrs. Casey, you're a widow, you'll oblige me if you'll marry somebody immediately.

Mrs. Casey. And why so, pray?

Lack. Madam, that I might have the superlative honour of twisting your husband by the nose.

[Bows gravely.

Mrs. Casey. Well, upon my honour, you're a very mannerly fellow! but I wish I had a husband, for your sake—Oh, I wish I had a husband!

Enter Gagger.

Gag. Madam, there's a Paris chaise stopped, and the master of the Lily of France has got hold of them already.

Mrs. Casey. Then he shall soon quit his hold, that he shall, as sure as my name is Casey.—Bob, do you go and try to bring them this way, and I'll go see the rooms prepared myself. [Goes to the Door.] Ah, my dearee, I wish I had a husband!

[Exeunt Mrs. Casey and Gagger.

Lack. [Looking.] An English officer.

[Retires.

Enter Henry and French Postboy.

Henry. There—[Throws Money into the Boy's Hat, who is discontented.] never satisfied!

Postb. Monsieur, c'est toÛt poste royale, de Paris jusqu'a Fontainbleau.

Henry. Oh, double postage for the horses! Ay, ay, if we approach a mansion of the grand monarque, we must pay for it.—Seven posts.

[Gives more Money.

[Exit Postboy.

Lack. [Comes forward.] By Heaven, my old college chum, Harry Seymour!

Henry. Pray, friend, can you direct me to the best—[Stops, and looks attentively on Lackland.] Is it possible? but I heard something of this—Can you be Charles Lackland?

Lack. How d'ye do, Harry?

Henry. My poor fellow! [With Concern.] But how has all this come about?

Lack. Eh?

Henry. I feel for you, sincerely!

Lack. What d'ye mean? Oh, my—[Looking at his Clothes.] Pshaw! never mind a man's outside; I've a heart within, equally warm to an old friend, in snow, or sunshine.

Henry. That I have passed so many happy, happy days with!

Lack. Have—ay, and will again.

Henry. All gone?—Play, I suppose?

Lack. Ay, my dear fellow! play, and pleasure, and—but what the devil, musty melancholy! Come to sport here at the races, eh? flush?

Henry. Why, 'faith, Lackland, as to cash, my affairs, at present, are little better than your own.

Lack. Ahem! Egad, that's rather unlucky for us both.

Henry. But my mind, my dear Charles! I am this moment the most unhappy—in a word, you see me here an exile, fled from the hands of justice!—You remember my sister Rosa?

Lack. What, little romping Rose, that used to steal our fish, and throw our cards in the fire? Eh, did I dream, or wasn't there a match talked of, between her and Lord Winlove?

Henry. All over, my dear Lackland! guided only by the weakness of her sex, and the art of ours, she was prevailed on by Lord Winlove to take the road to the Continent; I overtook them at Rochester, demanded reparation of my sister's character by an instant marriage—I was violent—my lord's pride, hurt at a charge, which, perhaps, he did not deserve—a pistol was the umpire—he lost his life, and, in apprehension that a verdict might endanger mine, I was compelled to assume the disguise of a woman, to effect my escape.

Lack. Bravo! shot a lord! I wing'd a marquis yesterday—poor Rosa! where is she now?

Henry. I have lodged her in the convent of Villeneuve.

Lack. And have taken the races of Fontainbleau in your way back to Paris?

Henry. I'll tell you frankly, though you'll say, rather inconsistent with my present situation; I'm drawn hither purely by the hopes of meeting an amiable young lady, who engaged my conversation at the Sunday opera, in Paris.

Lack. Her name?—Good family, eh?

Henry. I'm a total stranger to both—talks of her brother's having horses to run, and of their intention of being there at the races.

Lepoche. [Without.] Je n'y manquerai pas.

Lack. [Aside.] This cursed tailor! now I shall be dunned and pestered!

Enter Lapoche.

Lap. Monsieur Lackland, I ville no longer vait for my——

Lack. [Apart to him.] Hush! I'll make your fortune—A customer, rolling in money. Captain, if you're unprovided with neat lodgings, and a good tailor, here's your man, and there's his house.

Lap. Oh, de new customer! bon—speak de goot vort for me.

Lack. He has good apartments.

Lap. Oh, very goot—Speake more.

Lack. I will. [To Lapoche.] This ill-looking little rascal—

[To Henry.

Lap. Much obligÉ to you.

Lack. [Apart to Henry.] If you are slack in cash, [Loud.] you'll find his lodgings convenient.

Lap. Very convenient, because——

Lack. [Apart.] Because when he asks for his money, you may kick him down stairs.

Lap. Much obligÉ to you, sir.

[Bows to Lackland.

Lack. [Apart.] My way of doing things. [Loud.] Wasn't I a good customer, Lapoche?

Lap. Oui, it does a tradesman's heart goot to see you—[Aside.]—outside of his door.

Lack. I paid you eight livres a week, wasn't it?

Lap. Oui, monsieur, you did—[Aside.]—promise me dat.

Lack. [Looking.] Ladies! Must attend where beauty calls—[Pulls down his Ruffles.] My dear Henry, at your time, I am yours; from a beef steak to a bottle of burgundy—can't stay now—you know I was always a Philander among the ladies.

[Exit.

Lap. Always great gander among the ladies.

Henry. Poor Lackland!

Lap. Lately from Londres, monsieur? I was vonce great man in Londres; but now I am anoder man.

Henry. Another man! what, then, my motley friend, I suppose you have a character for every country?

Lap. Oui, I have appear in many character, but Londres vas my grand theatre—Ah! England is de great field of battle for us soldiers of fortune; and ven I could no longer fight my vay——

Henry. Why, then you——

Lap. Oui, I ran avay. Ah, monsieur! in England, I vas high, and I vas low—I vas dit, and I vas dat:—I vas cook, parfumeur, maitre de langue, juggle, and toos drawer—in short I vas every ting.

Henry. And pray, my good friend, what are you now?

Lap. I am now myself, in my true charactere—A tailor, À votre service.

Henry. A tailor! what, and come here to the races of Fontainbleau, to sport your Louis d'ors upon the jockeys of France?

Lap. Non, monsieur, but I am come here to sport de pretty jacket upon de jockeys of France. Ah! I vill show so fine de green jockey, de blue jockey, and de red jockey!—dey may talk of vip and spur, but de beauty of de race come from my shear and timble.

Henry. Pray, which is your best hotel here?

Lap. Hotel! Ah, monsieur, vy no lodge in my house? So convenient for de single gentilhomme!—[Aside.] I will not tell him of de lady, my lodger, because I love her myself.

Henry. Well, I don't know but private lodgings, at this time, may be preferable to the noise and bustle of an hotel.

Lap. Eh bien, monsieur, vill you look at my lodgment?

Henry. With all my heart.

Lap. Je vous attend.—[Calls.] Nannette!—And if you like them, you may send your baggage and little ting after you.—Nannette! prepare for de new lodger.

[Exeunt.

Enter Gagger, and Mrs. Casey, from Tavern.

Gag. This way, Sir John—this way, your honour! Madam, it's Sir John Bull, and Lady Bull, and Miss Bull, and all the family.

Sir John. [Without.] I wish, my Lady Bull, you'd let Robin have rolled us up to the door.

Mrs. Casey. Ha! upon my honour, it is Sir John Bull and his lady—this is the truth of an English family.

Enter Sir John and Lady Bull, French Inn-Keeper, Four French Porters, with small Bandboxes, &c.

Mrs. Casey. Sir John, you are welcome from Paris.

Sir J. B. Welcome from Paris! [Mimicking.]—-Where the devil are you taking us? Such a way, to walk over your damned pavement!

Lady B. Oh fie, Sir John! Do you consider where you are? When English gentlemen come to France, they should leave their dammes at Dover.

Sir J. B. I wish I had left you, or myself there, damme!—what are these fellows doing with the things?

Lady B. Don't you see, the gentlemen are porters, Sir John?

Sir J. B. Porters! pickpockets—paid by the ounce: One Thames Street porter, would take the whole seven and their bundles on his knot; here's a proof—

Enter Robin, with a very large Trunk.

My trunk, Robin?

Rob. Yes, your honour; four of the monsieurs trying to carry it, dropped it in the dirt, yonder.

[Puts it down.

Lady B. Robin, you must immediately find Colonel Epaulette's lodge, and let him know we are arrived.

Sir J. B. Yes, when you've taken care of the trunks:—and, d'ye hear, Robin, you'll find Squire Tally-ho there, tell him that I'm come, and that Dolly's longing to see him. [Exit Robin.] But where is she?

Lady B. Ay, where's Dolly Bull?

Enter Miss Dolly Bull.

Miss Dolly B. Here I am, mamma. [To Mrs. Casey.] Ma'am, pray which is the inn?

Lady B. Inn! Hotel, miss, if you please.

Miss Dolly B. Miss! Mademoiselle, if you please, ma'am.

Sir John B. Aha! well said Dolly—there was French upon French.

Lady B. Dear sir, which is the hotel?

[To French Innkeeper.

Sir J. B. How cursed polite, to a waiter too! only because he's French.

[Aside.

French Innk. Dis vay, mademoiselle—I keep de Lily of France.

[Bowing.

Sir J. B. Let's in, I'm plaguy hungry.

French Innk. Ah, monsieur, de nice Vermecelle-soup, de bon ragout, and de grande salade.

Sir J. B. Ragouts! Pshaw!

Mrs. Casey. D'ye hear, George, carry that big piece of roast beef up to the Lion.

Sir J. B. [Goes to her.] Ay, and carry me up to the Lion, I like to dine in good company:—Who are you madam?

Mrs. Casey. I'm Mrs. Casey, at your service, sir; and I keep this house, the Lion of England.

Sir J. B. And are you English?

Mrs. Casey. Yes, that I am, born in Dublin; an honest Irish woman, upon my honour.

AIR.—MRS. CASEY.

Sir J. B. Bravo, Mrs. Casey!—introduce me to your roast beef.

[Exeunt Lady Bull, Dolly, and Porters.

Enter Lackland.

Lack. Sir John Bull, I think they call him, from the city—[Aside.] Monsieur, Je vous veux parler—

Sir J. B. Don't vow parley me, I am English.

Lack. You are?—Your pardon, I see it in your honest face.

Sir J. B. Well, what have you to say to my honest face?

Lack. Say? me!—Damme, if I have any thing to say—but, only—how d'ye do?

Sir J. B. Why, pretty well; how are you?—A damned impudent fellow!

[Aside.

Lack. And how have you left all friends in a—a—a—Throgmorton Street?

Sir J. B. Throgmorton Street!

Lack. That is—I mean—You're come to Fontainbleau, and just arrived:—my heart warmed at the sight of my countryman, for I'm English too,—a little unfortunate, but——

Sir J. B. You're poor, eh?

Lack. Why, sir,—I have had money—

Sir J. B. And what did you do with it?

Lack. Sir, I laid it out in experience.

Sir J. B. Oh! then, I suppose, now, you're a very cunning fellow.

Lack. I know the world, sir—I have had rent rolls, lands, tenements, hereditaments, mansions, arables, pastures, streams, stewards, beasts, tenants, quarter-days, and such other incumbrances.

Sir J. B. What, and you've got rid of them all?

Lack. Oh, yes.

Sir J. B. You're a devilish clever fellow:—but couldn't you have got your teeth drawn at the same time?—I suppose, now, you've little use for them.

Lack. Ha! ha! ha! very clever—smart and clever!—Oh, you vile dog! [Aside.] As you're English, I feel an attachment;—harkye—a damned sharping place, this—you may profit by my advice; avoid strangers, particularly our own countrymen;—all upon the sharp—they'll introduce themselves, intrude their conversation, amuse you with some flam of their families, and spending fortunes, and losses; and the story generally ends in borrowing money from you, that is, if you are fool enough to lend it.—Now, my dear sir, 'tis my pleasure to warn a gentleman, like you, of the tricks and deceptions, of these sort of fellows.

Sir J. B. I'm very much obliged to you—give me your hand—will you eat a bit of mutton with us?

Lack. Sir, I should be proud of the honour, but something awkward—this dishabille!—and as I understand you have ladies, you know, they expect a man—the fellow here over the way, detains a handsome suit of mine, only for—sir, if you could oblige me with a guinea, I should repay you with many thanks.

Sir J. B. What, when the arables come back!—A guinea—well, I don't mind as far as—distress in a strange country, is—what's your name?

Lack. Lackland, at your service.

Sir J. B. A guinea, you say—there, Mr. Lackland——

[Gives a Guinea.

Lack. Sir, I am eternally obliged to you.—I fancy I may pass in these clothes, eh?

Sir J. B. Yes, yes, you may pass—[Aside.]—for a shoplifter.

Lack. Waiter! [Calling.]—If you'll give me leave, I'll treat you with a flask of most excellent champagne.

[Goes to Tavern.

Sir J. B. Treat with champagne! my own money too!—champagne! and I doubt if the fellow has got a shirt to his ruffles.

Lack. Upon my soul, you're a very fine old gentleman!—mind my advice—I warn you against our countrymen—they'll only borrow your money, and laugh at you after!—Ha! ha! ha!

Sir J. B. Ha! ha! ha! So they'll laugh at me after! Ha! ha! ha!

Lack. Now you know their tricks; mind you keep your hand on your cash.

Sir J. B. Yes, yes; the moment they talk of Throgmorton Street, you may be sure I will, ha! ha! ha!

Lack. Ha! ha! ha! very well—Ha! ha! ha!—Bless your jolly face, how a laugh becomes it! Ha! ha! ha!

Sir J. B. My jolly face!—good—Ha! ha! ha!

Lack. Ha! ha! ha! I'm thinking how surprised you'll be, when I pay you this guinea to-morrow!

Sir J. B. I shall be surprised, indeed!

Lack. Ay, I have bought my experience by wholesale.

Sir J. B. Yes, and you now retail it out at a guinea a dose.

Lack. My dear sir, I shall always acknowledge myself your debtor.

Sir J. B. I dare say you will.

Enter second Waiter.

Lack. Show a room, scoundrel! and change for a guinea.

[Exeunt, laughing.

SCENE II.

A Chamber at Lapoche's House.—Folding Doors a little open.

Enter Rosa, reading.

Rosa.

Poor Eloisa in her cloister, spoke my sentiments!—I begin to repent my elopement.—By this time the abbess has heard of my departure from the convent.—Heigho! I wonder if Lord Winlove has got my letter—I wish he was come!

AIR.—ROSA.

Enter Nannette.

Nan. Madam, here's a gentleman wants——

Rosa. My Lord Winlove himself!—Why didn't I wish sooner?

[Exit Nannette.

Enter Lord Winlove.

Lord W. My charming Rosa!

Rosa. Oh, my lord!

Lord W. My dear creature! how could you think of Fontainbleau, of all places—and at such a time too! so full of English, and fifty people that may know both you and me! Safer, as I advised you, waiting for me at Villeneuve, and, by a cross route, got to Paris.

Rosa. Nay, don't be angry with me! if I had remained at all in the village, the abbess might have discovered my retreat; for, though in my noviciate, I dare say, she's highly incensed at my escape.

Lord W. Your letter says, you got out of the convent in boy's clothes, ha! ha! ha!

Rosa. Yes; and I was e'en obliged to change them before I reached Fontainbleau. Oh, my lord! this is a wicked step of me!

Lord W. The impiety was mine, my love! to rob Heaven of an angel—But how unlucky! here, my dear, you've got into the house of this Lapoche—the most busy little coxcomb!

Rosa. I wish, indeed, I had been any where else!

Lord W. Well, we may get from hence to-night: my death, from that rencontre with your brother, is every where believed.

Rosa. My dear lord! now only yours—I know no guide but your opinion.

Lord W. My sweet Rosa! though I wasn't to be threatened into a marriage, by the young Chamont, your brother, when he overtook us at Rochester; on my return to England, I shall, with pride, acknowledge my sweet Rosa to be Lady Winlove.

AIR.—LORD WINLOVE.

Enter Nannette.

Nan. Oh, madam! madam! here my master has brought in a new lodger with him; the charmingest, beautifulest young officer—our countryman too!—

Lord W. Young officer!

Nan. I ask pardon, sir; I didn't see you.

Lord W. Then I see the necessity for our immediate departure: I'll instantly order a chaise, and remove you, my love, out of this group of jockeys, grooms, peers, and pickpockets.

[Exit.

Nan. Ah, madam! See all the men in the globe, give me an Englishman after all!—This pretty officer—[Opens the folding Doors wider—Henry discovered asleep on a Sofa.]—Dear madam, look! asleep—yes, he complained to my master, that he had been up all night.

[Makes Signs to Rosa, to go and kiss him.

Rosa. Oh fie, Nannette!—D'ye hear, Nannette, when that gentleman returns, you'll call me to him.

[Exit.

Nan. Lud, how nice we are!—then I'll win the gloves myself—[Stealing softly towards him—Henry stirs.] Oh lud! he's awake!

Henry. [Coming forward.] This travelling by night—thought to have slept in the chaise; but, not a wink——

Nan. Did you call, sir?

Henry. Who are you, my little countrywoman?

Nan. Nanny, sir, at your service: [Courtesies.]—Master will call me Nannette, though, in the French fashion.

Henry. Oh, you're the little English fille de chambre to Monsieur Lapoche, the French tailor?

Nan. At your service, sir.

AIR.—NANNETTE.

Enter Lapoche, gets round, and turns Nannette from Henry.

Lap. Ah! here is fine doings in my house!—And you come here vid your vaxen taper, and your caper; your smile and your smirk, on dis English boy—Pardi! I vill knock his head against de—[Turns to Henry.] Hope you had a good sleep, sir. [To Nannette.] Get you down stair—I vill tump his nose flat; allez, allez! [Exit Nannette.] I hope you find every ting agreeable, sir—hope nobody disturb you, and dat you like your apartements;—here you have all conveniency; here you may have two course and desert; S'il vous plait, you may invite your English friend to drink de bon vin—here in my house you may all get so merry, and so drunk, and laugh and roar, and sing, and knock your fistes against von anoder's head, so friendly, À la mode de Londres—Aha!—you please to valk dis vay, sir; I vill show you your chambre À manger.

Enter Nannette.

Nan. Here is——

Lap. Go, get you gone. Vat, you come again here, peeping at de men.

Nan. Monsieur, I only want——

Lap. You vant! Oui, I know vat you vant. Allez, allez! Begar, I shall have no girl to myself—all de girl in my house vill come after dis jolie garÇon!

Nan. Sir, you won't let me tell you, that Colonel Epaulette has sent to know if his new liveries are finished; and the great English squire, Mr. Tally-ho, has sent for his hunting frock.

Lap. Colonel Epaulette and Squire Tally-ho, monsieur, dese are my great customer; dey match de two horse to run on de race to-morrow: Dat Squire Tally-ho is fine man. Ah! I do love to vork for Milor Anglaise!—dis vay, s'il vous plait, monsieur—you vill excuse a me—[To Nannette.] Come, he vill excuse a you too.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Another Room at Lapoche's.

Enter Rosa.

Rosa. I wonder what can keep Lord Winlove! I wish we were once upon the road!—this anxiety is tormenting; I long, though why desire, to see England, when all I love, is here?

Enter Nannette.

Oh, Nannette, is the gentleman come?

Nan. No, ma'am, but I desired the boy to show him to this apartment.

Henry. [Without.] What! is the lady this way?

Nan. The devil take the blockhead! may I die, if it isn't the young English officer, he's sending up here.

Rosa. Shut the door, I'll be seen by nobody—Undone! my brother Henry!—

Enter Henry.

Henry. Is it possible? can it be!—My dear, will you step down a moment? [Exit Nannette.] My sister Rosa!

Rosa. What shall I do?

Henry. Escaped from the convent, I suppose?—Tell me, Rosa, what—lost to every sense of virtue! to fly from the only place that could afford an asylum for your shame?

Rosa. My dear brother! though appearances are against me, yet, when you are acquainted with certain circumstances, which prudence forbids me, at present, to account for——

Henry. Talk of prudence, and your fame blemished—your character departed with its destroyer.—But, of your Lord Winlove's memory, let me be tender, as his life has answered for his share in your offence.

Rosa. [Aside.] He does not know yet of my lord's being alive—I dread his return—their meeting again must, indeed, be fatal.

Henry. Tell me, Rosa, why would you quit the convent?

Rosa. [Aside.] I must get Henry out of the house before my Lord Winlove comes back! how shall I?—Come, take me, I'll go with you there this instant—do forgive me; come, dear brother!

Henry. Yes, yes; I'll lodge you once more:—yet how perplexing! if I quit Fontainbleau at this juncture, I may lose my wished-for interview, with the unknown charmer that brought me hither.

Rosa. [Aside.] Ruin! I think I hear—if it should be Lord Winlove!—Come, Henry, I have but little preparation, and will immediately attend you.

Henry. Be assured I won't part with you now, untill I again deliver you to the Lady Abbess, with a strict charge, that she'll strengthen your spiritual chains. [Aside.] And yet the sympathy of my own heart, inclines me to excuse the weakness of my sister's.

DUETT.—HENRY and ROSA.

Brooks, to your sources, ah, quickly return!
Tear drop on tear, and give life to the urn;
Truth and virtue pass away,
Ere I for another my true love betray.