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AIR.
Thou canst not boast of fortune's store,

My love, while me they wealthy call,
But I was glad to find the poor,
For, with my heart, I'd give thee all.

And then the grateful youth shall own,
I loved him for himself alone.

But when his worth my hand shall gain,

No word or look of mine shall show
That I the smallest thought retain
Of what my bounty did bestow.

Yet stilī his grateful heart shall own,
I loved him for himseif alone.

Duenna. I hear Don Jerome coming-Quick, give me the last letter I brought you from Antonio-you know that is to be the ground of my dismission must slip out to seal it up, as undelivered. (Exit.

Enter Don JEROME and FERDINAND. Jerome. What, I suppose, you have been serenading too! Eh, disturbing some peaceable neighbourhood with villainous catgut, and lascivious piping! Out on't ! you set your sister, here, a vile example; but I. come to tell you, madam, that I'll suffer no more of these midnight incantations--these amorous orgies, that steal the senses in the hearing; as, they say, Egyptian embalmers serve mummies, extracting the brain through the ears ; however, there's an end of your frolics- Isaac Mendoza will be here presently, and to-morrow you shall marry him.

Louisa. Never, while I have life.

Ferd. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can think of such a man for a son-in-law.

Jerome. Sir, you are very kind, to favour me with

your sentiments and pray, what is your objection to him?

Ferd. He is a Portuguese in the first place.

Jerome. No such thing, boy, he has forsworn his country.

Louisa. He is a Jew.

Jerome. Another mistake : he has been a Christian these six weeks.

Ferd. Ay, he left his old religion for an estate, and has not had time to get a new one.

Louisa. But stands like a dead wall between church and synagogue, or like the blank leaves between the Old and New Testament.

Jerome. Any thing more?

Ferd. But the most remarkable part of his character is his passion for deceit and tricks of cunning.

Louisa. Though at the same time, the fool predominates so much over the knave, that I am told he is generally the dupe of his own art.

Ferd. True, like an unskilful gunner, he usually misses his aim, and is hurt by the recoil of his own piece.

Jerome. Any thing more?

Louisa. To sum up all, he has the worst fault a husband can have-he's not my choice.

Jerome. But you are his ; and choice on one side is sufficient-two lovers should never meet in marriage be you sour as you please, he is sweet-tempered, and for your good fruit, there's nothing like ingrafting on a crab.

Louisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall ten times more as a husband.

Jerome. I don't know that-marriage generally makes a great change-but, to cut the matter short, will you

have him or not? Louisa. There is nothing else I could disobey you in. Jerome. Do

you

value your father's peace ?

Louisa. So much, that I will not fasten on him the regret of making an only daughter wretched.

Jerome. Very well, ma’am, then mark me-never more will I see or converse with

you
till

you return to your duty--no reply-this and your chamber shall be your apartments; I never will stir out, without leaving you under lock and key, and when I'm at home no creature can approach you but through my library-we'll try who can be most obstinate-out of my sight--there remain till you know your duty.

[Pushes her out. Ferd. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations should be consulted in a matter of this kind, and some regard paid to Don Antonio, being my particular friend.

Jerome. That, doubtless, is a very great recommendation-I certainly have not paid sufficient re,

spect to it.

Ferd. There is not a man living I would sooner chuse for a brother-in-law.

Jerome. Very possible; and if you happen to have e'er a sister, who is not at the same time a daughter of mine, I'm sure I shall have no objection to the relationship-but at present, if you please, we'll drop the subject.

Ferd. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my sister makes me speak.

Jerome. Then pray, sir, in future, let your regard for your father make

you

hold your tongue. Ferd. I have done, sir-I shall only add a wish that you would reflect what at our age you would have felt, had you been crossed in your affection for the mother of her you are so severe to.

Jerome. Why, I must confess I had a great affection for your mother's ducats, but that was all, boy-I married her for her fortune, and she took me in obedience to her father, and a very happy couple we were

we never expected any love from one another, and so we were never disappointed-if we grumbled a

little now and then, it was soon over, for we were never fond enough to quarrel, and when the good woman died, why, why I had as lieve she had lived, and I wish every widower in Seville could

say

the -I shall now go and get the key of this dressing room-so, good son, if you

same

lecture in sup

have any port of disobedience to give your sister, it must be brief; so make the best of your time, d'ye hear?

[Exit. Ferd. I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio has little to hope for-however Louisa has firmness, and my father's anger will probably only increase her affection. In our intercourse with the world, it is natural for us to dislike those who are innocently the cause of our distress ; but in the heart's attachment, a wo. man never likes a man with ardour till she has suffered for his sake ; (Noise.) soh! what bustle is here ! between my

father and the Duenna too-I'll e'en get out of the way.

[Exit. Enter Don JEROME with a Letter, pulling in the

DUENNA. Jerome. I'm astonish’d! I'm thunder-struck! here's treachery and conspiracy with a vengeance! you, Antonio's creature, and chief manager of this plot for my daughter's eloping! you, that I placed here as a scarecrow ?

Duenna. What?

Jerome. A scarecrow-to prove a decoy-duckwhat have you to say

for yourself? Duenna. Well, sir, since you have forced that let. ter from me, and discovered my real sentiments, I scorn to renounce them. I am Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that your daughter should have served you as all such old tyrannical sots should be served--I delight in the tender passions, and would befriend all under their influence.

Jerame. The tender passiops ! yes, they would be.

come those impenetrable features !--why, thou deceitful hag! I placed thee as a guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's beauty-I thought that dragon's front of thine would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry-steel traps and spring guns seemed writ in every wrinkle of it but you shall quit my house this instant—the tender passions, indeed! go, thou wanton sybil, thou amorous woman of Endor, go!

Duenna. You base, scurrilous, old—but I won't demean myself by naming what you are-yes, savage, I'll leave your den ; but I suppose you don't mean to detain my apparel I may have my things, I presume?

Jerome. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe on what have you pilfered, heh?

Duenna. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress, she has valuables of mine ; besides, my cardinal and veil are in her room.

Jerome. Your veil forsooth! what, do you dread being gazed at? or are you afraid of your complexion ? well, go take your leave, and get your veil and cardinal! soh! you quit the house within these five miputes-In-in-quick [Exit Duenna.] Here was a precious plot of mischief!-these are the comforts daughters bring us !

AIR.

If a daughter you have, she's the plague of your life,
No peace shall you know, tho' you've buried your wife,
At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her.
Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter.

Sighing and whining,

Dying and pining,
Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!

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