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SCENE I.-A Street.

Enter Mother and Kinswoman.

Kins. But, madam, be not so angry; perhaps she'll come again.

Mother. Oh! kinswoman, never speak of her more; for she's an odious creature to leave me thus in the lurch. I have given her all her breeding, and instructed her with my own principles of edu


Kins. I protest, madam, I think she's a person that knows as much of all that as

Mother, Knows, kinswoman! there's ne'er a fe-
male in Italy, of thrice her years, knows so much
the precedures of a true gallantry, and the infallible
principles of an honourable friendship, as she does.
Kins. And, therefore, madam, you ought to love

Mother. No, fie upon her! nothing at all, as I am
a Christian. When once a person fails in funda-
mentals, she's at a period with me.
all her wit, Constantia is but a fool; and calls all
Besides, with
the minauderies of a bonne mine, affectation.

Kins. Bless me, sweet goodness! But, pray,
madam, how came Constantia to fall out with your
ladyship? Did she take anything ill of you?

Mother. As I am a Christian, I can't resolve you,
unless it were that I led the dance first: but for that
she must excuse me; I know she dances well, but
there are others, who, perhaps, understand the
right swim of it as well as she-

And, though I love Constantia-

Don F. How's this? Constantia !

Mother. I know no reason why I should be debarred the privilege of shewing my own geno too sometimes.

Don F. If I am not mistaken, that other woman is she, Don John and I were directed to, when we came first to town, to bring us acquainted with Constantia. I'll try to get some intelligence from her. Pray, lady, have I never seen you before? Kins. Yes, sir, I think you have, with another stranger, a friend of yours, one day, as I was coming

out of the church.

Don F. I'm right then. And, pray, who were you talking of?

Mother. Why, sir, of an inconsiderate, inconsiderable person, that has at once both forfeited the honour of my concern, and the concern of her own


Don F. Very fine, indeed! and is all this intended for the beautiful Constantia ?

Mother. Oh! fie upon her, sir, an odious creature, as I'm a Christian, no beauty at all.

Don F. Why, does not your ladyship think her handsome?

Mother. Seriously, sir, I don't think she's ugly; but, as I am a Christian, my position is, that no true beauty can be lodged in that creature, who is not, in some measure, buoyed up with a just sense of what is incumbent to the devoir of a person of quality.

Don F. That position, madam, is a little severe; but however she has been incumbent formerly, as

ried, and her husband owns the child, she is sufficiently justified for what she has done.

Mother. Sir, I must, blushingly, beg leave to say, you are in an error. I know there has been the passion of love between them, but with a temperament so innocent and so refined, as it did impose a negative upon the very possibility of her being with stantia has never had a child. A child! Ha, ha, ha! child. No, sir; I assure you my daughter ConOh, goodness, save us, a child!

with you any farther; but give me leave to wait
Don F. Well, madam, I shall not dispute this
upon your daughter; for her friend, I assure you,
is in great impatience to see her.

sure she loaths the very sight of him.
Mother. Friend, sir! I know none she has. I'm

Don F. Of whom?

pleased to say-ha, ha, ha!
Mother. Why, of Antonio, sir; he that you were

never named him to you. I told you, that the Duke
Don F. I tell you I do not know Antonio, nor
has owned Constantia for his wife, and that her
search after her.
brother and he are friends, and are now both in

Mother. Then, as I'm a Christian, I suspect we of a mistake. Sir, I am in the dernier confusion have both been equally involved in the misfortune been liable to several addresses, yet she had never to avow, that, though my daughter, Constantia, has the honour to be produced to his grace.

rogue for what I did to Don John; for, on my conDon F. So, now the thing is out, and I'm a d-d science, this is that Constantia the fellow told me of! I'll make him amends, whate'er it cost me. Lady, you must give me leave not to part with you, till you meet with your daughter, for some reasons I shall tell you hereafter.

Mother. Sir, I am so highly your obligée for the
manner of your enquiries, and you have grounded
your determinations upon so just a basis, that I
shall not be ashamed to own myself a votary to all
your commands.

SCENE II-A Street.
Enter Second CONSTANTIA.

2 Con. So, thanks to my youth and my heels, I
am once more free from Antonio! What an escape!
and yet, what a misfortune! I have no great reason
old fellow, I have lost the young one too. I did not
to rejoice-for, though I have got clear from the
that's the question-I wish my spirited young
wish to outrun them both; but whither to go now?
Spaniard were here to answer it; but that this wild
spark, whom I liked so well, and who swore he
distress me, and drive me out of the house, puzzles
liked me,
should send that old piece of mischief to
me exceedingly! I wish I could see him once more,
to explain this matter to me. May I never be mar-
ried if he is not coming this way! Should he prove
false, my poor heart will have a terrible time of it.
Now for the proof-
[Walks aside.
Enter Don JOHN, holding PETER.
Den J. Did you run after her, as I ordered you,

Peter. Like any greyhound, sir.

Don J. And have you found her, rascal?
Peter. Not quite, sir.

Don J. Not quite, sir! You are drunk, fellow!
Peter. A little, sir; I run the better for it.
Don J. Have you seen her? speak quickly, or

your ladyship is pleased to say, now that she's mar-speak no more.

[Shaking him.

Peter Yes, yes, I have seen her. Don J. Where? where?

Peter. There! there!

Don J. Where's there, sirrah?

Peter. There where I saw her-in the street.
Don J. Did you overtake her?

Peter. I was overtaken myself, sir, and-hic-fell down.

Don J. Then she is gone! irrecoverably gone! and I shall run distracted! [Second Constantia taps him on the shoulder; he turns, and they gaze on each other.] Heigho!

Peter. Never was so near death in all my life! [Erit. Don J. Oh! my dear soul, take pity on me, and give me comfort; for I'm e'en dead for want of thee.

2 Con. Oh! you're a fine gentleman, indeed, to shut me up in your house, and send another man

to me.

Don J. Pray, hear me.

2 Con. No, I will never hear you more, after such an injury; what would you have done, if I had been kind to you, that you could use me thus before?

Don J. By my troth, that's shrewdly urged. 2 Con. Besides, you basely broke your word. Don J. But will you hear nothing? nor did you hear nothing? I had three men upon me at once, and had I not consented to let that old fellow up, who came to my rescue, they had all broken in whether I would or no.

2 Con. It may be so; for I remember I heard a noise; but suppose it was not so, what then? why, then I'll love him, however. Harkye, sir, I ought now to use you very scurvily; but I can't find in my heart to do So.

Don J. Then heaven's blessing on thy heart for it!

2 Con. But a

Don J. What?

2 Con. I would fain know

Don J. What, what? I'll tell thee anything, everything.

2 Con. I would fain know, whether you can be kind to me.

Don J. Look in your glass, my charmer, and answer for me.

2 Con. You think me very vain. Don J. I think you devilish handsome. 2 Con. I shall find you a rogue at last. Don J. Then you shall hang me for a fool; take your garters, and do it now, if you will.

2 Con. You are no fool.

Don J. Oh, yes, a loving fool.

2 Con. Will you love me for ever?


love as long as we live, and then we'll die together;
and there's an end of both of us. But who is tha
my old friend has got there?

Enter First CONSTANTIA and ANTONIO, ha
seizes her.

Anto. Oh! have I caught you, gentlewoman, last? Come, give me my gold.

1 Con. I hope he takes me for another; I wat answer, for I had rather you should take me frazy one, than who I am. (the hand?

Don J. Pray, sir, who is that you have the ty Anto. A person of honour, that has broken open my trunks, and run away with all my dist I'll hold ten pounds I'll have it whipped out of her again.

2 Con. Done, I'll hold you ten pounds of that . Anto. Ha! by my troth, you have reasa, an lady, I ask your pardon; but I'll have it wapped out of you, then gossip. Going to her.

Don J. Hold, sir, you must not medile with my goods. [Stopping hom Anto. Your goods! how came she to be yours? I'm sure I bought her of her mother for five handred good pieces in gold.

Don J. Ay, sir, but that bargain won't hold good in our court; besides, sir, as I told you before, she's mine, Don.

Anto. Yours, sir! by what right?

Don J. The right of possession, sir; the law of love, and consent of the parties.

Anto. And is this so, young lady?

2 Con. Yes, young gentleman, it is. You purchase me! And could you imagine, you old food | you, that I would take up with you, while there was a young fellow to be had for love or money! Pur chase yourself a little wit, and a great deal of fannel, against the cold weather, or, on my word, you'l make a melancholy figure. Ha, ha, ha!

Don J. He does make a melancholy figure! ba, ha! you had better let her alone, Don; why, she's too hard for me

Anto. Indeed, I think so. But, pray, sir, by your leave, I hope you will allow me the speech of one word to your goods here, as you call her; 'tis but a small request.

Don J. Ay, sir, with all my heart-how, Constantia! Madam, now you have seen that lady, I hope you will pardon the haste you met me in a Le while ago; if I committed a fault, you must thank her for it.

1 Con. Sir, I do know too well the power of love, by my own experience, not to pardon all the effects of it in another.

Anto. Well, then, I'll promise you, if you will but help me to recover my gold again, that I'll never

Don J. I'll be bound to you for ever; you can't trouble you more. desire better security.

2 Com. I have better security.

Don J. What's that, my angel?

2 Con. The tenderest affection for you now, and the kindest behaviour to you, for evermore. Don J. And I, upon my knees, will swear, that, that what shall I swear?

2 Con. Nay, use what words you please, so they be but hearty.

Don J. I swear, then, by thy fair self, that looks so like a deity, and art the only thing I now can think of, that I'll adore you to my dying day.

2 Con. And here I vow, the minute thou dost leave me, I'll leave the world-that's, kill myself. Don J. Oh! my dear heavenly creature, we'll

2 Con. A match; and 'tis the best that you and I could ever make.

Don J. Pray, madam, fear nothing; by my love, I'll stand by you, and see that your brother shall do you no harm.

2 Con. Harkye, sir, a word; how dare you talk of love to any lady but me, sir?

Don J. By my troth, that was a fault, but I meant it only civilly.

2 Con. Ay, but if you are so very civil a gentle man, we shall not be long friends: I seorn to share your love with any one whatsoever; and, for my part, I'm resolved to have either all or none.

thou shalt have it all-thus I sign and seal—{ A xxx Don J. Well, well, my dear little covetous reges,

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her hand.] and transfer all my stock of love to thee, for ever and for ever.

2 Con. I accept it, in the warmest spirit of love and gratitude.

Enter Don FREDERICK and Mother.

Don F. Come, now, madam, let us not speak one word more, but go quietly about our business; not but that I think it the greatest pleasure in the world to hear you talk, but

Mother. Do you, indeed, sir? I swear then, good wits jump, sir; for I have thought so myself a very great while.

Don F. You have all the reason imaginable. Oh, Don John, I ask thy pardon! but I hope I shall make thee amends, for I have found out the mother, and she has promised to help thee to thy mistress again.

Don J. Sir, you may save your labour; the business is done, and I am fully satisfied.

Don F. And dost thou know who she is? Don J. No, 'faith, I never asked her name. Don. F. Why, then, I'll make thee more satisfied; this lady, here, is that very ConstantiaDon J. Ha! thou hast not a mind to be knocked o'er the pate too, hast thou?

Don F. No, sir; nor dare you do it neither; but, for certain, this is that very self-same Constantia that thou and I so long looked after.

Don J. I thought she was something more than ordinary: but shall I tell thee now a stranger thing than all this?

Don F. What's that?

Don J. Why, I will never more think of any other woman, for her sake.

Don F. That, indeed, is strange; but you are much altered, John: it was but this morning that women were such hypocrites that you would not trust a single mother's daughter of them.

Don J. Ay, but when things are at the worst, they'll mend; example does everything, Frederick, and the fair sex will certainly grow better whenever the greatest is the best woman in the kingdom; that's what I trust to.

Don F. Well parried, John! Don J. See here, Frederick! the lost jewel is found. Showing First Constantia. Don F. Madam, I am heartily glad to meet your ladyship here; we have been in very great disorder since we saw you.

2 Con. Come, mother, deliver your purse; I have delivered myself up to this young fellow, and the bargain's made with that old fellow; so he may have his gold again, that all shall be well.

Mother. As I am a Christian, sir, I took it away, only to have the honour of restoring it again; for my hard fate having not bestowed upon me a fund

which might capacitate me to make you presents, I I had no way left for the exercise of my generosity but by putting myself into a condition of giving back what was yours.

Anto. A very generous design, indeed! So now I'll e'en turn a sober person, and leave off this wenching and this fighting, for I begin to find it does not agree with me.

Don J. What's here? Our landlady and the child again!

Enter PETRUCHIO and Landlady, with the Child. Petr. Yes, we met her going to be whipped, in a drunken constable's hands that took her for another. and whipped for herself, for, on my word, she deDon J. Why, then, pray let her e'en be taken,

serves it.

Land. Yes, I'm sure of your good word at any time.

1 Con. Harkye, dear landlady!

Land. Oh, sweet goodness! is it you? I have been in such a pack of troubles since I saw you ; they took me, and they tumbled me, and they hauled me, and they pulled me, and they called me painted Jezebel, and the poor little babe here did so take on!

Enter DUKE.

Come hither, my lord, come hither: here is Con stantia!

1 Con. Yonder's my brother!

Duke. No, madam, there is no danger

1 Con. Were there a thousand dangers in those arms, I would run thus to meet them.

Duke. O, my dear! it were not safe that any should be here at present; for now my heart is so overpressed with joy, that I should scarce be able to defend thee.

Petr. Sister, I'm so ashamed of all my faults which my mistake has made me guilty of, that I know not how to ask your pardon for them.

1 Con. No, brother, the fault was mine, in mistaking you so much as not to impart the whole truth to you at first; but, having begun my love without your consent, I never durst acquaint you with the progress of it.

Duke. Come, let the consummation of our present joys blot out the memory of all these past mistakes.

Don J. And when shall we consummate our joys? 2 Con. -Never: We'll find out ways to make them last for ever. Don J. A match, my girl!-Come, let us all

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SCENE I-A Room in Sterling's House. Enter Miss FANNY, and BETTY meeting Bet. [Running in.] Ma'am! Miss Fanny! ma'am! Fan. What's the matter, Betty?

Bet. Oh la! Ma'am! as sure as I am alive, here is your husband: I saw him crossing the court-yard in his boots.

Fan. I am glad to hear it. But pray now, my dear Betty, be cautious. Don't mention that word again on any account. You know we have agreed never to drop any expressions of that sort, for fear of an accident.

Bet. Dear, ma'am, you may depend upon ma There is not a more trustier creature on the face of the earth than I am: though I say it, I am as secret as the grave; and if it is never told till I tell it, it may remain untold till doomsday for Betty. Fan. I know you are faithful; but in our circum

stances we cannot be too careful.

Bet. Very true, ma'am; and yet I vow and protest there's more plague than pleasure with a secret;

especially if a body mayn't mention it to four or five of one's particular acquaintance.

Fan. Do but keep this secret a little while longer, and then I hope you may mention it to anybOGY, Mr. Lovewell will acquaint the family with the nature of our situation as soon as possible.

Bet. The sooner the better, I believe; for if he does not tell it, there's a little tell-tale, I know of, will come and tell it for him.

Fan. Fie, Betty!

Bet. Ah! you may well blush. But you're not so sick, and so pale, and so wan, and so many qualme— Fan. Have done! I shall be quite angry with you. Bet. Angry! Bless the dear puppet! I am sure I shall love it as much as if it was my own. I meant no harm, heaven knows.

Fan. Well, say no more of this; it makes me uneasy.-All I have to ask of you is, to be faithful and secret, and not to reveal this matter till we disclose it to the family ourselves.

Bet. Me reveal it! If I say a word, I wish I may be burned. I would not do you any harm for the world; and as for Mr. Lovewell, I am sure I have loved the dear gentleman ever since he got a tidewaiter's place for my brother. But let me tell you both, you must leave off your soft looks to each other, and your whispers, and your glances, and your always sitting next to one another at dinner, and your long walks together in the evening. For my part, if I had not been in the secret, I should have known you were a pair of lovers at least, if not man and wife, as

Fan. See there now again! Pray be careful

Bet. Well, well; nobody hears me. Man and wife -I'll say no more.-What I tell you is very true, for all that.

Love. [Within.] William!

Bet. Hark! I hear your husband—
Fan. What!

Bet. I say here comes Mr. Lovewell. Mind the caution I gave you: I'll be whipped now if yes are not the first person he sees or speaks to in the family. However, if you choose it, it's nothing at all to me: as you sow, so you must reap; as you brew, so you leave you together. must bake. I'll e'en slip down the back stairs, and

Fan. I see, I see, I shall never have a moment'

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ease till our marriage is made public. New distresses crowd in upon me every day. The solicitude of my mind sinks my spirits, preys upon my health, and destroys every comfort of my life. It shall be revealed, let what will be the consequence.


Love. My love! How's this? In tears? Indeed 7 this is too much. You promised me to support your pirits, and to wait the determination of our fortune vith patience. For my sake, for your own, be combrted. Why will you study to add to our uneasiless and perplexity.

Fan. Oh, Mr. Lovewell! the indelicacy of a secret marriage grows every day more and more shocking to me. I walk about the house like a guilty wretch: I imagine myself the object of the suspicion of the whole family, and am under the perpetual terrors of a shameful detection.

Lore. Indeed, indeed, you are to blame. The amiable delicacy of your temper, and your quick sensibility, only serve to make you unhappy. To clear up this affair properly to Mr. Sterling, is the continual employment of my thoughts. Everything now is in a fair train. It begins to grow ripe for a discovery; and I have no doubt of its concluding to the satisfaction of ourselves, of your father, and the whole family.

Fun. End how it will, I am resolv'd it shall end soon very soon. I would not live another week in this agony of mind to be mistress of the universe.

Love. Do not be too violent neither. Do not let us disturb the joy of your sister's marriage with the tumult this matter may occasion. I have brought letters from Lord Ogleby and Sir John Melvil to Mr. Stirling. They will be here this evening; and, I dare say, within this hour.

Fan. I am sorry for it.

Love. Why so?

Mrs. Heidelberg's, notions of the splendour of high life; her contempt for everything that does not relish of what she calls quality; and that from the vast fortune in her hands, left her by her late husband, she absolutely governs Mr. Sterling and the whole family. Now if they should come to the knowledge of this affair too abruptly, they might perhaps be incensed beyond all hopes of reconciliation.

Fan. Manage it your own way. I am persuaded. Love. But in the meantime make yourself easy. Fan. As easy as I can, I will. We had better not remain together any longer at present.


Ster. Hey-day! who have we got here? Fun. [Confused.] Mr. Lovewell, sir. Ster. And where are you going, hussy? Fun. To my sister's chamber, sir.


Ster. Ah, Lovewell! What! always getting my foolish girl yonder into a corner? Well, well, let us but once see her eldest sister fast married to Sir John Melvil, we'll soon provide a good husband for Fauny, I warrant you.

Love. Would to heaven, sir, you would provide her one of my recommendation.

Ster. Yourself, eh, Lovewell?
Love. With your pleasure, sir.
Ster. Mighty well!

Love. And I flatter myself, that such a proposal would not be very disagreeable to Miss Fanny. Ster. Better and better!

Love. And if I could but obtain your consent, sir

Ster. What! You marry Fanny? No, no; that will never do, Lovewell. You're a good boy, to be sure: I have a great value for you; but can't think of you for a son-in-law. There's no stuff in the case-no money, Lovewell.

Love. My pretensions to fortune, indeed, are but

Fan. No matter: only let us disclose our mar- moderate; but though not equal to splendour, sufriage immediately.

Love. As soon as possible


Fan. But directly.

Love. In a few days you may depend on it. Fan. To-night; or to-morrow morning. Love. That, I fear, will be impracticable. Fan. Nay, but you must.

Love. Must! Why?

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Fan. Indeed you must: I have the most ing reasons for it.

ficient to keep us above distress,-add to which, that I hope by diligence to increase it, and have love, honour

Ster. But not the stuff, Lovewell. Add one little round 0 to the sum total of your fortune, and that will be the finest thing you can say to me. You know I've a regard for you-would do anything to serve you anything on the footing of friendship; alarm-but

Love. Alarming, indeed! for they alarm me, even before I am acquainted with them. What are they?

Fan. I cannot tell you.

Love. Not tell me?

Fan. Not at present. When all is settled, you shall be acquainted with everything.

Love. Sorry they are coming! Must be discovered! What can this mean? Is it possible you can have any reasons that need be concealed from me? Fan. Do not disturb yourself with conjectures; but rest assur'd, that though you are unable to divine the cause, the consequence of a discovery, be it what it will, cannot be attended with half the miseries of the present interval.

Love. You put me upon the rack: I would do anything to make you easy; but you know your father's temper. Money (you will excuse my frankness) is the spring of all his actions, which nothing but the idea of acquiring nobility or magnificence, can ever make him forego; and these he thinks his money will purchase. You know, too, your aunt's,

Love. If you think me worthy of your friendship, sir, be assured that there is no instance in which I should rate your friendship so highly.

Ster. Psha! psha! that's another thing, you know. Where money or interest is concerned, friendship is quite out of the question.

Love. But where the happiness of a daughter is at stake, you would not scruple, sure, to sacrifice a little to her inclinations.

Ster. Inclinations! why you would persuade me that the girl is in love with you, eh, Lovewell?

Love. I cannot absolutely answer for Miss Fanny, sir; but am sure that the chief happiness or misery of my life depends entirely upon her.

Ster. Why, indeed, now, if your kinsman, Lord Ogleby, would come down handsomely for you-but that's impossible-No, no-'twill never do. I must hear no more of this. Come, Lovewell, promise me that I shall hear no more of this.

Love. [Hesitating.] I am afraid, sir, I should not be able to keep my word with you, if I did promise. Ster. Why, you would not offer to marry her without my consent! would yon, Lovewell?

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