prejudices, like clouds before the rising sun, vanish before the lights of your superior reason-My love is no longer a foible-you are worthy of empire.

Enter OSMYN.

Osm. Most sublime Sultan; the Sultana Elmira claims your promise for liberty to depart.

Rox. Is that the case? Let then the first instance of my exaltation be to give her liberty; let the gates of the seraglio be thrown open.

Sul. And as for Elmira, she shall go in a manner suitable to her rank.

OSMYN returns.

[Exit.

Osm. Sir, the dwarfs and bostangis, your Highness had ordered, attend.

Sul. Let them come in. This day is devoted to festivity; and you who announce my decree, proclaim to the world, that the Sultana Roxalana reigns the unrivalled partner of our diadem.

Osm. There's an end of my office. Who could have thought, that a little cock'd-up nose would have overturned the customs of a mighty empire!

Sul. Now, my Roxalana, let the world observe by thy exaltation the wonderful dispensations of Providence.

[Exeunt.

ROSINA,

COMIC OPERA.

IN TWO ACTS.

AS PERFORMED AT THE

THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.

BY

MRS BROOKE.

Ros. See, my dear Dorcas, what we gleaned yesterday in Mr Belville's fields!

[Coming forward, and shewing the Corn at the Door.

Dor. Lord love thee! but take care of thyself: thou art but tender.

Ros. Indeed it does not hurt me.

the lamp?

Shall I put out

Dor. Do, dear: the poor must be sparing. [ROSINA going to put out the Lamp, DORCAS looks after her and sighs, she returns hastily.

Ros. Why do you sigh, Dorcas?

Dor. I canno' bear it: it's nothing to Phoebe and me, but thou wast not born to labour.

Ros. Why should I repine? heaven, which deprived me of my parents, and my fortune, left me health, content, and innocence. Nor is it certain that riches lead to happiness. Do you think the nightingale sings the sweeter for being in a gilded cage?

Dor. Sweeter, I'll maintain it, than the poor little linnet, which thou pick'dst up half-starved under the hedge yesterday, after its mother had been shot, and brought'st to life in thy bosom. Let me speak to his honour, he's main kind to the poor,

Ros. Not for worlds, Dorcas; I want nothing: you have been a mother to me.

Dor. Would I could! would I could! I ha' worked hard, and earned money in my time; but now I am old and feeble, and am pushed about by every body. More's the pity, I say it was not so in my young time; but the world grows wickeder every day.

Ros. Your age, my good Dorcas, requires rest: go into the cottage, whilst Phoebe and I join the gleaners, who are assembling from every part of the vil lage.

Dor. Many a time have I carried thy dear mother, an infant, in these arms: little did I think a child of her's would live to share my poor pittance.-But I wo' not grieve thee.

[DORCAS enters the Cottage, looking back affectionately at ROSINA.

Pha. What makes you so melancholy, Rosina?