Just. Silence, doctor Croaker! will you cure me, or will you not? Rosy. Alas! my dear friend, it is not in my power, but I'll certainly see justice done on your murderer. Just. I thank you, my dear friend, but I had rather see it myself. Rosy. Ay, but if you recover, the villain will escape. Mrs. Bri. Will he? then indeed it would be a pity you should recover. I am so enraged against the villain, I can't bear the thought of his escaping the halter. Just. That's very kind in you, my dear; but, if it's the same thing to you, my dear, I had as soon recover, notwithstanding.—What, doctor, no assistance! Rosy. Efacks, I can do nothing, but there's the German quack, whom you wanted to send from town; I met him at the next door, and I know he has antidotes for all poisons. Just. Fetch him, my dear friend, fetch him! I'll get him a diploma if he cures me. Rosy. Well, there's no time to be lost; you continue to swell immensely. [Exit. Mrs. Bri. What, my dear, will you submit to be cured by a quack nostrum-monger? For my part, as much as I love you, I had rather follow you to your grave than see you owe your life to any but a regular-bred physician. Just. I'm sensible of your affection, dearest ; and be assured nothing consoles me in my melancholy situation so much as the thoughts of leaving you behind. Re-enter Doctor Rosy with Lieutenant O'CONNOR disguised. Rosy. He desires me to feel your pulse. Rosy. Not a word. O'Con. Palio vivem mortem soonem. Rosy. He says you have not six hours to live. Just. O mercy! does he know my distemper ? Rosy. I believe not. Just. Tell him 'tis black arsenic they have given me. Rosy. Geneable illi arsnecca. O'Con. Pisonatus. Just. What does he say? Rosy. He says you are poisoned. Just. We know that; but what will be the effect? Rosy. Quid effectum ? O'Con. Diable tutellum. Rosy. He says you'll die presently. Just. Oh horrible! What, no antidote? O'Con. Curum benakere bono fullum. Just. What, does he say I must row in a boat to Fulham? Rosy. He says he'll undertake to cure you for three thousand pounds. Mrs. Bri. Three thousand pounds! three thousand halters!-No, lovee, you shall never submit to such impositions: die at once, and be a customer to none of them. Just. I won't die, Bridget-I don't like death. Mrs. Bri. Psha! there is nothing in it: moment, and it is over. a Just. Ay, but it leaves a numbness behind that lasts a plaguy long time. Mrs. Bri. O my dear, pray consider the will. O'Con. Damsellum livivum suvum rislibani. Rosy. He says that he has lost his heart to her, and that if you will give him leave to pay his addresses to the young lady, and promise your consent to the union, if he should gain her affections, he will on those conditions cure you instantly, without fee or reward. Just. The devil! did he say all that in so few words? What a fine language it is! Well, I agree, if he can prevail on the girl.—[Aside.] And that I am sure he never will. Rosy. Greal. O'Con. Writhum bothum. Rosy. He says you must give this under your hand, while he writes you a miraculous receipt. [Both sit down to write. Lau. Do, mama, tell me the meaning of this. Mrs. Bri. Don't speak to me, girl.—Unnatural parent! Just. There, doctor; there's what he requires. Rosy. And here's your receipt : read it yourself. Just. Hey? what's here! plain English? Rosy. Read it out: a wondrous nostrum, I'll answer for it. Just. [Reads.] In reading this you are cured, by your affectionate son-in-law, O'CONNOR.-Who, in the name of Beelzebub, sirrah, who are you? O'Con. Your affectionate son-in-law, O'Connor, and your very humble servant, Humphrey Hum. Just. 'Tis false, you dog! you are not my sonin-law; for I'll be poison'd again, and you shall be hanged. I'll die, sirrah, and leave Bridget my estate. Mrs. Bri. Ay, pray do, my dear, leave me your estate: I'm sure he deserves to be hanged. Just. He does, you say!-Hark'ee, Bridget, you showed such a tender concern for me when you thought me poisoned, that for the future I am resolved never to take your advice again in anything. [To Lieutenant O'CONNOR.] So, do you hear, sir, you are an Irishman and a soldier, an't you? O'Con. I am, sir, and proud of both. Just. The two things on earth I most hate; so I'll tell you what-renounce your country and sell your commission, and I'll forgive you. O'Con. Hark'ee, Mr. Justice-if you were not the father of my Lauretta, I would pull your nose for asking the first, and break your bones for desiring the second. Rosy. Ay, ay, you're right. Just. Is he then I'm sure I must be wrong.Here, sir, I give my daughter to you, who are the most impudent dog I ever saw in my life. O'Con. Oh, sir, say what you please; with such a gift as Lauretta, every word is a compliment. Mrs. Bri. Well, my lovee, I think this will be a good subject for us to quarrel about the rest of our lives. Just. Why, truly, my dear, I think so, though we are seldom at a loss for that. Rosy. This is all as it should-be-My Alexander, I give you joy, and you, my little god-daughter; and now my sincere wish is, that you may make just such a wife as my poor dear Dolly. [Excunt omnes. SCENE I.-The Street before DON JEROME'S House. Enter LOPEZ, with a dark lantern. Lop. Past three o'clock-So! 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. 1 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. 1 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. DONNA LOUISA-replies from a window. Waking, the dawn did bless my sight; TRIO. Don. Louisa. Nay, prithee, father, why so rough? [Exit. How durst you, daughter, lend an ear Quick, from the window, fly! Don Ant. Must you go? Don. Louisa. Don Jer. Don Ant. Don. Louisa. Don Jer. We soon, perhaps, may meet again. The god of love, who knows our pain- 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 stepmother, 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. S'death! hear the conclusion.-I was rated as the most confident ruffian, for daring to approach her room at that hour of 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, When yielding blushes aid their hue. Is her hand so soft and pure? I must press it, to be sure; 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, Antonio, if you did not love my sister, you have too much honour and friendship to supplant me with Clara? AIR. But when his worth my hand shall gain, No word or look of mine shall show 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 tomorrow, 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, But I was glad to find thee poor- 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 villanous 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 incantationsthese 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 sweettempered; 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 menever 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. I 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. 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 thunder-struck! here's treachery and conspiracy 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-duckwhat 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, Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! When scarce in their teens, they have wit to perplex us, 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 headyes, 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. |