Dick. Sayest thou so, my little queen? Why then if dear mother will give us her blessing, the parson shall give us a tack. We'll get her a score of grandchildren, and a merry house we'll make her. [They kneel to Mrs. AMLET. Mrs. Aml. Ah-ha! ha! ha ha! the pretty pair, the pretty pair! Rise my chickens, rise, rise and face the proudest of 'em. And if madam does not deign to give her consent, a fig for her, Dick!-Why, how now?

Clar. Pray, Mrs. Amlet, don't be in a passion, the girl is my husband's girl, and if you can have

his consent, upon my word you shall have mine, for anything belongs to him.

Flip. Then all's peace again, but we have been more lucky than wise.

Aram. And I suppose for us, Clarissa, we are to go on with our dears, as we used to do.

Clar. Just in the same tract, for this late treaty of agreement with 'em was so unnatural you see it could not hold. But 'tis just as well with us as if it had. Well, 'tis a strange fate, good folks! But while you live, everything gets well out of a broil but a husband. [Exeunt omnes.

I've heard wise men in politics lay down
What feats by little England might be done,
Were all agreed, and all would act as one.
Ye wives a useful hint from this might take,
The heavy, old, despotic kingdom shake,
And make your matrimonial monsieurs quake.
Our heads are feeble, and we're cramp'd by laws;
Our hands are weak, and not too strong our cause:
Yet would those heads and hands, such as they are,
In firm confederacy resolve on war,

You'd find your tyrants-what I've found my dear.
What only two united can produce

You've seen to-night, a sample for your use:
Single, we found we nothing could obtain;
We join our force-and we subdued our men.
Believe me (my dear sex) they are not brave;
Try each your man; you'll quickly find your slave.

I know they'll make campaigns, risk blood and life; But this is a more terrifying strife;

They'll stand a shot, who'll tremble at a wife.
Beat then your drums, and your shrill trumpets
sound,

Let all your visits of your feats resound,
And deeds of war in cups of tea go round:
The stars are with you, fate is in your hand,
In twelve months' time you've vanquish'd half the
land;

Be wise, and keep 'em under good command.
This year will to your glory long be known,
And deathless ballads hand your triumphs down;
Your late achievements ever will remain,
For though you cannot boast of many slain,
Your prisoners show you've made

paign

brave cam.

mighty deep. A stander-by, sir, sees more than gamester. You are pleased to be jealous of your poor mistress without a cause. She uses you but too well, in my humble opinion. She sees you, and talks with you, till I am quite tired on't sometimes; and your rival, that you are so scared about, forces a visit upon her about once in a fortnight.

Don Car. Alas! thou art ignorant in these affairs he that's the civilest received is often the least cared for. Women appear warm to one, to hide a flame for another. Lorenzo, in short, appears too composed of late to be a rejected lover; and the indifference he shows upon the favours I seem to receive from her, poisons the pleasure I else should taste in 'em, and keeps me on a perpetual rack. No! I would fain see some of his jealous transports; have him fire at the sight o' me, contradict me whenever I speak, affront me wherever he meets me, challenge me, fight me

San. Run you through the guts.

Don Car. But he's too calm, his heart's too much at ease, to leave me mine at rest.

San. But, sir, you forget that there are two ways for our hearts to get at ease: when our mistresses come to be very fond of us, or we, not to care a fig for them. Now suppose, upon the rebukes you know he has had, it should chance to be the latter.

Don Car. Again thy ignorance appears. Alas!

a lover who has broke his chain will shun the tyrant that enslaved him. Indifference never is his lot; he loves or hates for ever; and if his mistress prove another's prize, he cannot calmly see her in his arms.

Hist, Jacinta, my dear!

Jac. Who's that? Blunderbuss! Where's your master? San. Hard by. [Pointing to DON CARLOS. Jac. O, sir! I'm glad I have found you at last; I believe I have travelled five miles after you, and could neither find you at home, nor in the walks, por at church, nor at the opera, nor

San. Nor anywhere else, where he was not to be found. If you had looked for him where he was, 'twas ten to one but you had met with him. Jac. I had, Jack-a-dandy!

Don Car. But, prithee, what's the matter? who sent you after me?

Jac. One who's never well but when she sees you, I think; 'twas my lady.

Don Car. Dear Jacinta, I fain would flatter myself, but am not able; the blessing's too great to be my lot. Yet 'tis not well to trifle with me: how short soe'er I am in other merit, the tenderness I have for Leonora claims something from her generosity. I should not be deluded.

What

Jac. And why do you think you are? methinks she's pretty well above-board with you. must be done more to satisfy you?

San. Why, Lorenzo must hang himself, and then we are content.

Jac. How! Lorenzo !
San. If less will do, he'll tell you.

Jac. Why, you are not mad, sir, are you? Jealous of him! Pray which way may this have got into your head? I took you for a man of sense before. [To SANCHO.] Is this your doings, Log?

San. No, forsooth, Pert! I'm not much given to suspicion, as you can tell, Mrs. Forward: if I were, I might find more cause, I guess, than your mistress has given our master here. But I have so many pretty thoughts of my own person, housewife, more than I have of yours, that I stand in dread of no man.

Jac. That's the way to prosper; however, so far I'll confess the truth to thee; at least, if that don't do, nothing else will. Men are mighty simple in love-matters, sir. When you suspect a woman's falling off, you fall a-plaguing her to bring her on again, attack her with reason. and a sour face. Udslife, sir! attack her with a fiddie, double your good-humour; give her a ball-powder your peri. wig at her let her cheat you at cards a little-and I'll-warrant all's right again. But to come upon a poor woman with the gloomy face of jealousy, before she gives the least occasion for't, is to set a complaisant rival in too favourable a light. Sir, sir! I must tell you, I have seen those have owed their success to nothing else.

Don Car Say no more, I have been to blame; but there shall be no more on't.

Jac. I should punish you but justly, however, for what's past, if I carried back what I have brought you; but I'm good-natured, so here 'tis ; open it, and see how wrong you timed your jealousy!

Don Car. [Reads.] If you love me with that tenderness you have made me long believe you do, this letter will be welcome; 'tis to tell you, you have leave to plead a daughter's weakness to a father's indulgence: and if you prevail with him to lay his commands upon me, you shall be as happy as my obedience to 'em can make you. LEONORA, Then I shall be what man was never yet.-[Kissing the letter.] Ten thousand blessings on thee for thy news!-I could adore thee as a deity! [Embracing JACINTA. San. True flesh and blood, every inch of her, for all that.

Don Car. [Reads again.] And if you prevail with him to lay his commands upon me, you shall be as happy as my obedience to 'em can make you. -O happy, happy Carlos !-But what shail I say to thee for this welcome message? Alas! I want words. But let this speak for me, and this, and this, and- [Giving her his ring, watch, and purse. San. Hold, sir; pray leave a little something for our board-wages. [To JACINTA.] You can't carry 'em all, I believe: shall I ease thee of this? [Offering to take the purse.

Jac. No; but you may carry-that, sirrah.

[Giving him a box on the ear. San. The jade's grown purse-proud already. Don Car. Well, dear Jacinta, say something to your charming mistress, that I am not able to say myself: but above all, excuse my late unpardon able folly, and offer her my life to expiate my crime.

Jac. The best plea for pardon will be never to repeat the fault.

Don Car. I'll let him see at last I can be cheerful too. Your servant, Don Lorenzo; how do you do this morning?

Don Lor. I thank you, Don Carlos, perfectly well, both in body and in mind.

Don Car. What! cured of your love then? Don Lor. No, nor I hope I never shall. May I ask you how 'tis with yours?

Don Car. Increasing every hour; we are very constant both.

Don Lor. I find so much delight in being so I hope I never shall be otherwise.

Don Car. Those joys I am well acquainted with, but should lose 'em soon were I to meet a cool reception.

Don Lor. That's every generous lover's case, no doubt; an angel could not fire my heart but with an equal flame.

Don Car. And yet you said you still loved Leo

'Tis a poor cordial to an aching heart,

To have the tongue alone announce it happy :
Besides 'tis mean, you should be more a man.
Don Lor. I find I have made you an unhappy one,
So can forgive the boilings of your spleen.

Don Car. This seeming calmness might have the effect your vanity proposes by it, had I not a testimony of her love would (should I show it) sink you to the centre.

Don Lor. Yet still I'm calm as ever.

Don Car. Nay, then have at your peace. Read that, and end the farce. [Gives him LEONORA's letter. Don Lor. [After reading.] I have read it. Don Car. And know the hand?

Don Lor. 'Tis Leonora's; I have often seen it. Don Car. I hope you then at last are satisfied. Don Lor. [Smiling.] I am. Good morrow, Carlos !

[Exit.

San. Sure he's mad, master. Don Car. Mad! sayest thou? San. And yet, by'r Lady, that was a sort of a dry sober smile at going off.

Don Car. A very sober one! Had he show me such a letter, I had put on another countenance. San. Ay, o' my conscience had you.

Don Car. Here's mystery in this-I like it not. San. I see his man and confidant there, Lopez. I

Shall I draw him on a Scotch pair of boots, master, and make him tell all?

Don Car. Some questions I must ask him; call him hither.

San. Hem, Lopez, hem!

Enter LOPEZ.

Lop. Who calls?
San. I and my master.
Lop. I can't stay.

San. You can indeed, sir. [Laying hold on him. Don Car. Whither in such haste, honest Lopez ? What! upon some love-errand ?

Lop. Sir, your servant; I ask your pardon, but I was going

Don Car. I guess where; but you need not be shy of me any more, thy master and I are no longer rivals; I have yielded up the cause; the lady will have it so, so I submit.

Lop. Is it possible, sir? Shall I then live to see my master and you friends again?

San. Yes; and what's better, thou and I shall be friends too. There will be no more fear of Christian bloodshed, I give thee up, Jacinta; she's a slippery housewife, so master and I are going to match ourselves elsewhere.

Lop. But is it possible, sir, your honour should be in earnest? I'm afraid you are pleased to be merry with your poor humble servant.

Don Car. I'm not at present much disposed to mirth, my indifference in this matter is not so thoroughly formed; but my reason has so far mastered my passion, to show me 'tis in vain to pursue a woman whose heart already is another's. 'Tis what I have so plainly seen of late, I have roused my resolution to my aid, and broke my chains for ever.

Lop. Well, sir, to be plain with you, this is the joyfullest news I have heard this long time; for I always knew you to be a mighty honest gentleman, and good faith it often went to the heart o' me to see you so abused. Dear, dear, have I often said to myself (when they have had a private meeting just after you have been gone) —

Don Car. Ha!

San. Hold, master, don't kill him yet.

[Aside to DON CARLOS. Lop. I say I have said to myself, what wicked things are women, and what pity it is they should be suffered in a Christian country! what a shame they should be allowed to play will-in-the-wisp with men of honour, and lead them through thorns and briars, and rocks, and rugged ways, till their hearts are torn in pieces, like an old coat in a foxchase! I say, I have said to myself

Don Car. Thou hast said enough to thyself, but say a little more to me. Where were these secret meetings thou talkest of?

Lop. In sundry places, and by divers ways; sometimes in the cellar, sometimes in the garret, sometimes in the court, sometimes in the gutter; but the place where the kiss of kisses was given

was

Don Car. In hell! Lop. Sir!

Don Car. Speak, fury, what dost thou mean by the kiss of kisses?

Lop. The kiss of peace, sir; the kiss of union the kiss of consummation.

Don Car. Thou liest, villain ! Lop. I don't know but I may, sir.-[Aside.] What the devil's the matter now!

Don Car. There's not one word of truth in all thy cursed tongue has uttered.

Lop. No, sir, I-I-believe there is not.
Don Car. Why then didst thou say it, wretch?
Lop. Oh-only in jest, sir.

Don Cur. I am not in a jesting condition.
Lop. Nor I-at present, sir.

Don Car. Speak then the truth, as thou wouldst do it at the hour of death.

Lop. Yes, at the gallows, and be turned off as soon as I've done. [Aside.

Don Car. What's that you murmur?
Lop. Nothing but a short prayer.

Don Car. [Aside.] I am distracted, and fright the wretch from telling me what I am upon the rack to know.--[Aloud.] Forgive me, Lopez, I am to blame to speak thus harshly to thee. Let this obtain thy pardon.-[Gives him money.] Thou seest I am disturbed.

Lop. Yes, sir, I see I have been led into a snare; I bave said too much.

Don Car. And yet thou must say more; nothing can lessen my torment but a farther knowledge of what causes my misery. Speak then! have I anything to hope?

Lop. Nothing; but that you may be a happier bachelor than my master may probably be a married man.

Don Car. Married, sayest thou?

Lop. I did, sir, and I believe he'll say so too in a twelvemonth.

Don Cur. O torment !-But give me more on't : when, how, to who, where?

Lop. Yesterday, to Leonora, by the parson in the pantry.

Don Car. Look to't, if this be false, thy life shall pay the torment thou hast given me. Begone! Lop. With the body and the soul o'me. [Exit.

San. Base news, master.

Don Car. Now my insulting rival's smile speaks out: O cursed, cursed woman!

Re-enter JACINTA.

Jac. I'm come in haste to tell you, sir, that as soon as the moon's up, my lady'll give you a meeting in the close-walk by the back-door of the garden; she thinks she has something to propose to you will certainly get her father's consent to marry you.

Don Car. Past sufferance! This aggravation is not to be borne. Go, thank her-with my curses. And let 'em blast her, while their venom's strong. [Exit.

Fly!

Jac. Won't thou explain? What's this storm for? San. And darest thou ask me questions, smoothfaced iniquity, crocodile of Nile, siren of the rocks! Go, carry back the too gentle answer thou hast received; only let me add with the poet :We are no fools, trollop, my master, nor me; And thy mistress may go-to the devil with thee. [Exit.

Jac. Am I awake!-I fancy not; a very idle dream this. Well I'll go talk in my sleep to my lady about it; and when I awake, we'll try what interpretation we can make on't. [Exit

DON ALVAREZ.

Enter CAMILLO and ISABella.

Isab. How can you doubt my secrecy? have you not proofs of it?

Cam. Nay, I am determined to trust you; but are we safe here? can nobody overhear us?

Isab. Safer much than in a room. Nobody can come within hearing before we see 'em.

Cam. And yet how hard 'tis for me to break silence !

Isab. Your secret sure must be of great import

ance.

Cam. You may be sure it is, when I confess 'tis with regret I own it e'en to you; and, were it possible, you should not know it.

Isab. 'Tis frankly owned indeed; but 'tis not kind, perhaps not prudent, after what you know I already am acquainted with. Have I not been bred up with you? and am I ignorant of a secret which, were it known

Cam. Would be my ruin; I confess it would. I own you know why both my birth and sex are thus disguised; you know how I was taken from my cradle to secure the estate which had else been lost by young Camillo's death; but which is now safe in my supposed father's hands, by my passing for his son and 'tis because you know all this, I have resolved to open farther wonders to you. But,

which often gives me great disturbance; whether Don Alvarez ever was himself privy to the mystery which has disguised my sex, and made me pass for his son ?

Isab. What you ask me is a thing has often perplexed my thoughts as well as yours, nor could my mother ever resolve the doubt. You know when that young child Camillo died, in whom was wrapped up so much expectation, from the great estate his uncle's will (even before he came into the world) had left him; his mother made a secret of his death to her husband Alvarez, and readily fell in with a proposal made her to take you (who then were just Camillo's age) and bring you up in his room. You have heard how you were then at nurse with my mother, and how your own was privy and consenting to the plot; but Don Alvarez was never let into it by 'em.

Cam. Don't you then think it probable his wife might after tell him?

Isab. 'Twas ever thought nothing but a deathbed repentance could draw it from her to any one; and that was prevented by the suddenness of her exit to t'other world, which did not give her even time to call Heaven's mercy on her. And yet, now I have said all this, I own the correspondence and friendship I observe he holds with your real mother gives me some suspicion, and the presents he often makes her (which people seldom do for