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Enter MAID, with a Letter. Louisa. My father's answer, I suppose. Ant. My dearest Louisa, you may be assured, that it contains nothing but threats and reproaches.
Clara. It is indeed, signior. Ferd. So, sog now but one question morecan you inform me for what purpose they have gone away?
Clara. They are gone to be married, I
Louisa. Let us see, however - [Reads] believe. "Dearest daughter, make your lover happy; Ferd. Very well-enough-now if I don't you have my full consent to marry as your mar their wedding! whim has chosen, but be sure come home Clara. [Unveils] I thought jealousy bad and sup with your affectionate father." made lovers quick-sighted, but it has made mine blind-Louisa's story accounts to me
Ant. You jest, Louisa! Louisa. [Gives him the Letter] Read- for this error, and I am glad to find I have read. power enough over him to make him so unAnt. "Tis so, by Heavens!-sure there must happy. But why should not I be present at be some mistake; but that's none of our bu- his surprise when undeceived? When he's siness-Now, Louisa, you have no excuse through the porch, I'll follow him; and perhaps, for delay. Louisa shall not singly be a bride. Louisa. Shall we not then return and thank my father?
Ant. But first let the priest put it out of Adieu, thou dreary pile, where never dies his power to recall his word—I'll fly to pro- The sullen echo of repentant sighs! Ye sister mourners of each lonely cell,
Louisa. Nay, if you part with me again, Inured to hymns and sorrow, fare ye well! perhaps you may lose me. For happier scenes I fly this darksome grove, saints a prison, but a tomb to love! [Erit
Ant. Come then-there is a friar of a neigh-To bouring 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.
Louisa. I'm afraid not, Antonio-for in religion, as in friendship, they who profess most are ever the least sincere. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.-A Court before the Priory.
Ant. What, my friend Isaac!
Ant. Have you?—I wish you joy with all my soul.
Isaac. Yes, I am come here to procure a priest to marry us.
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 to Don Jerome. [Lets down her veil.
Enter FERDINAND. Ferd. Yes, those were certainly they-my information was right. [Going. Clara. [Stops him] Pray, signior, what is your business here?
Ferd. No matter
Ant. So, then we arc both on the same errand; I am come to look for Father Paul, Isanc. Hah! I am glad on't-but, faith, he must tack me first; my love is waiting, Art. So is mine. I left her in the porch. Isaac. Ay, but I am in haste to get back
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're obliged to me for all this. Ant. Yes, yes.
-no matter Oh, they SCENE V.-A Room in the Priory.-FRIAKS stop-[Looks out] Yes, that is the perfidious at the Table, drinking, Clara indeed!
Clara. So, a jealous erroror--I'm glad to see him so moved. [Aside. Ferd. Her disguise can't conceal her-No, no, I know her too well.
Clara. Wonderful discernment! but, signiorFerd. Be quiet, good nun; don't tease meBy Heavens, she leans upon his arm, hangs fondly on it! O woman! woman!
GLEE AND CHORUS.
This bottle's the sun of our table,
Clara. But signior, who is it you want?
Paul. Brother Francis, toss the bottle about,
tease me. Yet pray stay-gentle nun, was it not Donna Clara d'Almanza just parted from you?
Clara. Clara d'Almanza, signior, is not yet out of the garden.
Ferd. Ay, ay, I knew I was right pray is not that gentleman, now at the porch with her, Antonio d'Ercilla?
Francis. Have we drank the abbess of St. Ursuline?
Paul. Yes, yes; she was the last. Francis. Then I'll give you the blue-eyed nun of St. Catharine's.
Paul. With all my heart. [Drinks] Pay, brother Augustine, were there any benefactions left in my absence?
ug. Don Juan Corduba has left a hundred Bloated I am, indeed! for fasting is a windy ats, to remember him in our masses. Paul. Has he? let them be paid to our wine chant, and we'll remember him in our s, which will do just as well. Any thing e?
recreation, and it hath swoln me like a bladder. Ant. But thou hast a good fresh colour in thy face, father; rosy, i'faith.
ug. Yes; Baptista, the rich miser, who last week, has bequeathed us a thousand
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 oles, and the silver lamp he used in his purpose? they continue to sin under my chamber, to burn before the image of very nose. Anthony. Isaac. Ifecks, father, I should have guessed Paul. Twas well meant, but we'll employ as much, for your nose seems to be put to money better-Baptista's bounty shall light the blush more than any other part of your. living, not the dead.-St. Anthony is not face. id to be left in the dark, though he waswho's there.
[4 knocking, Francis goes to the door, and opens it.
Porter. Here's one without in pressing haste
[Paul comes from behind a curtain,
Paul. Go, you're a wag.
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.
Ant. And I have in my hand many weighty reasons for it. Isaac, hav'n'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.
Francis. Not by a bottle each. Paul. But neither you nor your fellows rk how the hours go-no, you mind nothing. the gratifying of your appetites: ye eat swill, and sleep, and gormandize, and ive, while we are wasting in mortification. Paul. Well, when your hour of repentance Porter. We ask no more than nature craves. comes, don't blame me. Paul. Tis false, ye have more appetites Ant. No bad caution to my friend Isaac. an hairs! and your flushed, sleek, and pam- [Aside] Well, well, father, do you do your red appearance is the disgrace of our order-part, and l'il abide the consequence. t on't If you are hungry, can't you be ntent with the wholesome roots of the earth;
Ant. Now then, come with us.
Isaac. Ay, now give us your title to joy and rapture.
d if you are dry, isn't there the crystal ring? [Drinks] Put this away, [Gives a ass] and show me where I'm wanted. Porter draws the glass. Paul, going, rns] So, you would have drank it, if there ad been any left. Ah, glutton! glutton!
SCENE VI.—The Court before the Priory
Enter ISAAC and ANTONIO. Isaae. A plaguy while coming, this same ather Paul-He's detained at vespers, I supose, poor fellow.
Ant. No, here he comes.
ood Father Paul, I crave your blessing. Isaac. Yes, good Father Paul, we are come beg a favour.
Paul. What is it, pray?
Isaac. To marry us, good Father Paul; nd in truth thou dost look the very priest of Hymen.
Isaac. Ay, and so will I. [They are going."
Enter LOUISA, running.
Louisa. O, Antonio, Ferdinand is at the porch, and inquiring for us.
Isaac. Who? Don Ferdinand! he's not inquiring for me, I hope.
Ant. Fear not, my love; I'll soon pacify him. Isaac. Egad, you won't-Antonio, take my most unmerciful dog! and has the cursedest advice, and run away: this Ferdinand is the long sword!-and, upon my soul, he comes on purpose to cut your throat.
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 marry me again, while I am master of a pair of heels. [Runs out.
Ferd. So, sir, I have met with you at last.
Ferd. Base, treacherous man! whence can a false, deceitful soul, like yours, borrow confidence to look so steadily on the man you've
Paul. In short, I may be called so: for I injured? eal in repentance and mortification. Ant. Ferdinand, you are too warm: Isaac. No, no, thou seemest an officer of true you find me on the point of wedding lymen, because thy presence speaks content one I love beyond my life; but no argument nd good humour. of mine prevailed on her to elope - I scorn Paul. Alas! my appearance is deceitful.deceit, as much as you--By Heaven I knew
not she had left her father's, till I saw her. Ferd. What a mean excuse! You have wronged your friend, then, for one, whose wanton forwardness anticipated your treachery
Wordy vows of feign'd regard;
Kind to those who wed for love. [Exeunt
of this, indeed, your Jew pander informed me; but let your conduct be consistent, and SCENE VIL-4 Grand Saloon. since you have dared to do a wrong, follow me, and show you have a spirit to avow it. Enter DON JEROME, Servants, and LOPEZ Louisa. Antonio, I perceive his mistake- Jerome. Be sure now let every thing be in leave him to me. the best order-let all my servants have ou Paul. Friend, you are rude, to interrupt their merriest faces — but tell them to get ar the union of two willing hearts, little drunk as possible, till after supper. So, Ferd. No, meddling priest, the hand he seeks Lopez, where's your master? sha'n't we has is mine. him at supper?»
Paul. If so, I'll proceed no further. Lady, Lopez. Indeed, I believe not, sir-he's mad, did you ever promise this youth your hand? I doubt; I'm sure he has frighted me from him. [To Louisa, who shakes her head. Jerome. Ay, ay, he's after some wench, I Ferd. Clara, I thank you for your silence-suppose? a young rake! Well, well, we'll be I would not have heard your tongue avow merry without him. such falsity, be't your punishment to remember I have not reproached you.
Clara. What mockery is this?
Ferd. Antonio, you are protected now, but we shall meet.
[Going, Clara holds one Arm,
Louisa the other.
Louisa. Turn thee round, I pray thee,
Clara. I must help to stay thee,
Louisa. Couldst thou not discover
Clara, Canst thou be a lover,
And thus fly from me? [Beth unveil. Ferd. How's this! my sister! Clara tooI'm confounded.
Louisa. Tis even so, good brother. Paul. How! what impiety! Did the man want to marry his own sister?
Louisa. And ar'n't you ashamed of yourself, not to know your own sister?
Clara. To drive away your own mistressLouisa. Don't you see how jealousy blinds people?
Clara. Ay, and will you ever be jealous again?
Ferd. Never-never-you, sister, I know will forgive me-but how, Clara, shall I pre
Sero. Sir, here is Siguior Isaac.
Jerome. 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.
Jerome. Oh, fly and bring her in. [Erit Isaak] Poor girl, I long to see her pretty face. Isaac. [Without] Come, my charmer! my trembling angel!
Enter ISAAC and DUENNA; DON JEROME runs to meet them; she kneels. Jerome, Come to my arms, my-[Starts back] Why, who the devil bave we here?
Isuac. Nay, Don Jerome, you promised ber forgiveness; see how the dear creature droops! Jerome. 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!
Jerome. Wife with a vengeance! Why, zounds, you have not married the Duenna! Duenna. [Kneeling] 0, dear papa! you'll not disown me, sure!
Jerome. 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
Duenna. Oh, sir, forgive me!
Jerome. Help! murder!
Servants. What's the matter, sir? Jerome. Why, here, this damned Jew bas brought an old harridan to strangle me. Isaac. Lord, it is his own daughter, and be so hard-hearted he won't forgive her. Enter ANTONIO and LocISA; they kneel Jerome. Zounds and fury! what's here now? who sent for you, sir, and who the del are you?
Aut. This lady's husband, sir.
Isaac. Ay, that he is, I'll be sworn; forl left them with the priest, and was to have given her away.
Jerome. You were?
Isaac, Ay; that's my honest frient, n tonio: and that's the little girl, I love you had hampered him with.
Jerome. Why, you are either drunk se mad-this is my daughter.
Isaac. No, no; 'tis you are both drunk and mad, I think-here's your daughter.
Jerome. Hark ye, old iniquity, will you explain all this, or not?
Duenna. Come then, Don Jerome, I will- don't as though our habits might inform you all-look on your daughter, there, and on me. Isaac. What's this I hear?
Duenna. 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.
Jerome. And, O lud! here's a pretty fellow, to marry an old Duenna instead of my daughter-but how came the rest about?
him, Margaret me
Louisa. Sir, in metas
Jerome. My com
Ant. Yes, sir; here is journa
Duenna. I have only to add, that I remained in your daughter's place, and had the child by a trick, a false pretest. good fortune to engage the affections of my think to get her fortune by sele sweet husband here. Why, 'slife, you are as great
Isaac. Her husband! why, you old witch, Isaac! do you think I'll be your husband now? this Ant. No, Don Jerome; though I have ques is a trick, a cheat, and you ought all to be fited by this paper, in gaining your vers ashamed of yourselves. hand, I scorn to obtain her fortune by one Ant. Hark ye, Isaac, do you dare to com- There, sir. [Gives a Letter] Now y plain of tricking?-Don Jerome, I give you your blessing for a dower, and all for the my word, this cunning Portuguese has brought I possess shall be settled on her in reture, all this upon himself, by endeavouring to Had you wedded her to a prince, he cou overreach you, by getting your daughter's do no more.
fortune, without making any settlement in Jerome. Why, gad take me, but you are
Jerome. Overreach me!
Louisa. 'Tis so, indeed, sir, and we prove it to you.
a very extraordinary fellow! But have you the impudence to suppose no one can do a can 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 Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love-in the wrong; but you shall now find me as let you alone for the plot.
Jerome. Why, gad take me, it must be so, or he could never have put up with such a face as Margaret's-so, little Solomon, I wish you joy of your wife, with all my soul.
Ant. A cunning dog, ar'n't you? A sly little villain, heh?
Louisa. Roguish, perhaps; but keen, ish keen.
Jerome. Yes, yes; his aunt always him little Solomon.
steady in the right.
Enter FERDINAND and CLARA. Another wonder still! why, sirrah! Ferdinand, you have not stole a nun, have you?
Ferd. She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sir-look nearer, and you will perceive Isaac. Why, the plagues of Egypt upon 'tis Clara D'Almanza, Don Guzman's daughyou all!-but do you think I'll submit to such ter; and, with pardon for stealing a wedding, an imposition?
she is also my wife.
Ant. Isaak, one serious word-you'd better Jerome. Gadsbud, and a great fortune.be content as you are; for, believe me, you Ferdinand, you are a prudent young rogue, will find, that, in the opinion of the world, and I forgive you: and, ifecks, you are a there is not a fairer subject for contempt and pretty little damsel. Give your father-in-law ridicule, than a knave become the dupe of his a kiss, you smiling rogue.
Clara. There, old gentleman; and now mind
Isaac. I don't care-I'll not endure this. you behave well to us. Don Jerome, 'tis you have done this you Jerome. Ifecks, those lips ha'n't been chilled would be so cursed positive about the beauty by kissing beads-Egad, I believe I shall grow of her you locked up, and all the time, I told the best humoured fellow in Spain-Lewis! ou she was as old as my mother, and as Sancho! Carlos! d'ye hear? are all my doors gly as the devil. thrown open? Our children's weddings are Duenna. Why, you little insignificant the only holidays our age can boast; and then eptile! we drain, with pleasure, the little stock of Jerome. That's right—attack him, Margaret. spirits time has left us. [Music within] But Duenna, Dare such a thing as you pretend see, here come our friends and neighbours!
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay, And, 'faith, we'll make a night on't, with wine, Till we banish care away. and dance, and catches-then old and young shall join us.
Jerome. Come now for jest and smiling,
Louisa. Thus crown'd with dance and song,
With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees
Ferd. Each bride with blushes glowing,
Ant. Then healths to every friend,
Clara. Nor, while we are so joyous,
Jerome. For generous guests like these
So we'll laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
MAYOR OF GARRAT.
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
This after-piece was, for a long period, attributed to Mr. Garrick, but it is now known to have been the production of the Rev. James Townley, the master of Merchant Tailors' School. The main idea of it appears to have been sig gested by the Spectator, No. 88, in which it is observed. "Falling-in the other day at a victualling-house near the house of Peers, I heard the maid come down and tell the landlady at the bar, that my Lord Bishop were be would throw her out at the window, if she did not bring up more mild beer, and that my Lord Duke would have a donkla mug of purl. My surprise was increased, in hearing loud and rustic voices speak and answer to each other span the public affairs, by the names of the most illustrious of our nobility; till of a sudden one came ranging in, and cried the house was rising, Down came all the company together, and away! The ale-house was immediately filled with clamour, and scoring one mug to the Marquis of such a place, oil and vinegar to such an Earl, three quaris to my new Lord for wetting his title, and so forth " A most important reform was effected, by this well-timed expert, in the manners and habits of both servants and masters; the wastefulness and infidelity of the former were never more ca spicuous than about 1759, when this piece was first acted Amidst all the fluctuations of dramatic taste, it has for more than half a century received constant applause, and is on the stock-list of all the theatres in the kingdom.
SCENE I.-An Apartment in FREEMAN's House.
Lovel? I always told you, that there is
Lov. Tis with some difficulty I believe now, Mr. Freeman; though, I must ow my expenses often make me stare:-Philip, Lov. Some time-I am now convinced of am sure, is an honest fellow; and I will swear what you have so often been hinting to me, for my blacks;-if there is a rogue among my that I am confoundedly cheated by my servants. folks, it is that surly dog, Tom. Free. You are mistaken in every one. Phil
Free. Oh! are you satisfied at last, Mr.