Coм. Opera by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Acted at Covent Garden, 1775. This piece (the plot of which re borrowed from Il Filosofo di Campagna, from Moliere's Sicilien, and from The Wonder of Mrs. Centlivre) ** ceived with applause by crowded audiences through a run of sixty-five nights, during the first season of its appears In the following year, it was repeated at least thirty times, and still continues a favourite with the public. It ex so happy a mixture of true humour and musical excellence, that it deservedly stands second on the list of its k performances. The Beggar's Opera perhaps will always remain the first, says the Biographia Dramatica; but Byron maintains that Sheridan wrote the best comedy (School for Scandal), the best Opera (Ducnna), the best fara (Critic), and the best speech (the famous Begum speech) in the English language; and calls the Beggar's Opera, i St. Giles's production. a LAY BROTHER. DONNA LOUISA THE DUENNA. That, though my sleeping love shall know you awaked her. Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you, [Singa Enter LOPEZ, with a dark lantern. Lop. PAST three o'clock! soh! a notable hour for one of my regular disposition, to be 1 Mask. Antonio, your mistress will ne strolling like a bravo through the streets of wake, while you sing so dolefully: love, lik Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody, lover is the hardest-not that I am an enemy Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. to love; but my love, and my master's, differ 1 Mask. The reason is, because you strangely-Don Ferdinand is much too gallant she does not regard you enough to appe to eat, drink, or sleep-now, my love gives if 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: soh! 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. LOUISA replies from a Window. DON JEROME-from a Window. SCENE 2.] To such deceitful stuff? Louisa. Ant. We soon, perhaps, may meet For though hard fortune is our The god of love will fight for us. Jerome. Hence, or these slugs are through [Exeunt severally. SCENE II.-A Piazza. 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? 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. Ant. Happy Ferdinand! Ferd. 'Sdeath! hear the conclusion-I was rated as the most confident ruffian, for daring to approach her room at that hour of night. Ant. Ay, ay, this was at first? Ferd. No such thing; she would not hear Ferd. Peace, fool, don't mention sleep to me. Ferd. At last! why, I was forced to leave Ferd. Peace, booby, I say!-Oh Clara, Ferd. 'Sdeath! to trifle with me at such a Ferd. Or is it, that her sex never know Ferd. Is there, in the world, so inconstant Lopez. I could name one. Ferd. Yes; the tame fool, who submits to r caprice. Ant. And did you do nothing to offend her? Ferd. Nothing, as I hope to be saved-I believe, I might snatch a dozen or two of kisses. Ant. Was that all? well, I think, I never heard of such assurance! Ferd. Zounds! I tell you, I behaved with the utmost respect. Ant. O Lord! I don't mean you, but in her —but, hark ye, Ferdinand, did you leave your key with them? Ferd. Yes; the maid, who saw me out, took it from the door. Ant. Then, my life for it, her mistress elopes after you. Ferd. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps—I am in a humour to suspect every body-you loved her once, and thought her an angel, as I do now. Lopez. I thought he couldn't miss it. Ferd. Is she not capricious, teasing, tyranAnt. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't cal, obstinate, perverse, absurd? ay, a wilrness of faults and follies; her looks are love me, and then I discovered that she hadn't orn, and her very smiles-'Sdeath! I wish I a good feature in her face. dn't mentioned her smiles; for she does ile such beaming loveliness, such fascinating ightness-Oh, death and madness! I shall e if I lose her. Lopez. Oh, those damned smiles have unne all! Lopez. Here comes Don Antonio, sir. Ferd. Well, go you home-I shall be there! -esently. Lopez. Ah, those cursed smiles! Enter ANTONIO. [Exit. Ferd. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you anting before our door-was my father aked? AIR. I ne'er could any lustre see In eyes that would not look on me; That heaving bosom sigh for me. Ferd. As far as I can, consistently with the honour of our family, you know I will; but there must be no eloping. Ant. And yet, now, you would carry off herence to what he has once said, you have Clara? formed this plan for my escape – But have Ferd. Ay, that's a different case-we never you secured my maid in our interest? mean that others should act to our sisters and Duenna. She is a party in the whole; let wives, as we do to others'-But, to-morrow, remember, if we succeed, you resign all right Clara is to be forced into a convent. and title in little Isaac, the Jew, over to me Ant. Well, and am not I so unfortunately Louisa. That I do with all my soul; t circumstanced? To-morrow, your father forces him, if you can, and I shall wish you jes Louisa to marry Isaac, the Portuguese- but most heartily. He is twenty times as rich come with me, and we'll devise something, I my poor Antonio. Ferd. But, Antonio, if you did not love my sister, you have too much honour and friendship to supplant me with Clara. Enter LOUISA and DUENNA. Louisa. But, my dear Margaret, my charming Duenna, do you think we shall succeed? Duenna. It tell you again, I have no doubt on't; but it must be instantly put to the trial -Every thing is prepared in your room, and for the rest, we must trust to fortune. Louisa. My father's oath was, never to see me till I had consented to AIR. Thou canst not boast of fortune's store, Duenna. I hear Don Jerome comingQuick, give me the last letter I brought from Antonio-you know that is to be ground of my dismission-I must ship or seal it up, as undelivered. Enter DON JEROME and FERDINAND, Jerome. What, I suppose, you have m serenading too! Eh, disturbing some pear neighbourhood with villanous catgut, and civious piping! Out on't! you set your here, a vile example; but I come to tell madam, that I'll suffer no more of these night incantations-these amorous orgies, steal the senses in the hearing; as, they Egyptian embalmers serve mummies, extra the brain through the ears; however, ther an end of your frolics-Isaac Mendoza be here presently, and to-morrow you marry him. Louisa. Never, while I have life. Ferd. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you c think of such a man for a son-inlaw. Jerome. Sir, you are very kind, to fa ine with your sentiments-and pray, what your objection to him? Ferd. He is a Portuguese, in the first p Jerome. No such thing, boy; he bas sworn his country. Louisa. He is a Jew. Jerome. Another mistake: he has been Christian these six weeks. Ferd. Ay, he left his old religion for estate, and has not had time to get a new o Louisa. But stands like a dead wall betw church and synagogue, or like the blank lea between the Old and New Testament. Jerome. Any thing more? Ferd. But the most remarkable part of character is his passion for deceit and tria Duenna. 'Twas thus I overheard him say of cunning. to his friend, Don Gusman, -'I will demand Louisa. Though at the same time, the of her to-morrow, once for all, whether she predominates so much over the knave, that will consent to marry Isaac Mendoza; if she am told he is generally the dupe of his hesitates, I will make a solemn oath never to art. see or speak to her, till she returns to her Ferd. True, like an unskilful gunner, duty-These were his words. usually misses his aim, and is hurt by the ad-coil of his own piece. Louisa. And on his known obstinate Jerome. Any thing more? ness, and my father's anger will probably only Louisa. To sum up all, he has the worst increase her affection.-In our intercourse with ault a husband can have-he's not my choice. the world, it is natural for us to dislike those Jerome. But you are his; and choice on who are innocently the cause of our distress; ne side is sufficient-two lovers should never but in the heart's attachment a woman never neet in marriage-be you sour as you please, likes a man with ardour till she has suffered e is sweet-tempered, and for your good fruit, for his sake. [Noise] Soh! what bustle is here's nothing like ingrasting on a crab. here! between my father and the Duenna too Louisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall-I'll e'en get out of the way. en times more as a husband. [Exit. Enter DON JEROME with a Letter, pulling in the DUENNA. Jerome. I'm astonish'd! I'm thunderstruck! Jerome. I don't know that-marriage genelly makes a great change-but, to cut the atter short, will you have him or not? Louisa. There is nothing else I could dis- here's treachery and conspiracy with a veney you in. geance! you, Antonio's creature, and chief Jerome. Do you value your father's peace? manager of this plot for my daughter's elop Louisa. So much, that I will not fasten on ing! you, that I placed here as a scare-crow? m the regret of fmaking an only daughter Duenna. What? retched. Jerome. A scare-crow-to prove a decoyJerome. Very well, ma'am, then mark me duck-what have you to say for yourself? never more will I see or converse with you Duenna. Well, sir, since you have forced I you return to your duty-no reply-this that letter from me, and discovered my real d your chamber shall be your apartments: sentiments, I scorn to renounce them. I am never will stir out, without leaving you Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that der lock and key, and when I'm at home your daughter should have served you as all creature can approach you but through such old tyranuical sots should be served—I library--we'll try who can be most obsti- delight in the tender passions, and would hee-out of my sight-there remain till you friend all under their influence. ow your duty. [Pushes her out. Jerome. The tender passions! yes, they Ferd. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations would become those impenetrable features!_ uld be consulted in a matter of this kind, why, thou deceitful hag! I placed thee as a 1 some regard paid to Don Antonio, being guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's particular friend. Terome. That, doubtless, is a very ommendation I certainly have not ficient respect to it. beauty-I thought that dragon's front of thine great would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry-steel paid traps and spring guns1) seemed writ in every wrinkle of it--but you shall quit my house Ferd. There is not a man living I would this instant-the tender passions, indeed! go, ner choose for a brotherin-law. thou wanton sybil, thou amorous woman of erome. Very possible; and if you happen Endor, go! have e'er a sister, who is not at the same Duenna. You base, scurrilous, old — but I e a daughter of mine, I'm sure I shall have won't demean myself by naming what you objection to the relationship-but at pre-are-yes, savage, I'll leave your den; but I t, if you please, we'll drop the subject." suppose you don't mean to detain my apparel Ferd. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my I may have my things, I presume? er makes me speak. Jerome. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe on-what have you pilfered, heh? erome. Then pray, sir, in future, let your ard for your father make you hold your gue. erd. I have done, sir—I shall only add a h that you would reflect what at our age I would have felt, had you been crossed your affection for the mother of her you so severe to. Duenna. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress; she has valuables of mine: besides, my cardinal and veil are in her room. Jerome. 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! soh! you quit erome. Why, I must confess I had a great the house within these five minutes In-inction for your mother's ducats, but that quick. [Exit Duenna] Here was a precious all, boy-I married her for her fortune, plot of mischief! these are the comforts daugh she took me in obedience to her father, ters bring us! a very happy couple we were-we never ected any love from one another, and so AIR. were never disappointed-if we grumbled If a daughter you have, she's the plague of ttle now and then, it was soon over, for were never fond enough to quarrel; and No peace shall you know, though you've Lu en the good woman died, why, why-I had your life, ried your wife! lieve she had lived, and I wish every wi- At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught ver in Seville could say the same-I shall her go and get the key of this dressing-room Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! o, good son, if you have any lecture in port of disobedience to give your sister, it st be brief; so make the best of your time, e bear? [Exit. Ferd. I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio has eto hope for-however, Louisa bas firm 1) "Steel-traps and spring-guns," is generally written on the doors of gardens near London, in order to deter thieves from entering the garden and stealing the fruit these things have done a great deal of harm, and taken away the life of many an innocent person, accidentally walking in the garden. [Louisa turns, and sees Clara and Mas Clara-if it be, I'll trust her.--Clara. [Advanc father. Clara. Surprised indeed! and I should on tainly chide you must horridly, only the have just run away from mine. Louisa. My dear Clara! [Embr Clara. Dear sister truant! and whither & Enter LOUISA, dressed as the DUENNA, with Cardinal and Veil, seeming to cry. Jerome. This way, mistress, this waywhat, I warrant, a tender parting; sob! tears of turpentine down those deal cheeks-Ay, you may well hide your head-yes, whine till you going? your heart breaks; but I'll not hear one word Louisa. To find the man I love, to be s of excuse-so you are right to be dumb, this-And, I presume, you would have no as way, this way. [Exeunt. sion to meet my brother? Enter DUENNA. Clara. Indeed I should-he has behaves ill to me, I don't believe I shall ever for AIR. Duenna. So speed you well, sagacious Don him. Jerome! Oh, rare effects of passion and obstinacy-now shall I try whether I can't play When sable night, each drooping plaid 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 LOUISA. Jerome. 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 Louisa Soh! 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 CLARA and her MAID. Maid. But where, madam, is it you intend to go? Clara. Any where to avoid the selfish violence of my mother-in-law, and Ferdinand's insolent importunity. storing, Wept o'er the flowers her breath did cer One hour from love and care to rest, I fear'd my treacherous heart might Louisa. Well, for all this, I would t sent him to plead his pardon, but that]w not yet a while have him know of my And where do you hope to find protectiv Clara. The Lady Abbess of the conve St. Catherine is a relation and kind frien mine-I shall be secure with her, and had best go thither with me. 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 Louisa. No; I am determined to find were only to thank him. tonio first; and, as I live, here comes " very man I will employ to seek him for Clara. Who is he? he's a strange figur Louisa. Yes; that sweet creature i man whom my father has fixed on for Clara. No-he has offended me exceedingly. [Retire. Enter LOUISA. Clara. And will you speak to him? Louisa. So I have succeeded in being turn-husband. ed out of doors-but how shall I find Antonio? I dare not inquire for him, for fear of you mad? being discovered; I would send to my friend Louisa. He is the fittest man in the wo Clara, but that I doubt her prudery would for my purpose-for, though I was to married him to-morrow, he is the only Maid. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to in Seville, who, I am sure, never saw try if your friend Donna Louisa would no his life. receive you. condemn me. Clara. And how do you know him? |