-what a fine language it is. Well, I agree, if he can prevail on the girl-and that I am sure he never will. Doc. Greal. Lieu. Writhum bothum. [Aside. Doc. He says you must give this under your hand, while he writes you a miraculous recipe. [Both sit down to write. Lau. Do, mamma, tell me the meaning of this. Bri. Don't speak to me, girl.-Unnatural paren! Jus. There, doctor, there's what he requires. Doc. And here's your recipe, read it yourself. Jus. Hey! what's here! plain English. Doc. Read it out, a wondrous nostrum, I'll answer for it. Jus. In reading this you are cured, by your affectionate son-in-law, O'Conner.' Who, in the name of Beelzebub, sirrah, who are you? Lieu. Your affectionate son-in-law, O'Conner, and your very humble servant, Humphrey Hum. Jus. 'Tis false, you dog, you are not my son-in-law, for I'll be poison'd again, and you shall be hang'dI'll die, sirrah, and leave Bridget my estate. Bri. Ay, pray do, my dear! leave me your estate, I'm sure he deserves to be hang'd. Jus. He does you say-hark'ee, Bridget, you shew'd such a tender concern for me when you thought me poison'd, that for the future I am resolv'd never to take your advice again in any thing. So, do you hear Sir, you are an Irishman, and a soldier, ar❜n't you ? Lieu. I am, Sir, and proud of both. Jus. The two things on earth I most hate, so I'll tell you what, renounce your country, and sell your commission, and I'll forgive you. Lieu. Hark'ee, Mr. Justice, if you were not the father of my Lauretta, I would pull your nose for asking the first, and break your bones for desiring the second. Doc. Aye, aye, you're right. Jus. Is he, then I'm sure I must be wrong. Here, Sir, I give my daughter to you, who are the most impudent dog, I ever saw in my life. Lieu. O Sir, say what you please, with such a gift as Lauretta, every word is a compliment. Bri. Well, my lovee, I think this will be a good subject for us to quarrel about the rest of our lives. Jus. Why truly, my dear, I think so, though we are seldom at a loss for that. Doc. This is all as it should be. My Alexander, I give you joy, and you my little god daughter; and now my sincere wish is, that you may make just such a wife as my poor dear Dolly. REMARKS. THE wit employed in this piece, is of a less refined character than that usually employed by Sheridan. But the characters and dialogue are too droll not to provoke laughter, in spite of any reluctance of taste. It was produced soon after the 'Rivals' had obtained the author such signal reputation, and may be regarded, perhaps, as the first overflowing of a mind buoyant beyond expression with pleasure. F SCENE I.-A Street. Enter LOPEZ, with a dark Lantern. Lopez. PAST three o'clock! soh! a notable hour for one of my regular disposition to be strolling like a bravo through the streets of Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young lover is the hardest-not that I am an enemy to love; but my love and my master's differ strangely-Don Ferdinand is much too gallant to eat, drink, or sleep-now, my love gives me an appetite-then I am fond of dreaming of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her-This cannot be done without good sleep and good liquor; hence my partiality to a feather-bed and a bottle. What a pity, now that I have not further time for reflections! but my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his retreat from Donna Clara's window, as I guess-[Music without.]-Hey! sure I heard music! So, so who have we here? Oh, Don Antonio, my master's friend, come from the masquerade, to sere nade my young mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: soh! we shall have the old gentleman up presently. Lest he should miss his son, I had best lose no time in getting to my post. [Exit. Enter ANTONIO and LORENZO, with Masks and Music. SONG. ANTONIO. Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain So softly sing, so humbly sigh, That though my sleeping love shall know, Her rosy slumbers shall not fly! Thus may some vision whisper more Than ever I dare speak before. A Mask. Antonio, your mistress wil never wake, while you sing so dolefully: love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody. Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. 1 Mask. The reason is, because you know she does not regard you enough to appear, if you awakened her. Anth. Nay, then, I'll convince you The breath of morn bids hence the night; LOUISA-replies from a Window. Waking, I heard thy numbers chide, [Sings. Waking, the dawn did bless my sight; Louisa. Ant. Jerome. Louisa. Ant. Louisa. Ant. TRIO. Nay, pr'ythee, father, why so rough? How durst you, daughter, lend an ear Quick from the window, fly! Must you go? We soon, perhaps, may meet again; Jerome. Reach me the blunderbuss. Ant. et L. The god of love, who knows our pain— Jerome. Hence, or these slugs are through your brain. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A Piazza. Enter FERDINAND and Lopez. Lopez. Truly, Sir, I think that a little sleep, once in a week, or so Ferd. Peace, fool! don't mention sleep to me. Lopez. No, no, Sir, I don't mention your low-bred, vulgar, sound sleep; but I can't help thinking that a gentle slumber, or half an hour's dozing, if it were only for the novelty of the thing Ferd. Peace, booby, 1 say!-Oh Clara, dear, cruel disturber of my rest! Lopez. And of mine, too. Ferd. 'Sdeath! to trifle with me at such a juncture as this-now to stand on punctilios-love me! I don't believe she ever did. Lopez. Nor I either. Ferd. Or is it, that her sex never know their desires for an hour together? Lopez. Ah, they know them oftener than they'll own them? Ferd. Is there, in the world, so inconstant a creature as Clara? Lopez. 1 could name one. |