Sir Tun. Peace, fellow!-Would your lordship choose to have your guests shown here, or shall they wait till we come to 'em? Fash. I believe, Sir Tunbelly, we had better not have these visitors here yet.-[Aside.] Egad, all must out. Love. Confess, confess; we'll stand by you.

[Aside to TOM FASHION. Lord Fop. Nay, Sir Tunbelly, I insist on your calling evidence on both sides-and if I do not prove that fellow an impostor

Fash. Brother, I will save you the trouble, by now confessing that I am not what I have passed myself for.-Sir Tunbelly, I am a gentleman, and I flatter myself a man of character; but 'tis with great pride I assure you I am not Lord Foppington.

Sir Tun. Ouns!-what's this?—an impostor ?—a cheat ?— fire and faggots, sir, if you are not Lord Foppington, who the devil are you?

Fash. Sir, the best of my condition is, I am your son-in-law; and the worst of it is, I am brother to that noble peer.

Lord Fop. Impudent to the last, Gad dem me!

Sir Tun. My son-in-law ! not yet, I hope.

Fash. Pardon me, sir; thanks to the goodness of your chaplain, and the kind offices of this gentlewoman.

Lory. "Tis true, indeed, sir; I gave your daughter away, and Mrs. Nurse, here, was clerk.

Sir Tun. Knock that rascal down-But speak, Jezebel, how's this?

Nurse. Alas! your honour, forgive me; I have been overreached in this business as well as you. Your worship knows, if the wedding-dinner had been ready, you would have given her away with your own hands.

Sir Tun. But how durst you do this without acquainting me? Nurse. Alas! if your worship had seen how the poor thing begged and prayed, and clung and twined about me like ivy round an old wall, you would say, I who had nursed it, and reared it, must have had a heart like stone to refuse it.

Sir Tun. Ouns! I shall go mad! Unloose my lord there, you scoundrels !

Lord Fop. Why, when these gentlemen are at leisure, I should be glad to congratulate you on your son-in-law, with a little more freedom of address.

Miss Hoyd. Egad, though, I don't see which is to be my husband after all.

Love. Come, come, Sir Tunbelly, a man of your understanding must perceive that an affair of this kind is not to be mended by anger and reproaches.

Col. Town. Take my word for it, Sir Tunbelly, you are only tricked into a son-in-law you may be proud of: my friend Tom Fashion is as honest a fellow as ever breathed.

Love. That he is, depend on't; and will hunt or drink with you most affectionately: be generous, old boy, and forgive them

Sir Tun. Never! the hussy !-when I had set my heart on getting her a title.

Lord Fop. Now, Sir Tunbelly, that I am untrussed-give me leave to thank thee for the very extraordinary reception I have met with in thy damned, execrable mansion; and at the same time to assure you, that of all the bumpkins and blockheads I have had the misfortune to meet with, thou art the most obstinate and egregious, strike me ugly!

Sir Tun. What's this? I believe you are both rogues alike. Lord Fop. No, Sir Tunbelly, thou wilt find to thy unspeakable mortification, that I am the real Lord Foppington, who was to have disgraced myself by an alliance with a clod; and that thou hast matched thy girl to a beggarly younger brother of mine, whose title-deeds might be contained in thy tobaccobox.

Sir Tun. Puppy! puppy!-I might prevent their being beggars, if I chose it; for I could give 'em as good a rent roll as your lordship.

Lord Fop. Ay, old fellow, but you will not do that-for that would be acting like a Christian, and thou art a barbarian, stap my vitals.

Sir Tun. Udzookers! now six such words more, and I'll forgive them directly.

Love. 'Slife, Sir Tunbelly, you should do it, and bless your self-Ladies, what say you?

Aman. Good Sir Tunbelly, you must consent.

- Ber. Come, you have been young yourself, Sir Tunbelly.

Sir Tun. Well then, if I must, I must; but turn-turn that sneering lord out, however, and let me be revenged on somebody. But first look whether I am a barbarian or not; there, children, I join your hands; and when I'm in a better humour, I'll give you my blessing.

Love. Nobly done, Sir Tunbelly! and we shall see you dance. at a grandson's christening yet.

Miss Hoyd. By goles, though, I don't understand this! What an't I to be a lady after all? only plain Mrs. What's my husband's name, nurse?

Nurse. Squire Fashion.

Miss Hoyd. Squire, is he ?-Well, that's better than nothing.

Lord Fop. [Aside.] Now I will put on a philosophic air, and show these people, that it is not possible to put a man of my quality out of countenance.-[Aloud.] Dear Tam, since things are fallen out, pr'ythee give me leave to wish thee joy; I do it de bon cœur, strike me dumb! You have married into a family of great politeness and uncommon elegance of manners, and your bride appears to be a lady beautiful in person, modest in her deportment, refined in her sentiments, and of nice morality, split my windpipe!

Miss Hoyd. By goles, husband, break his bones, if he calls

me names!

Fash. Your lordship may keep up your spirits with your grimace, if you please; I shall support mine, by Sir Tunbelly's favour, with this lady and three thousand pounds a year.

Lord Fop. Well, adieu, Tam !-Ladies, I kiss your hands.— Sir Tunbelly, I shall now quit this thy den; but while I retain the use of my arms, I shall ever remember thou art a demned horrid savage; Ged demn me!

[Exit. Sir Tun. By the mass, 'tis well he's gone-for I should ha' been provoked, by-and-by, to ha' dun un a mischief. Well, if this is a lord, I think Hoyden has luck o' her side, in troth.

Col. Town. She has indeed, Sir Tunbelly.-But I hear the fiddles; his lordship, I know, had provided 'em.

Love. Oh, a dance and a bottle, Sir Tunbelly, by all means! Sir Tun. I had forgot the company below; well-what-we must be merry then, ha? and dance and drink, ha? Well, 'fore George, you shan't say I do these things by halves. Sonin-law there looks like a hearty rogue, so we'll have a night on't and which of these ladies will be the old man's partner, ha? Ecod, I don't know how I came to be in so good a humour.

Ber. Well, Sir Tunbelly, my friend and I both will endeavour to keep you so you have done a generous action, and are entitled to our attention. If you should be at a loss to divert your new guests, we will assist you to relate to them the plot of your daughter's marriage, and his lordship's deserved mortification; a subject which perhaps may afford no bad evening's entertainment.

Sir Tun. Ecod, with all my heart; though I am a main bungler at a long story.

Ber. Never fear; we will assist you, if the tale is judged worth being repeated; but of this you may be assured, that while the intention is evidently to please, British auditors will ever be indulgent to the errors of the performance.

[Exeunt omnes.

PIZARRO.

A TRAGEDY.

ADVERTISEMENT.

As the two translations which have been published of Kotzebue's "Spaniards in Peru" have, I understand, been very generally read, the public are in possession of all the materials necessary to form a judgment on the merits and defects of the Play performed at Drury Lane Theatre.

DEDICATION.

To her, whose approbation of this Drama, and whose peculiar delight in the applause it has received from the public, have been to me the highest gratification derived from its success-I dedicate this Play.

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN 1799.

CHILL'D by rude gales, while yet reluctant May
Withholds the beauties of the vernal day;
As some fond maid, whom matron frowns reprove,
Suspends the smile her heart devotes to love;

The season's pleasures too delay their hour,
And Winter revels with protracted power:
Then blame not, critics, if, thus late, we bring
A Winter Drama-but reproach-the Spring.
What prudent cit dares yet the season trust,
Bask in his whisky, and enjoy the dust?
Horsed in Cheapside, scarce yet the gayer spark
Achieves the Sunday triumph of the Park;

Scarce yet you see him, dreading to be late,

Scour the New Road, and dash through Grosvenor Gate :Anxious-yet timorous too-his steed to show,

The hack Bucephalus of Rotten Row.

Careless he seems, yet vigilantly sly,
Woos the gay glance of ladies passing by,
While his off heel, insidiously aside,
Provokes the caper which he seems to chide.
Scarce rural Kensington due honour gains;
The vulgar verdure of her walk remains!
Where night-robed misses amble two by two,
Nodding to booted beaux-" How do, how do ?"
With generous questions that no answer wait,
"How vastly full! An't you come vastly late?
Isn't it quite charming? When do you leave town?
An't you quite tired? Pray, can't we sit down ?"
These suburb pleasures of a London May,
Imperfect yet, we hail the cold delay;

66

Should our play please-and you're indulgent ever--
Be your decree-""Tis better late than never."

ACT I.

SCENE I.—A pavilion near PIZARRO's Tent.

ELVIRA discovered sleeping under a canopy. VALVERDE enters, gazes on ELVIRA, kneels, and attempts to kiss her hand; ELVIRA, awakened, rises and looks at him with indignation.

Elv. Audacious! Whence is thy privilege to interrupt the few moments of repose my harassed mind can snatch amid the tumults of this noisy camp? Shall I inform thy master, Pizarro, of this presumptuous treachery?

Val. I am his servant-it is true-trusted by him—and I know him well; and therefore 'tis I ask, by what magic could Pizarro gain your heart? by what fatality still holds he your affection?