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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6731.txt b/6731.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b4e633 --- /dev/null +++ b/6731.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3226 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Duenna, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan +#10 in our series by Richard Brinsley Sheridan + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Duenna + +Author: Richard Brinsley Sheridan + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6731] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on January 20, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUENNA *** + + + + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + +THE DUENNA + +_A COMIC OPERA_ + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + +AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE, NOV. 21, 1775 + +DON FERDINAND _Mr. Mattocks_. +DON JEROME _Mr. Wilson_. +DON ANTONIO _Mr. Dubellamy_. +DON CARLOS _Mr. Leoni_. +ISAAC MENDOZA _Mr. Quick_. +FATHER PAUL _Mr. Mahon_. +FATHER FRANCIS _Mr. Fox_. +FATHER AUGUSTINE _Mr. Baker_. +LOPEZ _Mr. Wewitzer_. +DONNA LOUISA _Mrs. Mattocks_. +DONNA CLARA _Mrs. Cargill_. +THE DUENNA _Mrs. Green_. + +Masqueraders, Friars, Porter, Maid, _and_ Servants. + +SCENE--SEVILLE. + + + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_The Street before_ DON JEROME'S _House_. + + +_Enter_ LOPEZ, _with a dark lantern_. + +_Lop_. Past three o'clock!--Soh! a notable hour for one of my regular +disposition, to be strolling like a bravo through the streets of +Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young lover is the +hardest.--Not that I am an enemy to love; but my love and my master's +differ strangely.--Don Ferdinand is much too gallant to eat, drink, or +sleep:--now my love gives me an appetite--then I am fond of dreaming +of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her.--This cannot be done +without good sleep and good liquor: hence my partiality to a feather- +bed and a bottle. What a pity, now, that I have not further time, for +reflections! but my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his +retreat from Donna Clara's window, as I guess.--[_Music without_.] +Hey! sure, I heard music! So, so! Who have we here? Oh, Don Antonio, +my master's friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my young +mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: so! we shall have the old gentleman +up presently.--Lest he should miss his son, I had best lose no time in +getting to my post. [_Exit_.] + + +_Enter_ DON ANTONIO, _with_ MASQUERADERS _and music_. + +SONG.--_Don Ant_. + + Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain + So gently speak thy master's pain? + So softly sing, so humbly sigh, + That, though my sleeping love shall know + Who sings--who sighs below, + Her rosy slumbers shall not fly? + Thus, may some vision whisper more + Than ever I dare speak before. + +_I. Mas_. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, while you sing so +dolefully; love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody. + +_Don Ant_. I do not wish to disturb her rest. + +_I. Mas_. The reason is, because you know she does not regard you +enough to appear, if you awaked her. + +_Don Ant_. Nay, then, I'll convince you. [_Sings_.] + + The breath of morn bids hence the night, + Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair; + For till the dawn of love is there, + I feel no day, I own no light. + +DONNA LOUISA--_replies from a window_. + + Waking, I heard thy numbers chide, + Waking, the dawn did bless my sight; + 'Tis Phoebus sure that woos, I cried, + Who speaks in song, who moves in light. + +DON JEROME--_from a window_. + + What vagabonds are these I hear, + Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting, + Piping, scraping, whining, canting? + Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly! + +TRIO. + +_Don. Louisa_. + Nay, prithee, father, why so rough? + +_Don Ant_. + An humble lover I. + +_Don Jer_. + How durst you, daughter, lend an ear + To such deceitful stuff? + Quick, from the window fly! + +_Don. Louisa_ + Adieu, Antonio! + +_Don Ant_ + Must you go? + +_Don. Louisa_. & _Don Ant_. + We soon, perhaps, may meet again. + For though hard fortune is our foe, + The God of love will fight for us. + +_Don Jer_. + Reach me the blunderbuss. + +_Don Ant_. & _Don. Louisa_. + The god of love, who knows our pain-- + +_Don Jer_. + Hence, or these slugs are through your brain. + +[_Exeunt severally_.] + + + + +SCENE II--_A Piazza_. + +_Enter_ DON FERDINAND _and_ LOPEZ. + +_Lop_. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep once in a week or so--- + +_Don Ferd_. Peace, fool! don't mention sleep to me. + +_Lop_. No, no, sir, I don't mention your lowbred, vulgar, sound sleep; +but I can't help thinking that a gentle slumber, or half an hour's +dozing, if it were only for the novelty of the thing---- + +_Don Ferd_. Peace, booby, I say!--Oh, Clara dear, cruel disturber of +my rest! + +_Lop_. [_Aside_.] And of mine too. + +_Don Ferd_. 'Sdeath, to trifle with me at such a juncture as this!-- +now to stand on punctilios!--Love me! I don't believe she ever did. + +_Lop_. [_Aside_.] Nor I either. + +_Don Ferd_. Or is it, that her sex never know their desires for an +hour together? + +_Lop_. [_Aside_.] Ah, they know them oftener than they'll own them. + +_Don Ferd_. Is there, in the world, so inconsistent a creature as +Clara? + +_Lop_. [_Aside_.] I could name one. + +_Don Ferd_. Yes; the tame fool who submits to her caprice. + +_Lop_. [_Aside_.]I thought he couldn't miss it. + +_Don Ferd_. Is she not capricious, teasing, tyrannical, obstinate, +perverse, absurd? ay, a wilderness of faults and follies; her looks +are scorn, and her very smiles--'Sdeath! I wish I hadn't mentioned her +smiles; for she does smile such beaming loveliness, such fascinating +brightness--Oh, death and madness! I shall die if I lose her. + +_Lop_. [_Aside_.] Oh, those damned smiles have undone all! + +AIR--_Don Ferd_. + + Could I her faults remember, + Forgetting every charm, + Soon would impartial reason + The tyrant love disarm: + But when enraged I number + Each failing of her mind, + Love still suggests each beauty, + And sees--while reason's blind. + +_Lop_. Here comes Don Antonio, sir. + +_Don Ferd_. Well, go you home--I shall be there presently. + +_Lop_. Ah, those cursed smiles! [_Exit_.] + +_Enter_ DON ANTONIO. + +_Don Ferd_. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you chanting before our +door--was my father waked? + +_Don Ant_. Yes, yes; he has a singular affection for music; so I left +him roaring at his barred window, like the print of Bajazet in the +cage. And what brings you out so early? + +_Don Ferd_. I believe I told you, that to-morrow was the day fixed by +Don Pedro and Clara's unnatural step-mother, for her to enter a +convent, in order that her brat might possess her fortune: made +desperate by this, I procured a key to the door, and bribed Clara's +maid to leave it unbolted; at two this morning, I entered unperceived, +and stole to her chamber--I found her waking and weeping. + +_Don Ant_. Happy Ferdinand! + +_Don Ferd_. 'Sdeath! hear the conclusion.--I was rated as the most +confident ruffian, for daring to approach her room at that hour of the +night. + +_Don Ant_. Ay, ay, this was at first. + +_Don Ferd_. No such thing! she would not hear a word from me, but +threatened to raise her mother, if I did not instantly leave her. + +_Don Ant_. Well, but at last? + +_Don Ferd_. At last! why I was forced to leave the house as I came in. + +_Don Ant_. And did you do nothing to offend her? + +_Don Ferd_. Nothing, as I hope to be saved!--I believe, I might snatch +a dozen or two of kisses. + +_Don Ant_. Was that all? well, I think, I never heard of such +assurance! + +_Don Ferd_. Zounds! I tell you I behaved with the utmost respect. + +_Don Ant_. O Lord! I don't mean you, but in her. But, hark ye, +Ferdinand, did you leave your key with them? + +_Don Ferd_. Yes; the maid who saw me out, took it from the door. + +_Don Ant_. Then, my life for it, her mistress elopes after you. + +_Don Ferd_. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps. I am in a humour to +suspect everybody.--You loved her once, and thought her an angel, as I +do now. + +_Don Ant_. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't love me, and +then I discovered that she hadn't a good feature in her face. + +AIR. + + I ne'er could any lustre see + In eyes that would not look on me; + I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, + But where my own did hope to sip. + Has the maid who seeks my heart + Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art? + I will own the colour true, + When yielding blushes aid their hue. + + Is her hand so soft and pure? + I must press it, to be sure; + Nor can I be certain then, + Till it, grateful, press again. + Must I, with attentive eye, + Watch her heaving bosom sigh? + I will do so, when I see + That heaving bosom sigh for me. + +Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in my love for your sister; +help me there, and I can never disturb you with Clara. + +_Don Ferd_. As far as I can, consistently with the honour of our +family, you know I will; but there must be no eloping. + +_Don Ant_. And yet, now, you would carry off Clara? + +_Don Ferd_. Ay, that's a different case!--we never mean that others +should act to our sisters and wives as we do to others'.--But, to- +morrow, Clara is to be forced into a convent. + +_Don Ant_. Well, and am not I so unfortunately circumstanced? To- +morrow, your father forces Louisa to marry Isaac, the Portuguese--but +come with me, and we'll devise something I warrant. + +_Don Ferd_. I must go home. + +_Don Ant_. Well, adieu! + +_Don Ferd_. But, Don Antonio, if you did not love my sister, you have +too much honour and friendship to supplant me with Clara-- + +AIR--_Don Ant_. + + Friendship is the bond of reason; + But if beauty disapprove, + Heaven dissolves all other treason + In the heart that's true to love. + + The faith which to my friend I swore, + As a civil oath I view; + But to the charms which I adore, + 'Tis religion to be true. [_Exit_.] + +_Don Ferd_. There is always a levity in Antonio's manner of replying +to me on this subject that is very alarming.--'Sdeath, if Clara should +love him after all. + +SONG. + + Though cause for suspicion appears, + Yet proofs of her love, too, are strong; + I'm a wretch if I'm right in my fears, + And unworthy of bliss if I'm wrong. + What heart-breaking torments from jealousy flow, + Ah! none but the jealous--the jealous can know! + + When blest with the smiles of my fair, + I know not how much I adore: + Those smiles let another but share, + And I wonder I prized them no more! + Then whence can I hope a relief from my woe, + When the falser she seems, still the fonder I grow? [_Exit_.] + + + + +SCENE III.--_A Room in_ DON JEROME'S _House_. + +_Enter_ DONNA LOUISA _and_ DUENNA. + + +_Don. Louisa_. But, my dear Margaret, my charming Duenna, do you think +we shall succeed? + +_Duen_. I tell you again, I have no doubt on't; but it must be +instantly put to the trial. Everything is prepared in your room, and +for the rest we must trust to fortune. + +_Don. Louisa_. My father's oath was, never to see me till I had +consented to---- + +_Duen_. 'Twas thus I overheard him say to his friend, Don Guzman,--_I +will demand of her to-morrow, once for all, whether she will consent +to marry Isaac Mendoza; if she hesitates, I will make a solemn oath +never to see or speak to her till she returns to her duty_.--These +were his words. + +_Don. Louisa_. And on his known obstinate adherence to what he has +once said, you have formed this plan for my escape.--But have you +secured my maid in our interest? + +_Duen_. She is a party in the whole; but remember, if we succeed, you +resign all right and title in little Isaac, the Jew, over to me. + +_Don. Louisa_. That I do with all my soul; get him if you can, and I +shall wish you joy most heartily. He is twenty times as rich as my +poor Antonio. + +AIR. + Thou canst not boast of fortune's store, + My love, while me they wealthy call: + But I was glad to find thee poor-- + For with my heart I'd give thee all. + And then the grateful youth shall own + I loved him for himself alone. + + But when his worth my hand shall gain, + No word or look of mine shall show + That I the smallest thought retain + Of what my bounty did bestow; + Yet still his grateful heart shall own + I loved him for himself alone. + +_Duen_. I hear Don Jerome coming.--Quick, give me the last letter I +brought you from Antonio--you know that is to be the ground of my +dismission.--I must slip out to seal it up, as undelivered. [_Exit_.] + + +_Enter_ DON JEROME _and_ DON FERDINAND. + +_Don Jer_. What, I suppose you have been serenading too! Eh, +disturbing some peaceable neighbourhood with villainous catgut and +lascivious piping! Out on't! you set your sister, here, a vile +example; but I come to tell you, madam, that I'll suffer no more of +these midnight incantations--these amorous orgies, that steal the +senses in the hearing; as, they say, Egyptian embalmers serve mummies, +extracting the brain through the ears. However, there's an end of your +frolics.--Isaac Mendoza will be here presently, and to-morrow you +shall marry him. + +_Don. Louisa_. Never, while I have life! + +_Don Ferd_. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can think of such a man for +a son-in-law. + +_Don Jer_. Sir, you are very kind to favour me with your sentiments-- +and pray, what is your objection to him? + +_Don Ferd_. He is a Portuguese, in the first place. + +_Don Jer_. No such thing, boy; he has forsworn his country. + +_Don. Louisa_. He is a Jew. + +_Don Jer_. Another mistake: he has been a Christian these six weeks. + +_Don Ferd_. Ay, he left his old religion for an estate, and has not +had time to get a new one. + +_Don. Louisa_. But stands like a dead wall between church and +synagogue, or like the blank leaves between the Old and New Testament. + +_Don Jer_. Anything more? + +_Don Ferd_. But the most remarkable part of his character is his +passion for deceit and tricks of cunning. + +_Don. Louisa_. Though at the same time the fool predominates so much +over the knave, that I am told he is generally the dupe of his own +art. + +_Don Ferd_. True; like an unskilful gunner, he usually misses his aim, +and is hurt by the recoil of his own piece. + +_Don Jer_. Anything more? + +_Don. Louisa_. To sum up all, he has the worst fault a husband can +have--he's not my choice. + +_Don Jer_. But you are his; and choice on one side is sufficient--two +lovers should never meet in marriage--be you sour as you please, he is +sweet-tempered; and for your good fruit, there's nothing like +ingrafting on a crab. + +_Don. Louisa_. I detest him as a lover, and shall ten times more as a +husband. + +_Don Jer_. I don't know that-marriage generally makes a great change-- +but, to cut the matter short, will you have him or not? + +_Don. Louisa_. There is nothing else I could disobey you in. + +_Don Jer_. Do you value your father's peace? + +_Don. Louisa_. So much, that I will not fasten on him the regret of +making an only daughter wretched. + +_Don Jer_. Very well, ma'am, then mark me--never more will I see or +converse with you till you return to your duty--no reply--this and +your chamber shall be your apartments; I never will stir out without +leaving you under lock and key, and when I'm at home no creature can +approach you but through my library: we'll try who can be most +obstinate. Out of my sight!--there remain till you know your duty. +[_Pushes her out_.] + +Don Ferd_. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations should be consulted +in a matter of this kind, and some regard paid to Don Antonio, being +my particular friend. + +_Don Jer_. That, doubtless, is a very great recommendation!--I +certainly have not paid sufficient respect to it. + +_Don Ferd_. There is not a man living I would sooner choose for a +brother-in-law. + +_Don Jer_. Very possible; and if you happen to have e'er a sister, who +is not at the same time a daughter of mine, I'm sure I shall have no +objection to the relationship; but at present, if you please, we'll +drop the subject. + +_Don Ferd_. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my sister makes me +speak. + +_Don Jer_. Then, pray sir, in future, let your regard for your father +make you hold your tongue. + +_Don Ferd_. I have done, sir. I shall only add a wish that you would +reflect what at our age you would have felt, had you been crossed in +your affection for the mother of her you are so severe to. + +_Don Jer_. Why, I must confess I had a great affection for your +mother's ducats, but that was all, boy. I married her for her fortune, +and she took me in obedience to her father, and a very happy couple we +were. We never expected any love from one another, and so we were +never disappointed. If we grumbled a little now and then, it was soon +over, for we were never fond enough to quarrel; and when the good +woman died, why, why,--I had as lieve she had lived, and I wish every +widower in Seville could say the same. I shall now go and get the key +of this dressing-room--so, good son, if you have any lecture in +support of disobedience to give your sister, it must be brief; so make +the best of your time, d'ye hear? [_Exit_.] + +_Don Ferd_. I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio has little to hope for; +however, Louisa has firmness, and my father's anger will probably only +increase her affection.--In our intercourse with the world, it is +natural for us to dislike those who are innocently the cause of our +distress; but in the heart's attachment a woman never likes a man with +ardour till she has suffered for his sake.--[_Noise_.] So! what bustle +is here--between my father and the Duenna too, I'll e'en get out of +the way. [_Exit_.] + + +_Re-enter_ DON JEROME _with a letter, pulling in_ DUENNA. + +_Don Jer_. I'm astonished! I'm thunderstruck! here's treachery with a +vengeance! You, Antonio's creature, and chief manager of this plot for +my daughter's eloping!--you, that I placed here as a scarecrow? + +_Duen_. What? + +_Don Jer_. A scarecrow--to prove a decoy-duck! What have you to say +for yourself? + +_Duen_. Well, sir, since you have forced that letter from me, and +discovered my real sentiments, I scorn to renounce them.--I am +Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that your daughter should +have served you as all such old tyrannical sots should be served--I +delight in the tender passions and would befriend all under their +influence. + +_Don Jer_. The tender passions! yes, they would become those +impenetrable features! Why, thou deceitful hag! I placed thee as a +guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's beauty. I thought that +dragon's front of thine would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry: +steel traps and spring guns seemed writ in every wrinkle of it.--But +you shall quit my house this instant. The tender passions, indeed! go, +thou wanton sibyl, thou amorous woman of Endor, go! + +_Duen_. You base, scurrilous, old--but I won't demean myself by naming +what you are.--Yes, savage, I'll leave your den; but I suppose you +don't mean to detain my apparel--I may have my things, I presume? + +_Don Jer_. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe on--what have you +pilfered, eh? + +_Duen_. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress; she has valuables of +mine: besides, my cardinal and veil are in her room. + +_Don Jer_. Your veil, forsooth! what, do you dread being gazed at? or +are you afraid of your complexion? Well, go take your leave, and get +your veil and cardinal! so! you quit the house within these five +minutes.--In--in--quick!--[_Exit_ DUENNA.] Here was a precious plot of +mischief!--these are the comforts daughters bring us! + +AIR. + If a daughter you have, she's the plague of your life, + No peace shall you know, though you've buried your wife! + At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her-- + Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! + Sighing and whining, + Dying and pining, + Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! + + When scarce in their teens they have wit to perplex us, + With letters and lovers for ever they vex us; + While each still rejects the fair suitor you've brought her; + Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! + Wrangling and jangling, Flouting and pouting, + Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! + + +_Re-enter_ DONNA LOUISA, _dressed as_ DUENNA, _with cardinal and veil, +seeming to cry_. + +This way, mistress, this way.--What, I warrant a tender parting; so! +tears of turpentine down those deal cheeks.--Ay, you may well hide +your head--yes, whine till your heart breaks! but I'll not hear one +word of excuse--so you are right to be dumb. This way, this way. +[_Exeunt_.] + + +_Re-enter_ DUENNA. + +_Duen_. So, speed you well, sagacious Don Jerome! Oh rare effects of +passion and obstinacy! Now shall I try whether I can't play the fine +lady as well as my mistress, and if I succeed, I may be a fine lady +for the rest of my life--I'll lose no time to equip myself. [_Exit_.] + + + +SCENE IV.--_The Court before_ DON JEROME'S _House. + +Enter_ DON JEROME _and_ DONNA LOUISA. + + +_Don Jer_. Come, mistress, there is your way--the world lies before +you, so troop, thou antiquated Eve, thou original sin! Hold, yonder is +some fellow skulking; perhaps it is Antonio--go to him, d'ye hear, and +tell him to make you amends, and as he has got you turned away, tell +him I say it is but just he should take you himself; go--[_Exit_ DONNA +LOUISA.] So! I am rid of her, thank heaven! and now I shall be able to +keep my oath, and confine my daughter with better security. [_Exit_]. + + + + +SCENE V.-_The Piazza. + +Enter_ DONNA CLARA _and_ MAID. + + +_Maid_. But where, madam, is it you intend to go? + +_Don. Clara_. Anywhere to avoid the selfish violence of my mother-in- +law, and Ferdinand's insolent importunity. + +_Maid_. Indeed, ma'am, since we have profited by Don Ferdinand's key, +in making our escape, I think we had best find him, if it were only to +thank him. + +_Don. Clara_. No--he has offended me exceedingly. [_Retires_]. + + _Enter_ DONNA LOUISA. + +_Don. Louisa_. So I have succeeded in being turned out of doors--but +how shall I find Antonio? I dare not inquire for him, for fear of +being discovered; I would send to my friend Clara, but then I doubt +her prudery would condemn me. + +_Maid_. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to try if your friend Donna +Louisa would not receive you? + +_Don. Clara_. No, her notions of filial duty are so severe, she would +certainly betray me. + +_Don. Louisa_. Clara is of a cold temper, and would think this step of +mine highly forward. + +_Don. Clara_. Louisa's respect for her father is so great, she would +not credit the unkindness of mine. + +[DONNA LOUISA _turns and sees_ DONNA CLARA _and_ MAID.] + +_Don. Louisa_. Ha! who are those? sure one is Clara--if it be, I'll +trust her. Clara! [_Advances_.] + +_Don. Clara_. Louisa! and in masquerade too! + +_Don. Louisa_. You will be more surprised when I tell you, that I have +run away from my father. + +_Don. Clara_. Surprised indeed! and I should certainly chide you most +horridly, only that I have just run away from mine. + +_Don. Louisa_. My dear Clara! [_Embrace_.] + +_Don. Clara_. Dear sister truant! and whither are you going? + +_Don. Louisa_. To find the man I love, to be sure; and, I presume, you +would have no aversion to meet with my brother? + +_Don. Clara_. Indeed I should: he has behaved so ill to me, I don't +believe I shall ever forgive him. + +AIR. + + When sable night, each drooping plant restoring, + Wept o'er the flowers her breath did cheer, + As some sad widow o'er her babe deploring, + Wakes its beauty with a tear; + When all did sleep whose weary hearts did borrow + One hour from love and care to rest, + Lo! as I press'd my couch in silent sorrow, + My lover caught me to his breast! + He vow'd he came to save me + From those who would enslave me! + Then kneeling, Kisses stealing, + Endless faith he swore; + But soon I chid him thence, + For had his fond pretence + Obtain'd one favour then, + And he had press'd again, + I fear'd my treacherous heart might grant him more. + +_Don. Louisa_. Well, for all this, I would have sent him to plead his +pardon, but that I would not yet awhile have him know of my flight. +And where do you hope to find protection? + +_Don. Clara_. The Lady Abbess of the convent of St. Catherine is a +relation and kind friend of mine--I shall be secure with her, and you +had best go thither with me. + +_Don. Louisa_. No; I am determined to find Antonio first; and, as I +live, here comes the very man I will employ to seek him for me. + +_Don. Clara_. Who is he? he's a strange figure. + +_Don. Louisa_. Yes; that sweet creature is the man whom my father has +fixed on for my husband. + +_Don. Clara_. And will you speak to him? are you mad? + +_Don. Louisa_. He is the fittest man in the world for my purpose; for, +though I was to have married him to-morrow, he is the only man in +Seville who, I am sure, never saw me in his life. + +_Don. Clara_. And how do you know him? + +_Don. Louisa_. He arrived but yesterday, and he was shown to me from +the window, as he visited my father. + +_Don. Clara_. Well, I'll begone. + +_Don. Louisa_. Hold, my dear Clara--a thought has struck me: will you +give me leave to borrow your name, as I see occasion? + +_Don. Clara_. It will but disgrace you; but use it as you please: I +dare not stay.--[_Going_.]--But, Louisa, if you should see your +brother, be sure you don't inform him that I have taken refuge with +the Dame Prior of the convent of St. Catherine, on the left hand side +of the piazza which leads to the church of St. Anthony. + +_Don. Louisa_. Ha! ha! ha! I'll be very particular in my directions +where he may not find you.--[_Exeunt_ DONNA CLARA _and_ MAID.]--So! My +swain, yonder, has, done admiring himself, and draws nearer. +[_Retires_.] + + +_Enter_ ISAAC _and_ DON CARLOS. + +_Isaac_. [_Looking in a pocket-glass_.] I tell you, friend Carlos, I +will please myself in the habit of my chin. + +_Don Car_. But, my dear friend, how can you think to please a lady +with such a face? + +_Isaac_. Why, what's the matter with the face? I think it is a very +engaging face; and, I am sure, a lady must have very little taste who +could dislike my beard.--[_Sees_ DONNA LOUISA.]--See now! I'll die if +here is not a little damsel struck with it already. + +_Don. Louisa_. Signor, are you disposed to oblige a lady who greatly +wants your assistance? [_Unveils_.] + +_Isaac_. Egad, a very pretty black-eyed girl! she has certainly taken +a fancy to me, Carlos. First, ma'am, I must beg the favour of your +name. + +_Don. Louisa_. [_Aside_.] So! it's well I am provided.--[_Aloud_.]--My +name, sir, is Donna Clara d'Almanza. + +_Isaac_. What? Don Guzman's daughter? I'faith, I just now heard she +was missing. + +_Don. Louisa_. But sure, sir, you have too much gallantry and honour +to betray me, whose fault is love? + +_Isaac_. So! a passion for me! poor girl! Why, ma'am, as for betraying +you, I don't see how I could get anything by it; so, you may rely on +my honour; but as for your love, I am sorry your case is so desperate. + +_Don. Louisa_. Why so, signor? + +_Isaac_. Because I am positively engaged to another--an't I, Carlos? + +_Don. Louisa_. Nay, but hear me. + +_Isaac_. No, no; what should I hear for? It is impossible for me to +court you in an honourable way; and for anything else, if I were to +comply now, I suppose you have some ungrateful brother, or cousin, who +would want to cut my throat for my civility--so, truly, you had best +go home again. + +_Don. Louisa_. [_Aside_.] Odious wretch!--[_Aloud_.]--But, good +signor, it is Antonio d'Ercilla, on whose account I have eloped. + +_Isaac_. How! what! it is not with me, then, that you are in love? + +_Don. Louisa_. No, indeed, it is not. + +_Isaac_. Then you are a forward, impertinent simpleton! and I shall +certainly acquaint your father. + +_Don. Louisa_. Is this your gallantry? + +_Isaac_. Yet hold--Antonio d'Ercilla, did you say? egad, I may make +something of this--Antonio d'Ercilla? + +_Don. Louisa_. Yes; and if ever you wish to prosper in love, you will +bring me to him. + +_Isaac_. By St. Iago and I will too!--Carlos, this Antonio is one who +rivals me (as I have heard) with Louisa--now, if I could hamper him +with this girl, I should have the field to myself; hey, Carlos! A +lucky thought, isn't it? + +_Don Car_. Yes, very good--very good! + +_Isaac_. Ah! this little brain is never at a loss--cunning Isaac! +cunning rogue! Donna Clara, will you trust yourself awhile to my +friend's direction? + +_Don. Louisa_. May I rely on you, good signor? + +_Don. Car_. Lady, it is impossible I should deceive you. + +AIR. + + Had I a heart for falsehood framed, + I ne'er could injure you; + For though your tongue no promise claim'd, + Your charms would make me true. + To you no soul shall bear deceit, + No stranger offer wrong; + But friends in all the aged you'll meet, + And lovers in the young. + + But when they learn that you have blest + Another with your heart, + They'll bid aspiring passion rest, + And act a brother's part: + Then, lady, dread not here deceit, + Nor fear to suffer wrong; + For friends in all the aged you'll meet, + And brothers in the young. + +_Isaac_. Conduct the lady to my lodgings, Carlos; I must haste to Don +Jerome. Perhaps you know Louisa, ma'am. She's divinely handsome, isn't +she? + +_Don. Louisa_. You must excuse me not joining with you. + +_Isaac_. Why I have heard it on all hands. + +_Don. Louisa_. Her father is uncommonly partial to her; but I believe +you will find she has rather a matronly air. + +_Isaac_. Carlos, this is all envy.--You pretty girls never speak well +of one another.--[_To_ DON CARLOS.] Hark ye, find out Antonio, and +I'll saddle him with this scrape, I warrant. Oh, 'twas the luckiest +thought! Donna Clara, your very obedient. Carlos, to your post. + +DUET. + +_Isaac_. + My mistress expects me, and I must go to her, + Or how can I hope for a smile? + +_Don. Louisa_. + Soon may you return a prosperous wooer, + But think what I suffer the while. + Alone, and away from the man whom I love, + In strangers I'm forced to confide. + +_Isaac_. + Dear lady, my friend you may trust, and he'll prove + Your servant, protector, and guide. + +AIR. + +_Don Car_. + Gentle maid, ah! why suspect me? + Let me serve thee--then reject me. + Canst thou trust, and I deceive thee? + Art thou sad, and shall I grieve thee? + Gentle maid, ah I why suspect me? + Let me serve thee--then reject me. + +TRIO. + +_Don. Louisa_. + Never mayst thou happy be, + If in aught thou'rt false to me. + +_Isaac_. + Never may he happy be, + If in aught he's false to thee. + +_Don Car_. + Never may I happy be, + If in aught I'm false to thee. + +_Don. Louisa_. + Never mayst thou, &c. + +_Isaac_. + Never may he, &c. + +_Don Car_. + Never may I, &c. [_Exeunt_.] + + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_A Library in_ DON JEROME'S _House_. + +_Enter_ DON JEROME _and_ ISAAC. + + +_Don Jer_. Ha! ha! ha! run away from her father! has she given him the +slip? Ha! ha! ha! poor Don Guzman! + +_Isaac_. Ay; and I am to conduct her to Antonio; by which means you +see I shall hamper him so that he can give me no disturbance with your +daughter--this is a trap, isn't it? a nice stroke of cunning, hey? + +_Don Jer_. Excellent! excellent I yes, yes, carry her to him, hamper +him by all means, ha! ha! ha! Poor Don Guzman! an old fool! imposed on +by a girl! + +_Isaac_. Nay, they have the cunning of serpents, that's the truth +on't. + +_Don Jer_. Psha! they are cunning only when they have fools to deal +with. Why don't my girl play me such a trick? Let her cunning over- +reach my caution, I say--hey, little Isaac! + +_Isaac_. True, true; or let me see any of the sex make a fool of me!-- +No, no, egad! little Solomon (as my aunt used to call me) understands +tricking a little too well. + +_Don Jer_. Ay, but such a driveller as Don Guzman! + +_Isaac_. And such a dupe as Antonio! + +_Don Jer_. True; never were seen such a couple of credulous +simpletons! But come, 'tis time you should see my daughter--you must +carry on the siege by yourself, friend Isaac. + +_Isaac_. Sir, you'll introduce---- + +_Don Jer_. No--I have sworn a solemn oath not to see or to speak to +her till she renounces her disobedience; win her to that, and she +gains a father and a husband at once. + +_Isaac_. Gad, I shall never be able to deal with her alone; nothing +keeps me in such awe as perfect beauty--now there is something +consoling and encouraging in ugliness. + +SONG + + Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast, + But health and good humour to make her his toast; + If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat, + And six feet or four--we'll ne'er quarrel for that. + + Whate'er her complexion, I vow I don't care; + If brown, it is lasting--more pleasing, if fair: + And though in her face I no dimples should see, + Let her smile--and each dell is a dimple to me. + + Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen, + And her eyes may be e'en any colour but green; + For in eyes, though so various in lustre and hue, + I swear I've no choice--only let her have two. + + 'Tis true I'd dispense with a throne on her back, + And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than black; + A little round chin too's a beauty, I've heard; + But I only desire she mayn't have a beard. + +_Don Jer_. You will change your note, my friend, when you've seen +Louisa. + +_Isaac_. Oh, Don Jerome, the honour of your alliance---- + +_Don Jer_. Ay, but her beauty will affect you--she is, though I say it +who am her father, a very prodigy. There you will see features with an +eye like mine--yes, i'faith, there is a kind of wicked sparkling-- +sometimes of a roguish brightness, that shows her to be my own. + +_Isaac_. Pretty rogue! + +_Don Jer_. Then, when she smiles, you'll see a little dimple in one +cheek only; a beauty it is certainly, yet, you shall not say which is +prettiest, the cheek with the dimple, or the cheek without. + +_Isaac_. Pretty rogue! + +_Don Jer_. Then the roses on those cheeks are shaded with a sort of +velvet down, that gives a delicacy to the glow of health. + +_Isaac_. Pretty rogue! + +_Don Jer_. Her skin pure dimity, yet more fair, being spangled here +and there with a golden freckle. + +_Isaac_. Charming pretty rogue! pray how is the tone of her voice? + +_Don Jer_. Remarkably pleasing--but if you could prevail on her to +sing, you would be enchanted--she is a nightingale--a Virginia +nightingale! But come, come; her maid shall conduct you to her +antechamber. + +_Isaac_. Well, egad, I'll pluck up resolution, and meet her frowns +intrepidly. + +_Don Jer_. Ay! woo her briskly--win her, and give me a proof of your +address, my little Solomon. + +_Isaac_. But hold--I expect my friend Carlos to call on me here. If he +comes, will you send him to me? + +_Don Jer_. I will. Lauretta!--[_Calls_.]--Come--she'll show you to the +room. What! do you droop? here's a mournful face to make love with! +[_Exeunt_.] + + + + +SCENE II.--DONNA LOUISA'S _Dressing-Room_. + +_Enter_ ISAAC _and_ MAID. + + +_Maid_. Sir, my mistress will wait on you presently. + +[_Goes to the door_.] + +_Isaac_. When she's at leisure--don't hurry her.--[_Exit_ MAID.]--I +wish I had ever practised a love-scene--I doubt I shall make a poor +figure--I couldn't be more afraid if I was going before the +Inquisition. So, the door opens--yes, she's coming--the very rustling +of her silk has a disdainful sound. + + +_Enter_ DUENNA _dressed_ as DONNA LOUISA. + +Now dar'n't I look round, for the soul of me--her beauty will +certainly strike me dumb if I do. I wish she'd speak first. + +_Duen_. Sir, I attend your pleasure. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] So! the ice is broke, and a pretty civil beginning +too!--[_Aloud_.] Hem! madam--miss--I'm all attention. + +_Duen_. Nay, sir, 'tis I who should listen, and you propose. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Egad, this isn't so disdainful neither--I believe +I may venture to look. No--I dar'n't--one glance of those roguish +sparklers would fix me again. + +_Duen_. You seem thoughtful, sir. Let me persuade you to sit down. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] So, so; she mollifies apace--she's struck with my +figure! this attitude has had its effect. + +_Duen_. Come, sir, here's a chair. + +_Isaac_. Madam, the greatness of your goodness overpowers me--that a +lady so lovely should deign to turn her beauteous eyes on me so. + +[_She takes his hand, he turns and sees her_.] + +_Duen_. You seem surprised at my condescension. + +_Isaac_. Why, yes, madam, I am a little surprised at it.--[_Aside_.] +Zounds! this can never be Louisa--she's as old as my mother! + +_Duen_. But former prepossessions give way to my father's commands. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Her father! Yes, 'tis she then.--Lord, Lord; how +blind some parents are! + +_Duen_. Signor Isaac! + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Truly, the little damsel was right--she has rather +a matronly air, indeed! ah! 'tis well my affections are fixed on her +fortune, and not her person. + +_Duen_. Signor, won't you sit? [_She sits_.] + +_Isaac_. Pardon me, madam, I have scarce recovered my astonishment at +your condescension, madam.--[_Aside_.] She has the devil's own +dimples, to be sure! + +_Duen_. I do not wonder, sir, that you are surprised at my affability-- +I own, signor, that I was vastly prepossessed against you, and, being +teased by my father, I did give some encouragement to Antonio; but +then, sir, you were described to me as quite a different person. + +_Isaac_. Ay, and so you were to me, upon my soul, madam. + +_Duen_. But when I saw you I was never more struck in my life. + +_Isaac_. That was just my case, too, madam: I was struck all of a +heap, for my part. + +_Duen_. Well, sir, I see our misapprehension has been mutual--you +expected to find me haughty and averse, and I was taught to believe +you a little black, snub-nosed fellow, without person, manners, or +address. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Egad, I wish she had answered her picture as well! + +_Duen_. But, sir, your air is noble--something so liberal in your +carriage, with so penetrating an eye, and so bewitching a smile! + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Egad, now I look at her again, I don't think she +is so ugly! + +_Duen_. So little like a Jew, and so much like a gentleman! + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Well, certainly, there is something pleasing in +the tone of her voice. + +_Duen_. You will pardon this breach of decorum in praising you thus, +but my joy at being so agreeably deceived has given me such a flow of +spirits! + +_Isaac_. Oh, dear lady, may I thank those dear lips for this +goodness?--[_Kisses her_.] [_Aside_.]Why she has a pretty sort of +velvet down, that's the truth on't. + +_Duen_. O sir, you have the most insinuating manner, but indeed you +should get rid of that odious beard--one might as well kiss a +hedgehog. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Yes, ma'am, the razor wouldn't be amiss--for +either of us.--[_Aloud_.] Could you favour me with a song? + +_Duen_. Willingly, though I'm rather hoarse--ahem![_Begins to sing_.] + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Very like a Virginia nightingale!--[_Aloud_.] +Ma'am, I perceive you're hoarse--I beg you will not distress---- + +_Duen_. Oh, not in the least distressed. Now, sir. + +SONG. + + When a tender maid + Is first assay'd + By some admiring swain. + How her blushes rise + If she meet his eyes, + While he unfolds his pain! + If he takes her hand, she trembles quite! + Touch her lips, and she swoons outright! + While a pit-a-pat, &c. + Her heart avows her fright. + + But in time appear + Fewer signs of fear; + The youth she boldly views: + If her hand he grasp, + Or her bosom clasp, + No mantling blush ensues! + Then to church well pleased the lovers move, + While her smiles her contentment prove; + And a pit-a-pat, &c. Her heart avows her love. + +_Isaac_. Charming, ma'am! enchanting! and, truly, your notes put me in +mind of one that's very dear to me--a lady, indeed, whom you greatly +resemble! + +_Duen_. How I is there, then, another so dear to you? + +_Isaac_. Oh, no, ma'am, you mistake; it was my mother I meant. + +_Duen_. Come, sir, I see you are amazed and confounded at my +condescension, and know not what to say. + +_Isaac_. It is very true, indeed, ma'am; but it is a judgment, I look +on it as a judgment on me, for delaying to urge the time when you'll +permit me to complete my happiness, by acquainting Don Jerome with +your condescension. + +_Duen_. Sir, I must frankly own to you, that I can never be yours with +my father's consent. + +_Isaac_. Good lack! how so? + +_Duen_. When my father, in his passion, swore he would never see me +again till I acquiesced in his will, I also made a vow, that I would +never take a husband from his hand; nothing shall make me break that +oath: but if you have spirit and contrivance enough to carry me off +without his knowledge, I'm yours. + +_Isaac_. Hum! + +_Duen_. Nay, sir, if you hesitate---- + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] I'faith no bad whim this!--If I take her at her +word, I shall secure her fortune, and avoid making any settlement in +return; thus I shall not only cheat the lover, but the father too. Oh, +cunning rogue, Isaac! ay, ay, let this little brain alone! Egad, I'll +take her in the mind! + +_Duen_. Well, sir, what's your determination? + +_Isaac_. Madam, I was dumb only from rapture--I applaud your spirit, +and joyfully close with your proposal; for which thus let me, on this +lily hand, express my gratitude. + +_Duen_. Well, sir, you must get my father's consent to walk with me in +the garden. But by no means inform him of my kindness to you. + +_Isaac_. No, to be sure, that would spoil all: but, trust me when +tricking is the word--let me alone for a piece of cunning; this very +day you shall be out of his power. + +_Duen_. Well, I leave the management of it all to you; I perceive +plainly, sir, that you are not one that can be easily outwitted. + +_Isaac_. Egad, you're right, madam--you're right, i'faith. + + _Re-enter_ MAID. + +_Maid_. Here's a gentleman at the door, who begs permission to speak +with Signor Isaac. + +_Isaac_. A friend of mine, ma'am, and a trusty friend--let him come +in--[_Exit_ MAID.] He's one to be depended on, ma'am. + + +_Enter_ DON CARLOS. + +So coz. [_Talks apart with_ DON CARLOS.] + +_Don Car_. I have left Donna Clara at your lodgings, but can nowhere +find Antonio. + +_Isaac_. Well, I will search him out myself. Carlos, you rogue, I +thrive, I prosper! + +_Don Car_. Where is your mistress? + +_Isaac_. There, you booby, there she stands. + +_Don Car_. Why, she's damned ugly! + +_Isaac_. Hush! [_Stops his mouth_.] + +_Duen_. What is your friend saying, signor? + +_Isaac_. Oh, ma'am, he is expressing his raptures at such charms as he +never saw before. Eh, Carlos? + +_Don Car_. Ay,--such as I never saw before, indeed! + +_Duen_. You are a very obliging gentleman. Well, Signor Isaac, I +believe we had better part for the present. Remember our plan. + +_Isaac_. Oh, ma'am, it is written in my heart, fixed as the image of +those divine beauties. Adieu, idol of my soul!--yet once more permit +me----[_Kisses her_.] + +_Duen_. Sweet, courteous sir, adieu! + +_Isaac_. Your slave eternally! Come, Carlos, say something civil at +taking leave. + +_Don Car_. I'faith, Isaac, she is the hardest woman to compliment I +ever saw; however, I'll try something I had studied for the occasion. + +SONG. + + Ah! sure a pair was never seen + So justly form'd to meet by nature! + The youth excelling so in mien, + The maid in ev'ry grace of feature. + Oh, how happy are such lovers, + When kindred beauties each discovers; + For surely she Was made for thee, + And thou to bless this lovely creature! + + So mild your looks, your children thence + Will early learn the task of duty-- + The boys with all their father's sense, + The girls with all their mother's beauty! + Oh, how happy to inherit + At once such graces and such spirit! + Thus while you live + May fortune give + Each blessing equal to your merit! [_Exeunt_.] + + + + +SCENE III.--_A Library in_ DON JEROME'S _House_. + +DON JEROME _and_ DON FERDINAND _discovered_. + + +_Don Jer_. Object to Antonio! I have said it. His poverty, can you +acquit him of that? + +_Don Ferd_. Sir, I own he is not over rich; but he is of as ancient +and honourable a family as any in the kingdom. + +_Don Jer_. Yes, I know the beggars are a very ancient family in most +kingdoms; but never in great repute, boy. + +_Don Ferd_. Antonio, sir, has many amiable qualities. + +_Don Jer_. But he is poor; can you clear him of that, I say? Is he not +a gay, dissipated rake, who has squandered his patrimony? + +_Don Ferd_. Sir, he inherited but little; and that his generosity, +more than his profuseness, has stripped him of; but he has never +sullied his honour, which, with his title, has outlived his means. + +_Don Jer_. Psha! you talk like a blockhead! nobility, without an +estate, is as ridiculous as gold lace on a frieze coat. + +_Don Ferd_. This language, sir, would better become a Dutch or English +trader than a Spaniard. + +_Don Jer_. Yes; and those Dutch and English traders, as you call them, +are the wiser people. Why, booby, in England they were formerly as +nice, as to birth and family, as we are: but they have long discovered +what a wonderful purifier gold is; and now, no one there regards +pedigree in anything but a horse. Oh, here comes Isaac! I hope he has +prospered in his suit. + +_Don Ferd_. Doubtless, that agreeable figure of his must have helped +his suit surprisingly. + +_Don Jer_. How now? [DON FERDINAND _walks aside_.] + + +_Enter_ ISAAC. + +Well, my friend, have you softened her? + +_Isaac_. Oh, yes; I have softened her. + +_Don Jer_. What, does she come to? + +_Isaac_. Why, truly, she was kinder than I expected to find her. + +_Don Jer_. And the dear little angel was civil, eh? + +_Isaac_. Yes, the pretty little angel was very civil. + +_Don Jer_. I'm transported to hear it! Well, and you were astonished +at her beauty, hey? + +_Isaac_. I was astonished, indeed! Pray, how old is Miss? + +_Don Jer_. How old? let me see--eight and twelve--she is twenty. + +_Isaac_. Twenty? + +_Don Jer_. Ay, to a month. + +_Isaac_. Then, upon my soul, she is the oldest-looking girl of her age +in Christendom! + +_Don Jer_. Do you think so? But, I believe, you will not see a +prettier girl. + +_Isaac_. Here and there one. + +_Don Jer_. Louisa has the family face. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Yes, egad, I should have taken it for a family +face, and one that has been in the family some time, too. + +_Don Jer_. She has her father's eyes. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.]Truly, I should have guessed them to have been so! +If she had her mother's spectacles, I believe she would not see the +worse. + +_Don Jer_. Her aunt Ursula's nose, and her grandmother's forehead, to +a hair. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.]Ay, 'faith, and her grandfather's chin, to a hair. + +_Don Jer_. Well, if she was but as dutiful as she's handsome--and hark +ye, friend Isaac, she is none of your made-up beauties--her charms are +of the lasting kind. + +_Isaac_. I'faith, so they should--for if she be but twenty now, she +may double her age before her years will overtake her face. + +_Don Jer_. Why, zounds, Master Isaac! you are not sneering, are you? + +_Isaac_. Why now, seriously, Don Jerome, do you think your daughter +handsome? + +_Don Jer_. By this light, she's as handsome a girl as any in Seville. + +_Isaac_. Then, by these eyes, I think her as plain a woman as ever I +beheld. + +_Don Jer_. By St. Iago! you must be blind. + +_Isaac_. No, no; 'tis you are partial. + +_Don Jer_. How! have I neither sense nor taste? If a fair skin, fine +eyes, teeth of ivory, with a lovely bloom, and a delicate shape,--if +these, with a heavenly voice and a world of grace, are not charms, I +know not what you call beautiful. + +_Isaac_. Good lack, with what eyes a father sees! As I have life, she +is the very reverse of all this: as for the dimity skin you told me +of, I swear 'tis a thorough nankeen as ever I saw! for her eyes, their +utmost merit is not squinting--for her teeth, where there is one of +ivory, its neighbour is pure ebony, black and white alternately, just +like the keys of a harpsichord. Then, as to her singing, and heavenly +voice--by this hand, she has a shrill, cracked pipe, that sounds for +all the world like a child's trumpet. + +_Don Jer_. Why, you little Hebrew scoundrel, do you mean to insult me? +Out of my house, I say! + +_Don Ferd_. [_Coming forward_.] Dear sir, what's the matter? + +_Don Jer_. Why, this Israelite here has the impudence to say your +sister's ugly. + +_Don Ferd_. He must be either blind or insolent. + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.]So, I find they are all in a story. Egad, I believe +I have gone too far! + +_Don Ferd_. Sure, sir, there must be some mistake; it can't be my +sister whom he has seen. + +_Don Jer_. 'Sdeath! you are as great a fool as he! What mistake can +there be? Did not I lock up Louisa, and haven't I the key in my own +pocket? and didn't her maid show him into the dressing-room? and yet +you talk of a mistake! No, the Portuguese meant to insult me--and, but +that this roof protects him, old as I am, this sword should do me +justice. + +_Isaac_. I[_Aside_.] must get off as well as I can--her fortune is not +the less handsome. + +DUET. + +_Isaac_. + Believe me, good sir, I ne'er meant to offend; + My mistress I love, and I value my friend + To win her and wed her is still my request, + For better for worse--and I swear I don't jest. + +_Don Jer_. + Zounds! you'd best not provoke me, my rage is so high! + +_Isaac_. + Hold him fast, I beseech you, his rage is so high! + Good sir, you're too hot, and this place I must fly. + +_Don Jer_. + You're a knave and a sot, and this place you'd best fly. + +_Isaac_. Don Jerome, come now, let us lay aside all joking, and be +serious. + +_Don Jer_. How? + +_Isaac_. Ha! ha! ha! I'll be hanged if you haven't taken my abuse of +your daughter seriously. + +_Don Jer_. You meant it so, did not you? + +_Isaac_. O mercy, no! a joke--just to try how angry it would make you. + +_Don Jer_. Was that all, i'faith? I didn't know you had been such a +wag. Ha! ha! ha! By St. Iago! you made me very angry, though. Well, +and you do think Louisa handsome? + +_Isaac_. Handsome! Venus de Medicis was a sybil to her. + +_Don Jer_. Give me your hand, you little jocose rogue! Egad, I thought +we had been all off. + +_Don Ferd_. [_Aside_.] So! I was in hopes this would have been a +quarrel; but I find the Jew is too cunning. + +_Don Jer_. Ay, this gust of passion has made me dry--I am seldom +ruffled. Order some wine in the next room--let us drink the poor +girl's health. Poor Louisa! ugly, eh! ha! ha! ha! 'twas a very good +joke, indeed! + +_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] And a very true one, for all that. + +_Don Jer_, And, Ferdinand, I insist upon your drinking success to my +friend. + +_Don Ferd_. Sir, I will drink success to my friend with all my heart. + +_Don Jer_. Come, little Solomon, if any sparks of anger had remained, +this would be the only way to quench them. + +TRIO. + A bumper of good liquor + Will end a contest quicker + Than justice, judge, or vicar; + So fill a cheerful glass, + And let good humour pass. + But if more deep the quarrel, + Why, sooner drain the barrel + Than be the hateful fellow + That's crabbed when he's mellow. + A bumper, &c. [_Exeunt_.] + + + + +SCENE IV.--ISAAC'S _Lodgings_. + +_Enter_ DONNA LOUISA. + + +_Don. Louisa_. Was ever truant daughter so whimsically circumstanced +as I am? I have sent my intended husband to look after my lover--the +man of my father's choice is gone to bring me the man of my own: but +how dispiriting is this interval of expectation! + +SONG. + + What bard, O Time, discover, + With wings first made thee move? + Ah! sure it was some lover + Who ne'er had left his love! + For who that once did prove + The pangs which absence brings, + Though but one day He were away, + Could picture thee with wings? + What bard, &c. + + +_Enter_ DON CARLOS. + +So, friend, is Antonio found? + +_Don Car_. I could not meet with him, lady; but I doubt not my friend +Isaac will be here with him presently. + +_Don. Louisa_. Oh, shame! you have used no diligence. Is this your +courtesy to a lady, who has trusted herself to your protection? + +_Don Car_. Indeed, madam, I have not been remiss. + +_Don. Louisa_. Well, well; but if either of you had known how each +moment of delay weighs upon the heart of her who loves, and waits the +object of her love, oh, ye would not then have trifled thus! + +_Don Car_. Alas, I know it well! + +_Don. Louisa_. Were you ever in love, then? + +_Don Car_. I was, lady; but, while I have life, I will never be again. + +_Don. Louisa_. Was your mistress so cruel? + +_Don Car_. If she had always been so, I should have been happier. + +SONG. + + Oh, had my love ne'er smiled on me, + I ne'er had known such anguish; + But think how false, how cruel she, + To bid me cease to languish; + To bid me hope her hand to gain, + Breathe on a flame half perish'd; + And then with cold and fixed disdain, + To kill the hope she cherish'd. + + Not worse his fate, who on a wreck, + That drove as winds did blow it, + Silent had left the shatter'd deck, + To find a grave below it. + Then land was cried--no more resign'd, + He glow'd with joy to hear it; + Not worse his fate, his woe, to find + The wreck must sink ere near it! + +_Don. Louisa_. As I live, here is your friend coming with Antonio! +I'll retire for a moment to surprise him. [_Exit_.] + + +_Enter_ ISAAC _and_ DON ANTONIO. + +_Don Ant_. Indeed, my good friend, you must be mistaken. Clara +d'Almanza in love with me, and employ you to bring me to meet her! It +is impossible! + +_Isaac_. That you shall see in an instant. Carlos, where is the lady?-- +[DON CARLOS _points to the door_.] In the next room, is she? + +_Don Ant_. Nay, if that lady is really here, she certainly wants me to +conduct her to a dear friend of mine, who has long been her lover. + +_Isaac_. Psha! I tell you 'tis no such thing--you are the man she +wants, and nobody but you. Here's ado to persuade you to take a pretty +girl that's dying for you! + +_Don Ant_. But I have no affection for this lady. + +_Isaac_. And you have for Louisa, hey? But take my word for it, +Antonio, you have no chance there--so you may as well secure the good +that offers itself to you. + +_Don Ant_. And could you reconcile it to your conscience to supplant +your friend? + +_Isaac_. Pish! Conscience has no more to do with gallantry than it has +with politics. Why, you are no honest fellow if love can't make a +rogue of you; so come--do go in and speak to her, at least. + +_Don Ant_, Well, I have no objection to that. + +_Isaac_. [_Opens the door_.] There--there she is--yonder by the +window--get in, do.--[_Pushes him in, and half shuts the door_.] Now, +Carlos, now I shall hamper him, I warrant! Stay, I'll peep how they go +on. Egad, he looks confoundedly posed! Now she's coaxing him. See, +Carlos, he begins to come to--ay, ay, he'll soon forget his +conscience. + +_Don Car_. Look--now they are both laughing! + +_Isaac_. Ay, so they are--yes, yes, they are laughing at that dear +friend he talked of--ay, poor devil, they have outwitted him. + +_Don Car_, Now he's kissing her hand. + +_Isaac_, Yes, yes, faith, they're agreed--he's caught, he's entangled. +My dear Carlos, we have brought it about. Oh, this little cunning +head! I'm a Machiavel--a very Machiavel! + +_Don Car_, I hear somebody inquiring for you--I'll see who it is. +[_Exit_.] + + +_Re-enter_ DON ANTONIO _and_ DONNA LOUISA. + +_Don Ant_. Well, my good friend, this lady has so entirely convinced +me of the certainty of your success at Don Jerome's, that I now resign +my pretensions there. + +_Isaac_. You never did a wiser thing, believe me; and, as for +deceiving your friend, that's nothing at all--tricking is all fair in +love, isn't it, ma'am? + +_Don. Louisa_. Certainly, sir; and I am particularly glad to find you +are of that opinion. + +_Isaac_. O Lud! yes, ma'am--let any one outwit me that can, I say! But +here, let me join your hands. There you lucky rogue! I wish you +happily married from the bottom of my soul! + +_Don. Louisa_. And I am sure, if you wish it, no one else should +prevent it. + +_Isaac_. Now, Antonio, we are rivals no more; so let us be friends, +will you? + +_Don Ant_. With all my heart, Isaac. + +_Isaac_. It is not every man, let me tell you, that would have taken +such pains, or been so generous to a rival. + +_Don Ant_. No, 'faith, I don't believe there's another beside yourself +in all Spain. + +_Isaac_. Well, but you resign all pretensions to the other lady? + +_Don Ant_. That I do, most sincerely. + +_Isaac_. I doubt you have a little hankering there still. + +_Don Ant_. None in the least, upon my soul. + +_Isaac_. I mean after her fortune. + +_Don Ant_. No, believe me. You are heartily welcome to every thing she +has. + +_Isaac_. Well, i'faith, you have the best of the bargain, as to +beauty, twenty to one. Now I'll tell you a secret--I am to carry off +Louisa this very evening. + +_Don. Louisa_. Indeed! + +_Isaac_. Yes, she has sworn not to take a husband from her father's +hand--so I've persuaded him to trust her to walk with me in the +garden, and then we shall give him the slip. + +_Don. Louisa_. And is Don Jerome to know nothing of this? + +_Isaac_. O Lud, no! there lies the jest. Don't you see that, by this +step, I over-reach him? I shall be entitled to the girl's fortune, +without settling a ducat on her. Ha! ha! ha! I'm a cunning dog, an't +I? a sly little villain, eh? + +_Don Ant_. Ha! ha! ha! you are indeed! + +_Isaac_. Roguish, you'll say, but keen, eh? devilish keen? + +_Don Ant_. So you are indeed--keen--very keen. + +_Isaac_. And what a laugh we shall have at Don Jerome's when the truth +comes out I hey? + +_Don. Louisa_. Yes, I'll answer for it, we shall have a good laugh, +when the truth comes out, Ha! ha! ha! + + _Re-enter_ DON CARLOS. + +_Don Car_. Here are the dancers come to practise the fandango you +intended to have honoured Donna Louisa with. + +_Isaac_. Oh, I shan't want them; but, as I must pay them, I'll see a +caper for my money. Will you excuse me? + +_Don. Louisa_. Willingly. + +_Isaac_. Here's my friend, whom you may command for any service. +Madam, our most obedient--Antonio, I wish you all happiness.-- +[_Aside_.] Oh, the easy blockhead! what a tool I have made of him!-- +This was a masterpiece! [_Exit_.] + +_Don. Louisa_. Carlos, will you be my guard again, and convey me to +the convent of St. Catherine? + +_Don Ant_. Why, Louisa--why should you go there? + +_Don. Louisa_. I have my reasons, and you must not be seen to go with +me; I shall write from thence to my father; perhaps, when he finds +what he has driven me to, he may relent. + +_Don Ant_. I have no hope from him. O Louisa! in these arms should be +your sanctuary. + +_Don. Louisa_. Be patient but for a little while--my father cannot +force me from thence. But let me see you there before evening, and I +will explain myself. + +_Don Ant_. I shall obey. + +_Don. Louisa_. Come, friend. Antonio, Carlos has been a lover himself. + +_Don Ant_. Then he knows the value of his trust. + +_Don Car_. You shall not find me unfaithful. + +TRIO. + + Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast + Where love has been received a welcome guest; + As wandering saints poor huts have sacred made, + He hallows every heart he once has sway'd, + And, when his presence we no longer share, + Still leaves compassion as a relic there. [_Exeunt_.] + + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_A Library in_ DON JEROME'S _House_. + + +Enter_ DON JEROME _and_ SERVANT. + +_Don Jer_. Why, I never was so amazed in my life! Louisa gone off with +Isaac Mendoza! What! steal away with the very man whom I wanted her to +marry--elope with her own husband, as it were--it is impossible! + +_Ser_. Her maid says, sir, they had your leave to walk in the garden, +while you were abroad. The door by the shrubbery was found open, and +they have not been heard of since. [_Exit_.] + +_Don Jer_. Well, it is the most unaccountable affair! 'sdeath! there +is certainly some infernal mystery in it I can't comprehend! + + +_Enter_ SECOND SERVANT, _with a letter_. + +_Ser_. Here is a letter, sir, from Signor Isaac. [_Exit_.] + +_Don Jer_. So, so, this will explain--ay, Isaac Mendoza--let me see-- +[_Reads_.] + +_Dearest Sir, + +You must, doubtless, be much surprised at my flight with your +daughter!_--yes, 'faith, and well I may--_I had the happiness to gain +her heart at our first interview_--The devil you had!--_But, she +having unfortunately made a vow not to receive a husband from your +hands, I was obliged to comply with her whim!_--So, so!--_We shall +shortly throw ourselves at your feet, and I hope you will have a +blessing ready for one, who will then be your son-in-law_. ISAAC +MENDOZA. + +A whim, hey? Why, the devil's in the girl, I think! This morning, she +would die sooner than have him, and before evening she runs away with +him! Well, well, my will's accomplished--let the motive be what it +will--and the Portuguese, sure, will never deny to fulfil the rest of +the article. + + +_Re-enter_ SERVANT, _with another letter_. + +_Ser_. Sir, here's a man below, who says he brought this from my young +lady, Donna Louisa. [_Exit_.] + +_Don Jer_. How! yes, it's my daughter's hand, indeed! Lord, there was +no occasion for them both to write; well, let's see what she says-- +[_Reads_.] + +_My dearest father, + +How shall I entreat your pardon for the rash step I have taken--how +confess the motive?_--Pish! hasn't Isaac just told me the motive?--one +would think they weren't together when they wrote.--_If I have a +spirit too resentful of ill usage, I have also a heart as easily +affected by kindness_.--So, so, here the whole matter comes out; her +resentment for Antonio's ill usage has made her sensible of Isaac's +kindness--yes, yes, it is all plain enough. Well. _I am not married +yet, though with a man who, I am convinced, adores me_.--Yes, yes, I +dare say Isaac is very fond of her. _But I shall anxiously expect your +answer, in which, should I be so fortunate as to receive your consent, +you will make completely happy your ever affectionate daughter,_ +LOUISA. + +My consent! to be sure she shall have it! Egad, I was never better +pleased--I have fulfilled my resolution--I knew I should. Oh, there's +nothing like obstinacy! Lewis! [_Calls_.] + + +_Re-enter_ SERVANT. + +Let the man who brought the last letter, wait; and get me a pen and +ink below.--[_Exit_ SERVANT.] I am impatient to set poor Louisa's +heart at rest. [_Calls_.]Holloa! Lewis! Sancho! + + +_Enter_ SERVANTS. + +See that there be a noble supper provided in the saloon to-night; +serve up my best wines, and let me have music, d'ye hear? + +_Ser_. Yes, sir. + +_Don Jer_. And order all my doors to be thrown open; admit all guests, +with masks or without masks.--[_Exeunt_ SERVANTS.] I'faith, we'll have +a night of it! and I'll let them see how merry an old man can be. + +SONG. + + Oh, the days when I was young. + When I laugh'd in fortune's spite; + Talk'd of love the whole day long, + And with nectar crown'd the night! + Then it was, old Father Care, + Little reck'd I of thy frown; + Half thy malice youth could bear, + And the rest a bumper drown. + + Truth, they say, lies in a well, + Why, I vow I ne'er could see; + Let the water-drinkers tell, + There it always lay for me. + For when sparkling wine went round, + Never saw I falsehood's mask; + But still honest truth I found + In the bottom of each flask. + + True, at length my vigour's flown, + I have years to bring decay; + Few the locks that now I own, + And the few I have are grey. + Yet, old Jerome, thou mayst boast, + While thy spirits do not tire; + Still beneath thy age's frost + Glows a spark of youthful fire. [_Exit_.] + + + + +SCENE II.--_The New Piazza_. + +_Enter_ DON FERDINAND _and_ LOPEZ. + + +_Don Ferd_. What, could you gather no tidings of her? nor guess where +she was gone? O Clara! Clara! + +_Lop_. In truth, sir, I could not. That she was run away from her +father, was in everybody's mouth; and that Don Guzman was in pursuit +of her, was also a very common report. Where she was gone, or what was +become of her, no one could take upon them to say. + +_Don Ferd_. 'Sdeath and fury, you blockhead! she can't be out of +Seville. + +_Lop_. So I said to myself, sir. 'Sdeath and fury, you blockhead, says +I, she can't be out of Seville. Then some said, she had hanged herself +for love; and others have it, Don Antonio had carried her off. + +_Don Ferd_. 'Tis false, scoundrel! no one said that. + +_Lop_. Then I misunderstood them, sir. + +_Don Ferd_. Go, fool, get home! and never let me see you again till +you bring me news of her.--[_Exit_ LOPEZ.] Oh, how my fondness for +this ungrateful girl has hurt my disposition. + + +_Enter_ ISAAC. + +_Isaac_. So, I have her safe, and have only to find a priest to marry +us. Antonio now may marry Clara, or not, if he pleases. + +_Don Ferd_. What! what was that you said of Clara? + +_Isaac_. Oh, Ferdinand! my brother-in-law that shall be, who thought +of meeting you? + +_Don Ferd_. But what of Clara? + +_Isaac_. I'faith, you shall hear. This morning, as I was coming down, +I met a pretty damsel, who told me her name was Clara d'Almanza, and +begged my protection. + +_Don Ferd_. How! + +_Isaac_. She said she had eloped from her father, Don Guzman, but that +love for a young gentleman in Seville was the cause. + +_Don Ferd_. Oh, Heavens! did she confess it? + +_Isaac_. Oh, yes, she confessed at once. But then, says she, my lover +is not informed of my flight, nor suspects my intention. + +_Don Ferd_. [_Aside_.] Dear creature! no more I did indeed! Oh, I am +the happiest fellow!--[_Aloud_.] Well, Isaac? + +_Isaac_. Why then she entreated me to find him out for her, and bring +him to her. + +_Don Ferd_. Good Heavens, how lucky! Well, come along, let's lose no +time. [_Pulling him_.] + +_Isaac_. Zooks! where are we to go? + +_Don Ferd_. Why, did anything more pass? + +_Isaac_. Anything more! yes; the end on't was, that I was moved with +her speeches, and complied with her desires. + +_Don Ferd_. Well and where is she? + +_Isaac_. Where is she? why, don't I tell you? I complied with her +request, and left her safe in the arms of her lover. + +_Don Ferd_. 'Sdeath, you trifle with me!--I have never seen her. + +_Isaac_. You! O Lud no! how the devil should you? 'Twas Antonio she +wanted; and with Antonio I left her. + +_Don Ferd_. [_Aside_.] Hell and madness!--[_Aloud_.] What, Antonio +d'Ercilla? + +_Isaac_. Ay, ay, the very man; and the best part of it was, he was shy +of taking her at first. He talked a good deal about honour, and +conscience, and deceiving some dear friend; but, Lord, we soon +overruled that! + +_Don Ferd_. You did! + +_Isaac_. Oh, yes, presently.--Such deceit! says he.--Pish! says the +lady, tricking is all fair in love. But then, my friend, says he.-- +Psha! damn your friend, says I. So, poor wretch, he has no chance.-- +No, no; he may hang himself as soon as he pleases. + +_Don Ferd_. [_Aside_.] I must go, or I shall betray myself. + +_Isaac_. But stay, Ferdinand, you han't heard the best of the joke. + +_Don Ferd_. Curse on your joke! + +_Isaac_. Good lack! what's the matter now? I thought to have diverted +you. + +_Don Ferd_. Be racked! tortured! damned! + +_Isaac_. Why, sure you are not the poor devil of a lover, are you?-- +I'faith, as sure as can be, he is! This is a better joke than t'other. +Ha! ha! ha! + +_Don Ferd_. What! do you laugh? you vile, mischievous varlet!-- +[_Collars him_.] But that you're beneath my anger, I'd tear your heart +out! [_Throws him from him_.] + +_Isaac_. O mercy! here's usage for a brother-in-law! + +_Don Ferd_. But, hark ye, rascal! tell me directly where these false +friends are gone, or, by my soul----[_Draws_.] + +_Isaac_. For Heaven's sake, now, my dear brother-in-law, don't be in a +rage! I'll recollect as well as I can. + +_Don Ferd_. Be quick, then! + +_Isaac_. I will, I will!--but people's memories differ; some have a +treacherous memory: now mine is a cowardly memory--it takes to its +heels at sight of a drawn sword--it does i'faith; and I could as soon +fight as recollect. + +_Don Ferd_. Zounds! tell me the truth, and I won't hurt you. + +_Isaac_. No, no, I know you won't, my dear brother-in-law; but that +ill-looking thing there---- + +_Don Ferd_. What, then, you won't tell me? + +_Isaac_. Yes, yes, I will; I'll tell you all, upon my soul!--but why +need you listen, sword in hand? + +_Don Ferd_. Why, there.--[_Puts up_.] Now. + +_Isaac_. Why, then, I believe they are gone to--that is, my friend +Carlos told me he had left Donna Clara--dear Ferdinand, keep your +hands off--at the convent of St. Catherine. + +_Don Ferd_. St. Catherine! + +_Isaac_. Yes; and that Antonio was to come to her there. + +_Don Ferd_. Is this the truth? + +_Isaac_. It is indeed; and all I know, as I hope for life! + +_Don Ferd_. Well, coward, take your life; 'tis that false, +dishonourable Antonio, who shall feel my vengeance. + +_Isaac_. Ay, ay, kill him; cut his throat, and welcome. + +_Don Ferd_. But, for Clara! infamy on her! she is not worth my +resentment. + +_Isaac_. No more she is, my dear brother-in-law. I'faith I would not +be angry about her; she is not worth it, indeed. + +_Don Ferd_. 'Tis false! she is worth the enmity of princes! + +_Isaac_. True, true, so she is; and I pity you exceedingly for having +lost her. + +_Don Ferd_. 'Sdeath, you rascal! how durst you talk of pitying me? + +_Isaac_. Oh, dear brother-in-law, I beg pardon! I don't pity you in +the least, upon my soul! + +_Don Ferd_. Get hence, fool, and provoke me no further; nothing but +your insignificance saves you! + +_Isaac. [Aside_.] I'faith, then, my insignificance is the best friend +I have.--[_Aloud_.] I'm going, dear Ferdinand.--[_Aside_.] What a +curst hot hot-headed bully it is! [_Exeunt severally_.] + + + + +SCENE III.--_The Garden of the Convent_. + +_Enter_ DONNA LOUISA _and_ DONNA CLARA. + + +_Don. Louisa_. And you really wish my brother may not find you out? + +_Don. Clara_. Why else have I concealed myself under this disguise? + +_Don. Louisa_. Why, perhaps because the dress becomes you: for you +certainly don't intend to be a nun for life. + +_Don. Clara_. If, indeed, Ferdinand had not offended me so last night-- + +_Don. Louisa_. Come, come, it was his fear of losing you made him so +rash. + +_Don. Clara_. Well, you may think me cruel, but I swear, if he were +here this instant, I believe I should forgive him. + +SONG. + + By him we love offended, + How soon our anger flies! + One day apart, 'tis ended; + Behold him, and it dies. + + Last night, your roving brother, + Enraged, I bade depart; + And sure his rude presumption + Deserved to lose my heart. + + Yet, were he now before met + In spite of injured pride, + I fear my eyes would pardon + Before my tongue could chide. + +_Don. Louisa_. I protest, Clara, I shall begin to think you are +seriously resolved to enter on your probation. + +_Don. Clara_. And, seriously, I very much doubt whether the character +of a nun would not become me best. + +_Don. Louisa_. Why, to be sure, the character of a nun is a very +becoming one at a masquerade: but no pretty woman, in her senses, ever +thought of taking the veil for above a night. + +_Don. Clara_. Yonder I see your Antonio is returned--I shall only +interrupt you; ah, Louisa, with what happy eagerness you turn to look +for him! [_Exit_.] + + +_Enter_ DON ANTONIO. + +_Don Ant_. Well, my Louisa, any news since I left you? + +_Don. Louisa_. None. The messenger is not yet returned from my father. + +_Don Ant_. Well, I confess, I do not perceive what we are to expect +from him. + +_Don. Louisa_. I shall be easier, however, in having made the trial: I +do not doubt your sincerity, Antonio; but there is a chilling air +around poverty, that often kills affection, that was not nursed in it. +If we would make love our household god, we had best secure him a +comfortable roof. + +SONG.--_Don Antonio_. + + How oft, Louisa, hast thou told, + (Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown,) + Thou wouldst not lose Antonio's love + To reign the partner of a throne! + And by those lips that spoke so kind, + And by that hand I've press'd to mine, + To be the lord of wealth and power, + By heavens, I would not part with thine! + + Then how, my soul, can we be poor, + Who own what kingdoms could not buy? + Of this true heart thou shalt be queen, + In serving thee, a monarch I. + Thus uncontroll'd, in mutual bliss, + I rich in love's exhaustless mine, + Do thou snatch treasures from my lips, + And I'll take kingdoms back from thine! + + +_Enter_ MAID _with a letter_. + +_Don. Louisa_. My father's answer, I suppose. + +_Don Ant_. My dearest Louisa, you may be assured that it contains +nothing but threats and reproaches. + +_Don. Louisa_. Let us see, however.--[Reads.] _Dearest daughter, make +your lover happy: you have my full consent to marry as your whim has +chosen, but be sure come home and sup with your affectionate father_. + +_Don Ant_. You jest, Louisa! + +_Don. Louisa_. [_Gives him the letter_..] Read! read! + +_Don Ant_. 'Tis so, by heavens! Sure there must be some mistake; but +that's none of our business.--Now, Louisa, you have no excuse for +delay. + +_Don. Louisa_. Shall we not then return and thank my father? + +_Don Ant_. But first let the priest put it out of his power to recall +his word.--I'll fly to procure one. + +_Don. Louisa_. Nay, if you part with me again, perhaps you may lose +me. + +_Don Ant_. Come, then--there is a friar of a neighbouring convent is +my friend; you have already been diverted by the manners of a nunnery; +let us see whether there is less hypocrisy among the holy fathers. + +_Don. Louisa_. I'm afraid not, Antonio--for in religion, as in +friendship, they who profess most are the least sincere. [_Exeunt_.] + + +_Re-enter_ DONNA CLARA. + +_Don. Clara_, So, yonder they go, as happy as a mutual and confessed +affection can make them, while I am left in solitude. Heigho! love may +perhaps excuse the rashness of an elopement from one's friend, but I +am sure nothing but the presence of the man we love can support it. +Ha! what do I see! Ferdinand, as I live! How could he gain admission? +By potent gold, I suppose, as Antonio did. How eager and disturbed he +seems! He shall not know me as yet. [_Lets down her veil_.] + + +_Enter_ DON FERDINAND. + +_Don Ferd_. Yes, those were certainly they--my information was right. +[_Going_.] + +_Don. Clara_. [_Stops him_.] Pray, signor, what is your business here? + +_Don Ferd_. No matter--no matter! Oh! they stop.--[_Looks out_.] Yes, +that is the perfidious Clara indeed! + +_Don. Clara_. So, a jealous error--I'm glad to see him so moved. +[_Aside_.] + +_Don Ferd_. Her disguise can't conceal her--no, no, I know her too +well. + +_Don. Clara_. [_Aside_.] Wonderful discernment!--[_Aloud_.] But, +signor---- + +_Don Ferd_. Be quiet, good nun; don't tease me!--By heavens, she leans +upon his arm, hangs fondly on it! O woman, woman! + +_Don. Clar_. But, signor, who is it you want? + +_Don Ferd_. Not you, not you, so prythee don't tease me. Yet pray +stay--gentle nun, was it not Donna Clara d'Almanza just parted from +you? + +_Don. Clara_. Clara d'Almanza, signor, is not yet out of the garden. + +_Don Ferd_. Ay, ay, I knew I was right! And pray is not that +gentleman, now at the porch with her, Antonio d'Ercilla? + +_Don. Clara_. It is indeed, signor. + +_Don Ferd_. So, so; but now one question more--can you inform me for +what purpose they have gone away? + +_Don. Clara_. They are gone to be married, I believe. + +_Don Ferd_. Very well--enough. Now if I don't mar their wedding! +[_Exit_.] + +_Don. Clara_. [_Unveils_.] I thought jealousy had made lovers quick- +sighted, but it has made mine blind. Louisa's story accounts to me for +this error, and I am glad to find I have power enough over him to make +him so unhappy. But why should not I be present at his surprise when +undeceived? When he's through the porch, I'll follow him; and, +perhaps, Louisa shall not singly be a bride. + +SONG. + + Adieu, thou dreary pile, where never dies + The sullen echo of repentant sighs! + Ye sister mourners of each lonely cell + Inured to hymns and sorrow, fare ye well! + For happier scenes I fly this darksome grove, + To saints a prison, but a tomb to love! [_Exit_.] + + + + +SCENE IV.--_A Court before the Priory_. + +_Enter_ ISAAC, _crossing the stage_, DON ANTONIO _following_. + + +_Don Ant_. What, my friend Isaac! + +_Isaac_. What, Antonio! wish me joy! I have Louisa safe. + +_Don Ant_. Have you? I wish you joy with all my soul. + +_Isaac_. Yes, I come here to procure a priest to marry us. + +_Don Ant_. So, then, we are both on the same errand; I am come to look +for Father Paul. + +_Isaac_. Ha! I'm glad on't--but, i'faith, he must tack me first; my +love is waiting. + +_Don Ant_. So is mine--I left her in the porch. + +_Isaac_. Ay, but I'm in haste to go back to Don Jerome. + +_Don Ant_. And so am I too. + +_Isaac_. Well, perhaps he'll save time, and marry us both together--or +I'll be your father, and you shall be mine. Come along--but you are +obliged to me for all this. + +_Don Ant_. Yes, yes. [_Exeunt_.] + + + + +SCENE V.--_A Room in the Priory_. + +FATHER PAUL, FATHER FRANCIS, FATHER AUGUSTINE, _and other_ FRIARS, +_discovered at a table drinking_. + + +GLEE AND CHORUS. + + This bottle's the sun of our table, + His beams are rosy wine + We, planets, that are not able + Without his help to shine. + Let mirth and glee abound! + You'll soon grow bright + With borrow'd light, + And shine as he goes round. + +_Paul_. Brother Francis, toss the bottle about, and give me your +toast. + +_Fran_. Have we drunk the Abbess of St. Ursuline? + +_Paul_. Yes, yes; she was the last. + +_Fran_. Then I'll give you the blue-eyed nun of St. Catherine's. + +_Paul_. With all my heart.--[_Drinks_.] Pray, brother Augustine, were +there any benefactions left in my absence? + +_Aug_. Don Juan Corduba has left a hundred ducats, to remember him in +our masses. + +_Paul_. Has he? let them be paid to our wine-merchant, and we'll +remember him in our cups, which will do just as well. Anything more? + +_Aug_. Yes; Baptista, the rich miser, who died last week, has +bequeathed us a thousand pistoles, and the silver lamp he used in his +own chamber, to burn before the image of St. Anthony. + +_Paul_. 'Twas well meant, but we'll employ his money better-- +Baptista's bounty shall light the living, not the dead. St. Anthony is +not afraid to be left in the dark, though he was.--[_Knocking_.] See +who's there. + +[FATHER FRANCIS _goes to the door and opens it_.] + + +_Enter_ PORTER. + +_Port_. Here's one without, in pressing haste to speak with Father +Paul. + +_Fran_. Brother Paul! + +[FATHER PAUL _comes from behind a curtain with a glass of wine, and in +his hand a piece of cake_.] + +_Paul_. Here! how durst you, fellow, thus abruptly break in upon our +devotions? + +_Port_. I thought they were finished. + +_Paul_. No, they were not--were they, brother Francis? + +_Fran_. Not by a bottle each. + +_Paul_. But neither you nor your fellows mark how the hours go; no, +you mind nothing but the gratifying of your appetites; ye eat, and +swill, and sleep, and gourmandise, and thrive, while we are wasting in +mortification. + +_Port_. We ask no more than nature craves. + +_Paul_. 'Tis false, ye have more appetites than hairs! and your +flushed, sleek, and pampered appearance is the disgrace of our order-- +out on't! If you are hungry, can't you be content with the wholesome +roots of the earth? and if you are dry, isn't there the crystal +spring?--[_Drinks_.] Put this away,--[_Gives the glass_] and show me +where I am wanted.--[PORTER _drains the glass_.--PAUL, _going, +turns_.] So you would have drunk it if there had been any left! Ah, +glutton! glutton! [_Exeunt_.] + + + + +SCENE VI.--_The Court before the Priory_. + +_Enter_ ISAAC _and_ DON ANTONIO. + + +_Isaac_. A plaguey while coming, this same father Paul.--He's detained +at vespers, I suppose, poor fellow. + +_Don Ant_. No, here he comes. + + _Enter_ FATHER PAUL. + +Good father Paul, I crave your blessing. + +_Isaac_. Yes, good father Paul, we are come to beg a favour. + +_Paul_. What is it, pray? + +_Isaac_. To marry us, good father Paul; and in truth thou dost look +like the priest of Hymen. + +_Paul_. In short, I may be called so; for I deal in repentance and +mortification. + +_Isaac_. No, no, thou seemest an officer of Hymen, because thy +presence speaks content and good humour. + +_Paul_. Alas, my appearance is deceitful. Bloated I am, indeed! for +fasting is a windy recreation, and it hath swollen me like a bladder. + +_Don Ant_. But thou hast a good fresh colour in thy face, father; +rosy, i'faith! + +_Paul_. Yes, I have blushed for mankind, till the hue of my shame is +as fixed as their vices. + +_Isaac_. Good man! + +_Paul_. And I have laboured, too, but to what purpose? they continue +to sin under my very nose. + +_Isaac_. Efecks, father, I should have guessed as much, for your nose +seems to be put to the blush more than any other part of your face. + +_Paul_. Go, you're a wag. + +_Don Ant_. But to the purpose, father--will you officiate for us? + +_Paul_. To join young people thus clandestinely is not safe: and, +indeed, I have in my heart many weighty reasons against it. + +_Don Ant_. And I have in my hand many weighty reasons for it. Isaac, +haven't you an argument or two in our favour about you? + +_Isaac_. Yes, yes; here is a most unanswerable purse. + +_Paul_. For shame! you make me angry: you forget who I am, and when +importunate people have forced their trash--ay, into this pocket here-- +or into this--why, then the sin was theirs.--[_They put money into +his pockets_.] Fie, now how you distress me! I would return it, but +that I must touch it that way, and so wrong my oath. + +_Don Ant_. Now then, come with us. + +_Isaac_. Ay, now give us our title to joy and rapture. + +_Paul_. Well, when your hour of repentance comes, don't blame me. + +_Don Ant_. [_Aside_.] No bad caution to my friend Isaac.--[_Aloud_.] +Well, well, father, do you do your part, and I'll abide the +consequences. + +_Isaac_. Ay, and so will I. + + +_Enter_ DONNA LOUISA, _running_. + +_Don. Louisa_. O Antonio, Ferdinand is at the porch, and inquiring for +us. + +_Isaac_. Who? Don Ferdinand! he's not inquiring for me, I hope. + +_Don Ant_. Fear not, my love; I'll soon pacify him. + +_Isaac_. Egad, you won't. Antonio, take my advice, and run away; this +Ferdinand is the most unmerciful dog, and has the cursedest long +sword! and, upon my, soul, he comes on purpose to cut your throat. + +_Don Ant_. Never fear, never fear. + +_Isaac_. Well, you may stay if you will; but I'll get some one to +marry me: for by St. Iago, he shall never meet me again, while I am +master of a pair of heels. [_Runs out_.--DONNA LOUISA _lets down her +veil_.] + + +_Enter_ DON FERDINAND. + +_Don Ferd_. So, sir, I have met with you at last. + +_Don Ant_. Well, sir. + +_Don Ferd_. Base, treacherous man! whence can a false, deceitful soul, +like yours, borrow confidence, to look so steadily on the man you've +injured! + +_Don Ant_. Ferdinand, you are too warm: 'tis true you find me on the +point of wedding one I loved beyond my life; but no argument of mine +prevailed on her to elope.--I scorn deceit, as much as you. By heaven +I knew not that she had left her father's till I saw her! + +_Don Ferd_. What a mean excuse! You have wronged your friend, then, +for one, whose wanton forwardness anticipated your treachery--of this, +indeed, your Jew pander informed me; but let your conduct be +consistent, and since you have dared to do a wrong, follow me, and +show you have a spirit to avow it. + +_Don. Louisa_. Antonio, I perceive his mistake--leave him to me. + +_Paul_. Friend, you are rude, to interrupt the union of two willing +hearts. + +_Don Ferd_. No, meddling priest! the hand he seeks is mine. + +_Paul_. If so, I'll proceed no further. Lady, did you ever promise +this youth your hand? [_To_ DONNA LOUISA, _who shakes her head_.] + +_Don Ferd_. Clara, I thank you for your silence--I would not have +heard your tongue avow such falsity; be't your punishment to remember +that I have not reproached you. + + +_Enter_ DONNA CLARA, _veiled_. + +_Don. Clara_. What mockery is this? + +_Don Ferd_. Antonio, you are protected now, but we shall meet. +[_Going_, DONNA CLARA _holds one arm, and_ DONNA LOUISA _the other_.] + +DUET. + +_Don. Louisa_. + Turn thee round, I pray thee, + Calm awhile thy rage. + +_Don. Clara_. + I must help to stay thee, + And thy wrath assuage. + +_Don. Louisa_. + Couldst thou not discover + One so dear to thee? + +_Don. Clara_. + Canst thou be a lover, + And thus fly from me? [_Both unveil_.] + +_Don Ferd_. How's this? My sister! Clara, too--I'm confounded. + +_Don. Louisa_. 'Tis even so, good brother. + +_Paul_. How! what impiety? did the man want to marry his own sister? + +_Don. Louisa_. And ar'n't you ashamed of yourself not to know your own +sister? + +_Don. Clara_. To drive away your own mistress---- + +_Don. Louisa_. Don't you see how jealousy blinds people? + +_Don. Clara_. Ay, and will you ever be jealous again? + +_Don Ferd_. Never--never!--You, sister, I know will forgive me--but +how, Clara, shall I presume---- + +_Don. Clara_. No, no; just now you told me not to tease you--"Who do +you want, good signor?" "Not you, not you!" Oh you blind wretch! but +swear never to be jealous again, and I'll forgive you. + +_Don Ferd_. By all---- + +_Don. Clara_. There, that will do--you'll keep the oath just as well. +[_Gives her hand_.] + +_Don. Louisa_. But, brother, here is one to whom some apology is due. + +_Don Ferd_. Antonio, I am ashamed to think---- + +_Don Ant_. Not a word of excuse, Ferdinand--I have not been in love +myself without learning that a lover's anger should never be resented. +But come--let us retire, with this good father, and we'll explain to +you the cause of this error. + +GLEE AND CHORUS. + + Oft does Hymen smile to hear + Wordy vows of feign'd regard; + Well, he knows when they're sincere, + Never slow to give reward + For his glory is to prove + Kind to those who wed for love. [_Exeunt_.] + + + + +SCENE VII--_A Grand Saloon in_ DON JEROME'S _House_. + +_Enter_ DON JEROME, LOPEZ, _and_ SERVANTS. + + +_Don Jer_. Be sure, now, let everything be in the best order--let all +my servants have on their merriest faces: but tell them to get as +little drunk as possible, till after supper.--[_Exeunt_ SERVANTS.] So, +Lopez, where's your master? shan't we have him at supper? + +_Lop_. Indeed, I believe not, sir--he's mad, I doubt! I'm sure he has +frighted me from him. + +_Don Jer_. Ay, ay, he's after some wench, I suppose: a young rake! +Well, well, we'll be merry without him. [_Exit_ LOPEZ.] + + +_Enter a_ SERVANT. + +_Ser_. Sir, here is Signor Isaac. [_Exit_.] + + +_Enter_ ISAAC. + +_Don Jer_. So, my dear son-in-law--there, take my blessing and +forgiveness. But where's my daughter? where's Louisa? + +_Isaac_. She's without, impatient for a blessing, but almost afraid to +enter. + +_Don Jer_. Oh, fly and bring her in.--[_Exit_ ISAAC.] Poor girl, I +long to see her pretty face. + +_Isaac_. [_Without_.] Come, my, charmer! my trembling angel! + + +_Re-enter_ ISAAC _with_ DUENNA; DON JEROME _runs to meet them; she +kneels_. + +_Don Jer_. Come to my arms, my--[_Starts back_.] Why, who the devil +have we here? + +_Isaac_. Nay, Don Jerome, you promised her forgiveness; see how the +dear creature droops! + +_Don Jer_. Droops indeed! Why, Gad take me, this is old Margaret! But +where's my daughter? where's Louisa? + +_Isaac_. Why, here, before your eyes--nay, don't be abashed, my sweet +wife! + +_Don Jer_. Wife with a vengeance! Why, zounds! you have not married +the Duenna! + +_Duen_. [_Kneeling_.] Oh, dear papa! you'll not disown me, sure! + +_Don Jer_. Papa! papa! Why, zounds! your impudence is as great as your +ugliness! + +_Isaac_. Rise, my charmer, go throw your snowy arms about his neck, +and convince him you are---- + +_Duen_. Oh, sir, forgive me! [_Embraces him_.] + +_Don Jer_. Help! murder! + + _Enter_ SERVANTS. + +_Ser_. What's the matter, sir? + +_Don Jer_. Why, here, this damned Jew has brought an old harridan to +strangle me. + +_Isaac_. Lord, it is his own daughter, and he is so hard-hearted he +won't forgive her! + + +_Enter_ DON ANTONIO _and_ DONNA LOUISA; _they kneel_. + +_Don Jer_. Zounds and fury! what's here now? who sent for you, sir, +and who the devil are you? + +_Don Ant_. This lady's husband, sir. + +_Isaac_. Ay, that he is, I'll be sworn; for I left them with a priest, +and was to have given her away. + +_Don Jer_. You were? + +_Isaac_. Ay; that's my honest friend, Antonio; and that's the little +girl I told you I had hampered him with. + +_Don Jer_. Why, you are either drunk or mad--this is my daughter. + +_Isaac_. No, no; 'tis you are both drunk and mad, I think--here's your +daughter. + +_Don Jer_. Hark ye, old iniquity! will you explain all this, or not? + +_Duen_. Come then, Don Jerome, I will--though our habits might inform +you all. Look on your daughter, there, and on me. + +_Isaac_. What's this I hear? + +_Duen_. The truth is, that in your passion this morning you made a +small mistake; for you turned your daughter out of doors, and locked +up your humble servant. + +_Isaac_. O Lud! O Lud! here's a pretty fellow, to turn his daughter +out of doors, instead of an old Duenna! + +_Don Jer_. And, O Lud! O Lud! here's a pretty fellow, to marry an old +Duenna instead of my daughter! But how came the rest about? + +_Duen_. I have only to add, that I remained in your daughter's place, +and had the good fortune to engage the affections of my sweet husband +here. + +_Isaac_. Her husband! why, you old witch, do you think I'll be your +husband now? This is a trick, a cheat! and you ought all to be ashamed +of yourselves. + +_Don Ant_. Hark ye, Isaac, do you dare to complain of tricking? Don +Jerome, I give you my word, this cunning Portuguese has brought all +this upon himself, by endeavouring to overreach you, by getting your +daughter's fortune, without making any settlement in return. + +_Don Jer_. Overreach me! + +_Don. Louisa_. 'Tis so, indeed, sir, and we can prove it to you. + +_Don Jer_. Why, Gad, take me, it must be so, or he never could put up +with such a face as Margaret's--so, little Solomon, I wish you joy of +your wife, with all my soul. + +_Don. Louisa_. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love--let you alone for +the plot! + +_Don Ant_. A cunning dog, ar'n't you? A sly little villain, eh? + +_Don. Louisa_. Roguish, perhaps; but keen, devilish keen! + +_Don Jer_. Yes, yes; his aunt always called him little Solomon. + +_Isaac_. Why, the plagues of Egypt upon you all! but do you think I'll +submit to such an imposition? + +_Don Ant_. Isaac, one serious word--you'd better be content as you +are; for, believe me, you will find that, in the opinion of the world, +there is not a fairer subject for contempt and ridicule than a knave +become the dupe of his own art. + +_Isaac_. I don't care--I'll not endure this. Don Jerome, 'tis you have +done this--you would be so cursed positive about the beauty of her you +locked up, and all the time I told you she was as old as my mother, +and as ugly as the devil. + +_Duen_. Why, you little insignificant reptile!---- + +_Don Jer_. That's right!--attack him, Margaret. + +_Duen_. Dare such a thing as you pretend to talk of beauty?--A walking +rouleau?--a body that seems to owe all its consequence to the dropsy! +a pair of eyes like two dead beetles in a wad of brown dough! a beard +like an artichoke, with dry, shrivelled jaws that would disgrace the +mummy of a monkey? + +_Don Jer_. Well done, Margaret! + +_Duen_. But you shall know that I have a brother who wears a sword-- +and, if you don't do me justice-- + +_Isaac_. Fire seize your brother, and you too! I'll fly to Jerusalem +to avoid you! + +_Duen_. Fly where you will, I'll follow you. + +_Don Jer_. Throw your snowy arms about him, Margaret.--[_Exeunt_ ISAAC +_and_ DUENNA.] But, Louisa, are you really married to this modest +gentleman? + +_Don. Louisa_. Sir, in obedience to your commands, I gave him my hand +within this hour. + +_Don Jer_. My commands! + +_Don Ant_. Yes, sir; here is your consent, under your own hand. + +_Don Jer_. How! would you rob me of my child by a trick, a false +pretence? and do you think to get her fortune by the same means? Why, +'slife! you are as great a rogue as Isaac! + +_Don Ant_. No, Don Jerome; though I have profited by this paper in +gaining your daughter's hand, I scorn to obtain her fortune by deceit. +There, sir--[_Gives a letter_.] Now give her your blessing for a +dower, and all the little I possess shall be settled on her in return. +Had you wedded her to a prince, he could do no more. + +_Don Jer_. Why, Gad, take me, but you are a very extraordinary fellow! +But have you the impudence to suppose no one can do a generous action +but yourself? Here, Louisa, tell this proud fool of yours that he's +the only man I know that would renounce your fortune; and, by my soul! +he's the only man in Spain that's worthy of it. There, bless you both: +I'm an obstinate old fellow when I'm in the wrong; but you shall now +find me as steady in the right. + + +_Enter_ DON FERDINAND _and_ DONNA CLARA. + +Another wonder still! Why, sirrah! Ferdinand, you have not stole a +nun, have you? + +_Don Fred_. She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sir--look nearer, +and you will perceive 'tis Clara d'Almanza, Don Guzman's daughter; +and, with pardon for stealing a wedding, she is also my wife. + +_Don Jer_. Gadsbud, and a great fortune! Ferdinand, you are a prudent +young rogue, and I forgive you: and, ifecks, you are a pretty little +damsel. Give your father-in-law a kiss, you smiling rogue! + +_Don. Clara_. There, old gentleman; and now mind you behave well to +us. + +_Don Jer_. Ifecks, those lips ha'n't been chilled by kissing beads! +Egad, I believe I shall grow the best-humoured fellow in Spain. Lewis! +Sancho! Carlos! d'ye hear? are all my doors thrown open? Our +children's weddings are the only holidays our age can boast; and then +we drain, with pleasure, the little stock of spirits time has left +us.--[_Music within_.] But, see, here come our friends and neighbours! + + +_Enter_ MASQUERADERS. + +And, i'faith, we'll make a night on't, with wine, and dance, and +catches--then old and young shall join us. + +FINALE. + +_Don Jer_. + Come now for jest and smiling, + Both old and young beguiling, + Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay, + Till we banish care away. + +_Don. Louisa_. + Thus crown'd with dance and song, + The hours shall glide along, + With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees + Can never fail to please. + +_Don Ferd_. + Each bride with blushes glowing, + Our wine as rosy flowing, + Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay, + Till we banish care away. + +_Don Ant_. + Then healths to every friend + The night's repast shall end, + With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees + Can never fail to please. + +_Don. Clar_. + Nor, while we are so joyous, + Shall anxious fear annoy us; + Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay, + Till we banish care away. + +_Don Jer_. + For generous guests like these + Accept the wish to please, + So we'll laugh and play, so blithe and gay, + Your smiles drive care away. + +[_Exeunt omnes_.] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Duenna, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUENNA *** + +This file should be named 6731.txt or 6731.zip + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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