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_.]