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. Any thing more? 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 re; ard paid to Don Antonio, being my particular friend. Jerome. That, doubtless, is a very great recommendation. I certainly have not paid sufficient respect to it. Ferd. There is not a man living I would sooner choose 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 your 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 lief she had lived, and I wish every widower in Seville could say the same. I shall now go and get the key of this dressing-room-so, good son, if you have any lecture in support 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 woman never likes a man with ardour till she has suf fered 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 thunderstruck! 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-duck! What have you to say for yourself? Duenna. Well, Sir, since you have forced that letter 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. Jerome. The tender passions! yes, they would become 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, eh? 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 minutes. 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, though you've buried your wife: At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her: O what a plague is an obstinate daughter! When scarce in their teens, they have wit to perplex With letters and lovers for ever they vex us; [us; While each still rejects the fair suitor you've brought her: O what a plague is an obstinate daughter! O what a plague is an obstinate daughter! Enter LOUISA, dressed as the DUENNA, with Cardinal and Veil, seeming to cry. Jerome. This way, mistress, this way. What, I warrant, a tender parting! Soh! tears of turpentine down those deal cheeks. Ay, you may well hide your head. Yes, whine till your heart breaks; but I'll not hear one word of excuse-so you are right to be dumb. This way. [Pushing her out.] [Exeunt. Enter DUENNA. Duenna. So, speed you well, sagacious Don Jerome! Oh, rare effects of passion and obstinacy! Now shall I try whether I can't play the fine lady as well as my mistress; and, if I succeed, I may be a fine G lady for the rest of my life. I'll lose no time to equip myself. SCENE IV. [Exit. The Court before DON JEROME'S House. Enter DON JEROME and LOUISA. Jerome. Come, mistress, there is your way. The world lies before you, so troop thou antiquated Eve, thou original sin. Hold, yonder is some fellow skulking; perhaps it is Antonio. Go to him, d'ye hear? and tell him to make you amends; and as he has got you turned away, tell him I say it is but just he should take you himself: go. [Exit LOUISA.] Soh! I am rid of her, thank Heaven! and now I shall be able to keep my oath, and confine my daughter with better security. [Exit. SCENE V.-The Piazza. Enter CLARA and her MAID. Maid. But where, madam, is it you intend to go? Clara. Any where to avoid the selfish violence of my mother-in-law, and Ferdinand's insolent importunity. Maid. Indeed, ma'am, since we have profited by Don Ferdinand's key, in making our escape, I think we had best find him, if it were only to thank him. Clara. No: he has offended me exceedingly. Enter LOUISA. [Retire. Louisa. So, I have succeeded in being turned out of doors-but how shall I find Antonio? I dare not inquire for him, for fear of being discovered. I would send to my friend Clara, but that I doubt her prudery would condemn me. (Apart. Maid. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to try if your friend Donna Louisa would not receive you? [Apart to CLARA. |