Rom. No! Too much of your blood is upon my head! Be justly revenged: take mine!

(Music continues as Romaldi offers the pistol which Francisco throws to a distance, and entreats him to fly by the valley. Romaldi

signifies the impossibility, and runs distractedly from side to side: then, after Francisoo's and Selina's entreaties, ascends to cross the bridge. Met at the edge of the hill by an Archer, he is driven back; they struggle on the bridge. The Archer's sword taken by Romaldi, who again attempting fight is again met by several Archers. Romaldi maintains a retreating fight. Fiamitta, Bonamo, Stephano, Montano, and Peasants, follow the Archers. Francisco and Selina, in the greatest agitation, several

times throw themselves between the assailants and Romaldi. When the combatants have descended the hill, Romaldi's foot slips, he falls, and Francisco intervenes to guard his body. By this time all the principal characters are near the front. The Archers appear prepared to shoot, and strike with their sabres; when the entreaties and efforts of Francisco and Selina are renewed. The Archers forbear for a moment; and Francisco shields his brother. The music ceases.) Sel. Oh, Forbear! Let my father's virtues plead for my uncle's errors!

Bon. We all will entreat for mercy; since of mercy we all have need: for his sake, and for our own, may it be freely granted.

(The curtain falls to slow and solemn music.

SCENE I.-A Street.

Enter DON LOPEZ, meeting FREDERICK.
Fred. My lord, Don Lopez.
Lop. How dy'e, Frederick?

Fred. At your lordship's service. I am glad to see you look so well, my lord; I hope Antonio's out of danger?

Lop. Quite the contrary; his fever increases, they tell me, and the surgeons are of opinion his wound is mortal.

Fred. Your son, Don Felix, is safe, I hope? Lo.p I hope so too; but they offer large rewards to apprehend him.

Fred. When heard your lordship from him? Lop. Not since he went. I forbad him writing 'till the public news gave him an account of Antonio's health. Letters might be intercepted, and the place of his abode discovered; however, No. 10.-THE BRITISH DRAMA.

if Antonio dies, Felix shall for England. You have been there; what sort of people are the English?

Fred. My lord, the English are, by nature, what the ancient Romans were by discipline, courageous, bold, hardy, and in love with liberty. Liberty is the idol of the English, under whose banner all the nation enlists. Give but the word for liberty, and straight more armed legions would appear, than France and Philip keep in constant pay.

Lop. I like their principles. Who does not wish for freedom in all degrees of life? though common prudence sometimes makes us act against it, as I am now obliged to do: for I intend to marry my daughter to Don Guzman, whom I expect from Holland every day, whither he went to take possession of a large estate left him by his uncle. .J

Fred. You will not, surely, sacrifice the lovely

Isabella to age, avarice, and a fool? Pardon the expression, my lord, but my concern for your beauteous daughter transports me beyond that good manners which I ought to pay to your lordship's presence.

Lop. I can't deny the justness of the character, Frederick; but you are not insensible what I have suffered by these wars; and he has two things which render him very agreeable to me for a sonin-law. he is rich and well-born. As for his being a fool, I don't conceive how that can be any blot in a husband, who is already possessed of a good estate. A poor fool, indeed, is a very scandalous thing; and so are your poor wits, in my opinion, who have nothing to be vain of but the inside of their skulls. Now, for Don Guzman, I know I can rule him as I think fit; this is acting the politic part, Frederick, without which it is impossible to keep up the port of this life.

Fred. But have you no consideration for your daughter's welfare, my lord?

Lop. Is a husband of twenty thousand crowns a year no consideration? Now, I think it a very good consideration.

Fred. One way, my lord, but what will the world say of such a match?

Lop. Sir, I value not the world a button. Fred. I cannot think your daughter can have any inclination for such a husband.

Lop. There I believe you are pretty much in the right; though it is a secret which I never had the curiosity to inquire into, nor, I believe, ever shall. Inclination, quotha! Parents would have a fine time ou't, if they consulted their children's inclinations! No, no, sir, it is not a father's business to follow his children's inclinations till he makes himself a beggar.

Fred. But this is of another nature, my lord.

Lop. Lookye, sir, I resolve she shall marry Don Guzman, the moment he arrives; though I could not govern my son, I will my daughter, I assure

Enter LISSARDO, in a riding habit.
Lissardo! From whence came you?
Lis. That letter will inform you, sir.
Fred. I hope your master's safe?

Lis. I left him so; I have another to deliver, which requires haste. Your most humble servant, sir.

Fred. To Violante, I suppose?
Lis. The same.

[Exit. Fred. (Reads.) "Dear Frederick, the two chief blessings of this life are, a friend and á mistress to be debarred the sight of those is not to live. I hear nothing of Antonio's death, and therefore resolve to venture to the house this evening. impatient to see Violante, and embrace my friend. Yours, FELIX." Pray heaven, he comes undisco

vered. Ha! Colonel Briton.

Enter COLONEL BRITON, in a riding habit. Col. B. Frederick, I rejoice to see thee. Fred. What brought you to Lisbon, Colonel! Col. B. La fortune de la guerre, as the French say; I have commanded these three last years in Spain, but my country has thought fit to strike up a peace, and gave us good Protestants leave to hope for Christian burial: so I resolved to take Lisbon in my way home.

Fred. If you are not provided of a lodging, Colonel, pray command my house while you stay.

Col. B. If I were sure I should not be troublesome, I would accept your offer, Frederick. Fred. So far from trouble, Colonel, I shall take it as a particular favour. What have we here?

Col. B. My footman. This is our country dress, you must know; which, for the honour of Scotland, I make all my servants wear.

Enter GIBBY, in a Highland dress. Gibby. What mun I do wi' the horses, and like yer honour? They will tak cold, gin they stand in the causeway.

Fred. Oh, I'll take care of him. What, hoa! Vasquez.

Enter VASQUEZ.

Put those horses, which that honest fellow will shew you, into my stable, do you hear? and feed them well.

Vas. Yes, sir. Sir, by my master's orders, I am, sir, your most obsequious, humble servant. Be pleased to lead the way.

Gibby. 'Sbleed, gan yer gate, sir, and I sall follow ye: Ise tee hungry to feed on compliments. Exit with Vasquez.

Fred. Ha, ha! a comical fellow. Well, how do you like our country, Colonel? Col. B. Why, faith, Frederick, a man might pass his time agreeably enough withinside of a nunnery; but to behold such troops of soft, plump, tender, melting, wishing, nay, willing girls, too, through a damn'd grate, gives us Britons strong temptations to plunder. Ah, Frederick, your priests are wicked rogues; they immure beauty for their own proper use, and shew it only to the laity to create desires, and inflame accompts, that they may purchase pardons at a dearer rate.

Fred. I own wenching is something more difficult here than in England, where women's liberties are subservient to their inclinations, and husbands seem of no effect, but to take care of the children which their wives provide.

Col. B. And does restraint get the better of inclination with your women here? No, I'll be sworn not, even in fourscore. Don't I know the constitution of the Spanish ladies?

Fred. And of all the ladies where you come, Colonel; you were ever a man of gallantry.

Col. B. Ah, Frederick, the kirk half starves us Scotchmen. We are kept so sharp at home, that we feed like cannibals abroad. Harkye, hast thou never a pretty acquaintance now, that thou would'st consign over to a friend for half an hour, ha?

Fred. Faith, Colonel, I am the worst pimp in Christendom; you had better trust to your own fuek, the women will soon find you out, I warrant you.

Col. B. Ay, but it is dangerous foraging in an enemy's country; and since I have some hopes of seeing my own again, I had rather purchase my pleasure, than run the hazard of a stiletto in my enta

is willing to exchange her moidores for English liberty; ha, friend?

Fred.. She must be very handsome, I suppose?

Col. B. The handsomer the better; but be sure she ras a nose.

Fred.. Ay, ay, and some gold.

Col. B. Oh, very much gold; I shall never be able to swallow the matrimonial pill, if it be not well gilded.

Fred. Pho, beauty will make it slide down nimbly.

Col. B. At first, perhaps, it may; but the second or third dose will choke me. I confess. Frederick, women are the prettiest playthings in nature: but gold, substantial gold, gives them the air, the mien, the shape; the grace, and beauty of a goddess.

Fred. And has not gold the same divinity in their eyes, Colonel?

Col. B. Too often.

None marry now for love; no, that's a jest: The self-same bargain serves for wife and beast. Fred. You are always gay, Colonel. Come, shall we take a refreshing glass at my house, and consider what has been said?

Col. B. I have two or three compliments too discharge for some friends, and then I shall wait on you with pleasure. Where do you live?

Fred. At yon corner house with the green rails.

Col. C. In the close of the evening I will endeavour to kiss your hand. Adieu.

Frel. I shall expect you with impatience.

[Exeunt. SCENE II.-A Room in Don Lopez's house. Enter ISABELLA and INIS, her maid. Inis. For goodness' sake, madam, where are you going in this pet?

Isa. Anywhere to avoid matrimony; the thought of a husband is terrible to me.

Inis. Ay, of an old husband; but if you may choose for yourself, I fancy matrimony would be no such frightful thing to you.

Isa. You are pretty much in the right, Inis; but to be forced into the arms of an idiot, who has neither person to please the eye, sense to charm the ear, nor generosity to supply those defects. Ah, Inis, what pleasant lives women lead in England, where duty wears no fetters but inclination. The custom of our country enslaves us from our very cradles; first to our parents, next to our husbands; and when heaven is so kind to rid us of both these, our brothers still usurp authority, and expect a blind obedience from us: so that, maids, wives, or widows, we are little better than slaves to the tyrant man; therefore, to avoid their power, I resolve to cast myself into a monastery.

Inis. That is, you'll cut your own throat to avoid another's doing it for you Ah, madam, those eyes tell me you have no nun's flesh about you! A monastery, quotha! where you'll wish yourself into the green-sickness in a month.

Isa. What care I? there will be no man to plague

me.

Inis. No, nor, what's much worse, to please you neither. Ód'slife, madam, you are the first woman that ever despaired in a Christian country! Were I in your place

Isa. Why, what would your wisdom do if you were?

his. I'd embark with the first fair wind with all

water; no shore can treat you worse than your own; there's never a father in Christendom should make me marry any man against my will.

Isa. I am too great a coward to follow your advice: I must contrive some way to avoid Don Guzman, and yet stay in my own country.

Enter DON LOPEZ.

Lop. Must you so, mistress? but I shall take care to prevent you. (Aside.) Isabella, whither are you going, my child?

Isa. To church, sir.

Inis. The old rogue has certainly overheard her. (Aside.)

Lop. Your devotion must needs be very strong or your memory very weak, my dear; why, vespers are over for this night. Come, come, you shall have a better errand to church, than to say your prayers there. Don Guzman is arrived in the river, and I expect him ashore to-morrow. Isa. Ha! to-morrow!

Lop. He writes me word, that his estate in Holland is worth twelve thousand crowns a year; which, together with what he had before, will make thee the happiest wife in Lisbon.

Isa. And the most unhappy woman in the world. Oh, sir, if I have any power in your heart, if the tenderness of a father be not quite extinct, hear me with patience.

Lop. No objection against the marriage, and I will hear whatsoever thou hast to say.

Isa. That's torturing me on the rack, and forbidding me to groan; upon my knees I claim the privilege of flesh and blood. (Kneels.)

Lop. I grant it; thou shalt have an arm full of flesh and blood to-morrow. Flesh and blood, quotha! heaven forbid I should deny thee flesh and blood, my girl.

Inis. Here's an old dog for you! (Aside.)

Isa. Do not mistake, sir; the fatal stroke which separates soul and body, is not more terrible to the thoughts of sinners, than the name of Guzman to

my ear.

Lop. Pho, pho! you lie, you lie !

Isa. My frighted heart beats hard against my breast, as if it sought a passage to your feet, to beg you'd change your purpose.

Lop. A very pretty speech this; if it were turned into blank verse, it would serve for a tragedy. Why, thou hast more wit than I thought thou hadst, child. I fancy this was all extempore; I don't believe thou did'st ever think one word on't before.

Inis. Yes, but she has, my lord; for I have heard her say the same things a thousand times.

Lop. How, how? What, do you top your secondhand jests upon your father, hussy, who knows better what's good for you than you do yourself? Remember, 'tis your duty to obey.

Isa. (Rises.) I never disobeyed you before, and wish I had not reason now; but nature has got the better of my duty, and makes me loathe the harsh, commands you lay.

Lop. Ha, ha! very fine! Ha, ha!
Isa. Death itself would be welcome.
Lop. Are you sure of that?

Isa. I am your daughter, my lord, and can boast as strong a resolution as yourself; I'll die before I'll marry Guzman.

Lop. Say you so? I'll try that presently. (Draws.) Here, let me see with what dexterity you can breathe a vein now. (Offers her his sword.) The point is pretty sharp; 'twill do your business, I warrant you

Inis. Bless me, sir, what do you mean to put a sword into the hands of a desperate woman?

Lop. Desperate! ha, ha, ha! you see how desperate she is. What, art thou frightened, little Bell? ha!

Isa. I confess I am startled at your morals, sir. Lop. Ay, ay. child, thou had'st better take the man, he'll hurt thee least of the two.

Isa, I shall take neither, sir; death has many doors, and when I can live no longer with pleasure I shall find one to let him in at without your aid. Lop. Say'st thou so, my dear Bell? Ods, I'm afraid thou art a little lunatic, Bell. I must take care of thee, child. (Takes hold of her, and pulls a key out of his pocket.) I shall make bold to secure, thee, my dear. I'll see if locks and bars can keep thee till Guzman comes. Go, get into your chamber. (Pushes her in, and locks the door.)

There I'll your boasted resolution try-
And see who'll get the better, you or I.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

SCENE L-A Room in Don Pedro's house.

Enter VIOLANTE, reading a letter, and FLORA following.

Flo. What, must that letter be read again?

Vio. Yes, and again, and again, and again, a thousand times again; a letter from a faithful lover can never be read too often: it speaks such kind, such soft, such tender things. (Kisses it.)

Flora. But always the same language. Vio. It does not charm the less for that. Flora. In my opinion, nothing charms that does not change; and my composition of the four-andtwenty letters, after the first essay, from the same hand, must be dull, except a bank note, or a bill of exchange.

Vio. Thy taste is my aversion. (Reads.) "My all that's charming, since life's not life, exiled from thee, this night shall bring me to thy arms. Frederick and thee are all I trust. These six weeks' absence have been, in love's accompt, six hundred years. When it is dark, expect the wonted signal at thy window; till when, adieu. Thine, more than his own, FELIX."

Flora. Who wouid not have said as much to a lady of her beauty, and twenty thousand pounds? (Aside.) Were I a man, methinks, I could have said a hundred finer things.

Vio. What would you have said? Flora. I would have compared your eyes to the stars, your teeth to ivory, your lips to coral, your neck to alabaster, your shape to

Vio. No more of your bombast; truth is the best eloquence in a lover. What proof remains ungiven of his love? When his father threatened to disinherit him, for rufusing Don Antonio's sister, from whence sprung this unhappy quarrel, did it shake his love for me? And now, though strict inquiry runs through every place, with large rewards to apprehend him, does he not venture all for me?

Flora. But you know, madam, your father, Don Pedro, designs you for a nun; to be sure, you look very like a nun: and says, your grandfather left you your fortune upon that condition.

Vio. Not without my approbation, girl, when I come to one-and-twenty, as I am informed. But, however, I shall run the risk of that. Go, call in Lissardo.

Flora. Yes, madam. Now for a thousand verbal questions.

Aside and Exit.

Re-enter FLORA, with LISSARDO. Vio. Well, and how do you do, Lissardo? Lis. Ah, very weary, madam. Faith, thou lookest wondrous pretty, Flora. (Apart to Flora.) Vio. How came you?

Lis. En chevalier, madam, upon a hackney jade, which, they told me, formerly belonged to an English Colonel. But I should have rather thought she had been bred a good Roman Catholic all her life-time; for she down'd on her knees to every stock and stone we come along by. My chops water for a kiss, they do, Flora. (Apart to Flara.) Flora. You'd make one believe you were wondrous fond now. (Apart to Lissardo.)

Vio. Where did you leave your master? Lis. 'Od, if I had you alone, housewife, I'd shew you how fond I could be! (Apart to Flora.) Vio. Where did you leave your master?

Lis. At a little farm-house, madam, about five miles off. He'll be at Don Frederick's in the evening. 'Od, I will so revenge myself of those lips of thine. (Apart to Flora.)

Vio. Is he in health?

Flora. O, you counterfeit wondrous well. (Apart to Lissardo.)

Lis. No, everybody knows I counterfeit very ill. (Apart to Flora.)

Vio. How say you? Is Felix ill? What's his distemper? Ha!

Lis. A pies on't, I hate to be interrupted. (Aside.) Love, madam, love. In short, madam, I believe he has thought of nothing but your ladyship ever since he left Lisbon. I am sure he could not, if I may judge of his heart by my own. (Looks lovingly at Flora.)

Vio. How came you so well acquainted with your master's thoughts, Lissardo?

Lis. By an infallible rule, madam, words are the pictures of the mind, you know; now, to prove he thinks of nothing but you, he talks of nothing but you; for example, madam: coming from shooting the other day, with a brace of partridges, “Lissardo," said he, "go bid the cook roast me these Violantes." I flew into the kitchen, full of thoughts of thee and cried, "Here, cook, roast me these Florellas." (To Flora.)

Flora. Ha, ha! excellent. You mimic your master, then, it seems. (To Lissardo.)

Lis. I can do everything as well as my master, you little rogue. (To Flora.) Another time, madam, the priest came to make him a visit, he called out hastily, "Lissardo," said, he, "bring & Violante for my father to sit down on." Then he often mistook my name, madam, and called me Violante; in short, I heard it so often, that it became as familiar to me as my prayers.

Vio. You live very merrily, then, it seems. Lis. Oh, exceeding merry, madam. (Kisses Flora's hand.) Vio. Ha! exceeding merry? Had you treats and balls?

Lis. Oh, yes, yes, madam, several.

Flora. You are mad, Lissardo; you don't mind what my lady says to you. (Apart to Lissardo.)

Vio. Ha! balls? Is he so merry in my absence? (Aside.) And did your master dance, Lissardo? Lis. Dance, madam? where, madam? Vio. Why, at those balls you speak of. Lis. Balls! what balls, madam?

Vio. Why, sure you are in love, Lissardo; did not you say, but now, you had balls where you have been?

Lis. Balls, madam! what balls, madam? Odslife, I ask you pardon, madam. I-I-I had mis