Enter MAID, with a Letter. Louisa. My father's answer, I suppose. Clara. It is indeed, signior. Ferd. So, so now but one question moreAnt. My dearest Louisa, you may be as- can you inform me for what purpose they sured, that it contains nothing but threats and have gone away? reproaches. [Exil 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 had and sup with your affectionate father." made lovers quick-sighted, but it has made Ant. You jest, Louisa! mine blind-Louisa's story accounts to me Louisa. [Gives him the Letter] Read- for this error, and I am glad to find I have power enough over him to make him so un read. Ant. '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? SONG. 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, cure one. 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, To saints a prison, but a tomb to love! [Erit Ant. Come then-there is a friar of a neighbouring 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. Enter CLARA. 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. yet. [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 malter- -no matter - Oh, they stop-[Looks out] Yes, that is the perfidious Clara indeed! Clara. So, a jealous error--I'm glad to see him so moved. [Aside. no, Ferd. Her disguise can't conceal her-No, Clara. Wonderful discernment! but, signior- Clara. But signior, who is it you want? Ferd. Not you, not you, so pr'ythee don't 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 - And pray is not that gentleman, now at the porch with her, Antonio d'Ercilla? Ant. So, then we are both on the same errand; I am come to look for Father Paul. Isane. Hah! I am glad on't-but, faith, be 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. [Exeunt SCENE V.-A Room in the Priory.-FRIARS at the Table, drinking. GLEE AND CHORUS. This bottle's the sun of our table, Francis. Have we drank the abbess of St. 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] Pray, brother Augustine, were there any benefactions left in my absence? 1 Aug. Don Juan Corduba has left a hundred Bloated I am, indeed! for fasting is a windy ducats, to remember him in our masses. recreation, and it hath swoln me like a bladder. Ant. But thou hast a good fresh colour in. thy face, father; rosy, i'faith. Paul. Has he? let them be paid to our wine merchant, and we'll remember him in our cups, which will do just as well. Any thing more? Paul. Yes, I have blushed for mankind, till. the hue of my shame is as fixed as their vices. Isaac. Good man! Aug. Yes; Baptista, the rich miser, who died last week, has bequeathed us a thousand Paul. And I have laboured too, but to what pistoles, and the silver lamp he used in his purpose? they continue to sin under my own chamber, to burn before the image of very nose. St. 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. his money better-Baptista's bounty shall light the blush more than any other part of your. the living, not the dead.-St. Anthony is not face. afraid to be left in the dark, though he wasSee who's there. [4 knocking, Francis goes to the door, and opens it. Enter PORTER. Porter. Here's one without in pressing haste to speak with Father Paul. Francis. Brother Paul! [Paul comes from behind a curtain, with a glass of wine, and in his Hand a piece of cake. Paul. Here! how durst you, fellow, thus abruptly break in upon our devotions? Porter. I thought they were finished. Paul. No, they were not-were they, Brother Francis? Francis. Not by a bottle each. Paul. But neither you nor your fellows mark how the hours go-no, you mind nothing but the gratifying of your appetites: ye eat and swill, and sleep, and gormandize, and thrive, while we are wasting in mortification. Porter. We ask no more than nature craves. Paul. Tis false, ye have more appetites than hairs! and your flushed, sleek, and pampered appearance is the disgrace of our order out on't-If you are hungry, can't you be content with the wholesome roots of the earth; and if you are dry, isn't there the crystal spring? [Drinks] Put this away, [Gives a glass and show me where I'm wanted. [Porter draws the glass. Paul, going, turns] So, you would have drank it, if there had been any left. Ah, glutton! glutton! [Exeunt. Good Father Paul, I crave your blessing. Isaac. Yes, good Father Paul, we are come to beg a favour. Paul. What is it, pray? Paul. Go, you're a wag. Ant. But, to the purpose, officiate for us? father-will you 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. Ant. Now then, come with us. Isaac. Ay, now give us your title to joy and rapture. Paul. Well, when your hour of repentance comes, don't blame me. Ant. No bad caution to my friend Isaac. [Aside] Well, well, father, do you do your part, and l'il abide the consequence. 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. Enter FERDINAND. Ferd. So, sir, I have met with you at last. Ant. Well, sir. Ferd. Base, treacherous man! whence can Isaac. To marry us, good Father Paul; and in truth thou dost look the very priest of a false, deceitful soul, like yours, borrow conHymen. fidence to look so steadily on the man you've -'tis Paul. In short, I may be called so: for I injured? deal 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 Hymen, because thy presence speaks content one I love beyond my life; but no argument and 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 of this, indeed, your Jew pander informed me; but let your conduct be consistent, and since you have dared to do a wrong, follow me, and show you have a spirit to avow it. Louisa. Antonio, I perceive his mistakeleave him to me. Wordy vows of feign'd regard; SCENE VII.-A Grand Saloon. Enter DON JEROME, Servants, and LOFEL Jerome. Be sure now let every thing be in the best order- let all my servants have on Paul. Friend, you are rude, to interrupt their merriest faces but tell them to get as the union of two willing hearts. little drunk as possible, till after supper. So, Lopez, where's your master? sha'at we have him at supper? Ferd. No, meddling priest, the hand he seeks is mine. Paul. If so, I'll proceed no further. Lady, did you ever promise this youth your band? I Lopez. Indeed, I believe not, sir-he's mad, 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. And thus fly from me? [Both 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? Enter Servant. Serv. Sir, here is Signior Isaac. Enter 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. [Ent Isaak] Poor girl, 1 long to see her face. pretty 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 have we here? Isuac. Nay, Don Jerome, you promised her 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] O, dear papa! you'll not disown me, sure! Jerome. Papa! papa! Why, zounds, your Ferd. Never-never-you, sister, I know impudence is as great as your ugliness! will forgive me-but how, Clara, shall I pre Isaac. Rise, my charmer, go throw your snowy arms about his neck, and convince him you are is Duenna. Oh, sir, forgive me! Jerome. Help! murder! Servants. What's the matter, sir? Jerome. Why, here, this damned Jew has 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 LOUISA; they kneel Jerome. Zounds and fury! what's here now? who sent for you, sir, and who the devil are you? Ant. This lady's husband, sir. for I Isaac. Ay, that he is, I'll be sworn; left them with the priest, and was to have given her away. Jerome. You were? Isaac. Ay; that's my honest friend, An-to talk of beauty?-A walking rouleau !—a tonio: and that's the little girl, I told you I body that seems to owe all its consequence to had hampered him with. Jerome. Why, you are either drunk or 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? the dropsy!-a pair of eyes like two dead beetles in a wad of brown dough!—a beard like an artichoke, with dry shrivelled jaws, that would disgrace the mummy of a monkey! Jerome. Well done, Margaret! Duenna, But you shall know that I have a brother, who wears a sword - and if you Duenna. Come then, Don Jerome, I will-don't do me justicethough 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? Isaak. Fire seize your brother, and you too! I'll fly to Jerusalem, to avoid you! Duenna. Fly where you will, I'll follow yon. Jerome. Throw your snowy arms about him, Margaret. [Exeunt Isaac and Duenna] -But, Louisa, are you really married to this modest gentleman? Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands, I gave him my hand within this hour. Jerome. My commands! Ant. Yes, sir; here is your consent, under your own hand. Duenna. I have only to add, that I re- Jerome. How! would you rob me of my mained in your daughter's place, and had the child by a trick, a false pretence? and do you good fortune to engage the affections of my think to get her fortune by the same means? sweet husband here. Why, 'slife, you are as great a rogue as 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 prois a trick, a cheat, and you ought all to be fited by this paper, in gaining your daughter's ashamed of yourselves. hand, I scorn to obtain her fortune by deceit. Ant. Hark ye, Isaac, do you dare to com- There, sir. [Gives a Letter] Now give her plain of tricking?-Don Jerome, I give you your blessing for a dower, and all the little my word, this cunning Portuguese has brought I possess shall be settled on her in return. all this upon himself, by endeavouring to Had you wedded her to a prince, he could overreach you, by getting your daughter's do no more. fortune, without making any settlement in Jerome. Why, gad take me, but you are return. 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 Jerome. Why, gad take me, it must be so, man i know that would renounce your foror he could never have put up with such a tune; and, by my soul, he's the only man in face as Margaret's-so, little Solomon, I wish Spain that's worthy of it. There, bless you you joy of your wife, with all my soul. 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. 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. devil called 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." own art. 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! you she was as old as my mother, and as Sancho! Carlos! d'ye hear? are all my doors ugly as the devil. thrown open? Our children's weddings are Duenna. Why, you little insignificant the only holidays our age can boast; and then reptile! 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! Enter MASQUERADERS. 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. Ant. Then healths to every friend, Clara. Nor, while we are so joyous, Till we banish care away. Jerome. For generous guests like these So we'll laugh and play, so blithe and gay, [Exeunt FARCES. HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS. MAYOR OF GARRAT. LYING VALET. 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 susgested 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 open the public affairs, by the names of the most illustrious of our nobility; till of a sudden one came running 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 quarts to my new Lord for wetting his title, and so forth" A most important reform was effected, by this well-timed exposure, in the manners and habits of both servants and masters; the wastefulness and infidelity of the former were never more case 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. Lovel? I always told you, that there is Enter FREEMAN and LoVEL. Lov. Tis with some difficulty I believe Free. A country boy! ha, ha, ba. How long now, Mr. Freeman; though, I must ow has this scheme been in your head? 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. Oh! are you satisfied at last, Mr. Free. You are mistaken in every one. Phil |
