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Vio. By Heaven, thou hast no rival in my heart! | much from the character of a gentleman, I assure let that sufficeNay, sure, you will not let my father find you here- -Distraction!

Fel. Indeed, but I shall-except you command this door to be opened, and that way conceal me from his sight.

[He struggles with her to come at the door. Vio. Hear me, Felix-Though I were sure the refusing what you ask would separate us for ever, by all that's powerful you shall not enter here! Either you do love me, or you do not: convince me by your obedience.

you.

Fel. [Counterfeits drunkenness.] Who, I assault a lady upon honour, the lady assaulted me, sir, and would have seized this body-politic on the king's high-way-Let her come out, and deny it, if she can.- -Pray, sir, command the door to be opened; and let her prove me a liar, if she knows howI have been drinking Claret, and Champaign, and Burgundy, and other French wines, sir; but I love my own country, for all that.

Fel. That's not the matter in debate- -I will know who is in this closet, let the consequence be what it will. Nay, nay, you strive in vain: II will go in.

Vio. Thou shalt not go

Enter DON PEDRO.

Ped. Ay, ay, who doubts it, sir? Open the door, Violante, and let the lady come out. Come, warrant thee he shan't hurt her.

Fel. No, no; I won't hurt the dear creature. -Now, which way will she come off? [Aside. Vio. [Unlocks the door.] Come forth, madam; none shall dare to touch your veil--I'll convey

Ped. Hey-day! what's here to do? I will go you out with safety, or lose my life.--I hope in, and you shan't go in-and I will go in- she understands me. Why, who are you, sir?

now? say

Fel. 'Sdeath! what shall I Ped. Don Felix, pray, what's your business in my house? ha, sir?

Vio. Oh, sir, what miracle returned you home so soon? some angel 'twas that brought my father back to succour the distressed.- -This ruffian, he-I cannot call him gentleman-has committed such an uncommon rudeness, as the most profligate wretch would be ashamed to own.

Fel. Ha! what the devil does she mean? [Aside. Vio. As I was at my devotion in my closet, I heard a loud knocking at my door, mixed with a woman's voice, which seemed to imply she was in danger

Fel. I am confounded!

[Aside.

Vio. I flew to the door with the utmost speed, where a lady, veiled, rushed in upon me; who, falling on her knees, begged my protection from a gentleman, who, she said, pursued her. I took compassion on her tears, and locked her into this closet; but, in the surprise, having left open the door, this very person whom you see with his sword drawn, ran in, protesting, if I did not give her up to his revenge, he'd force the door.

Fel. What, in the name of goodness, does she mean to do? hang me? [Aside. Vio. I strove with him, till I was out of breath; and had you not come as you did, he must have entered-But he's in drink, I suppose; or he could not have been guilty of such an indecorum. [Leering at FELIX.

Ped. I'm amazed!

Fel. The devil never failed a woman at a pinch-what a tale has she formed in a minute! -In drink, quotha! a good hint: I'll lay hold on't to bring myself off. [Aside. Ped. Fy! Don Felix!-no sooner rid of one broil, than you are commencing another.—To assault a lady with a naked sword, derogates

[Aside. Enter ISABELLA, veiled, and crosses the stage.

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really so.

[Exit.

[Aside.

Vio. [To FELIX.] Get clear of my father, and follow me to the Terriero de Passa, where all mistakes shall be rectified.

[Exit with ISABELLA. DON FELIX offers to follow her.

Ped. [Drawing his sword.] Not a step, sir, till the lady is past your recovery; I never suffer the laws of hospitality to be violated in my house, sir.

-I'll keep Don Felix here, till you see her safe out, Violante.- -Come, sir, you and I will take a pipe and a bottle together.

Fel. Damn your pipe, and damn your bottle! I hate drinking and smoking; and how will you help yourself, old whiskers?

Ped. As to smoking or drinking, you have your liberty; but you shall stay, sir.

Fel. But I won't stay-for I don't like your company; besides, I have the best reason in the world, for my not staying.

Ped. Ay, what's that?

Fel. Why, I am going to be married; and so, good bye.

Ped. To be married!—it can't be. Why, you are drunk, Felix.

Fel. Drunk! ay, to be sure; you don't think I'd go to be married, if I were sober-but, drunk or sober, I am going to be married, for all that--and if you won't believe me, to convince you, I'll show you the contract, old gentleman. Ped. Ay, do; come, let's see this contract,

then.

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Fel. Yes, yes; I'll go-I'll go and be married; | have an hankering kindness after the slut——————we but shan't we take a bottle, first? must be reconciled.

Ped. No, no-pray, dear sir, go, and be married.

Fel. Very well, very well; [Going.] but I insist upon your taking one glass, though.

Ped. No, not now-some other time-consider the lady waits.

Fel. What a cross old fool! first he will, and then he won't; and then he will, and then he won't. [Erit.

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Lop. I am glad to find you at home, Don Pedro- -I was told that you was upon the road to Don Juan's chateau this afternoon.

Ped. That might be, my lord; but I had the misfortune to break the wheel of my chariot, which obliged me to return.— -What is your pleasure with me, my lord?

Lop. I am informed that my daughter is in your house.

Ped. That's more than I know, my lord; but here was your son, just now, as drunk as an emperor.

Lop. My son drunk!-I never saw him in drink in my life.-Where is he, pray, sir? Ped. Gone to be married.

Lop. Married!-to whom!--I don't know that he courted any body.

Ped. Nay, I know nothing of that-but, I'm sure, he showed me the contract-Within, there!

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Enter GIBBY.

Gib. Aw my sal, sir, but Ise blithe to find ye here now.

Lis. Ha, brother! give me thy hand, boy. Gib. No se fast, se ye me-Brether me ne brethers; I scorn a leer as muckle as a thiefe, se ye now, and ye must gang intul this house with me, and justifie to Donna Violante's face, that she was the lady that ganged in here this morn, se ye me, or the deel ha my saul, sir, but ye and I shall be twa folks.

Lis. Justify it to Donna Violante's face, quotha! For what? Sure you don't know what you

say.

Gib. Troth de I, sir, as weel as ye dee; therefore, come along, and make na mair words about it.

Lis. Why, what the devil do ye mean? Don't you consider you are in Portugal? Is the fellow mad?

Gib. Fellow! Ise none of yer fellow, sir; and gin the place were hell, I'd gar ye do me justice. [LISSARDO going.] Nay, the deel a fit ye gang. [Lays hold of him, and knocks. Lis. Ha! Don Pedro himself: I wish I were fairly off. [Aside.

Enter DON PEDRO.

Ped. How now? What makes you knock so loud?

Gib. Gin this be Don Pedro's house, sir, I would speak with Donna Violante, his daughter. Ped. Ha! what is it you want with my daughter, pray?

Gib. An she be your daughter, and lik your honour, command her to come out, and answer for herself now, and either justify or disprove what this chield told me this morn.

Lis. So, here will be a fine piece of work!
[Aside.

Ped. Why, what did he tell you, ha ? Gib. By my saul, sir, Ise tell you aw the truth. -My master got a pratty lady upon the how de call't- -Passa-here at five this morn, and he gar'd me watch her heam—and, in troth, lodged her here; and, meeting this ill-favoured thiefe, se ye me, I speered wha she was-and he tald me her name was Donna Violante, Don Pedro de Mendosa's daughter.

Ped. Ha! my daughter with a man, abroad at five in the morning! Death, hell, and furies! By St Anthony, I'm undone !

Gib. Wounds, sir! ye put yer saint intul bon

SCENE III.-Changes to the street before DoNny company.
PEDRO'S house.

Enter LISSARDO.

Lis. I wish I could see Floramethiuks I

Ped. Who is your master, you dog you? Adsheart, I shall be tricked of my daughter and money, too, that's worst of all.

Gib. You dog you! 'Sblead, sir! dinna ca

names-I wunna tell you who my master is, se ye, me now?

Ped. And who are you, rascal, that know my daughter so well? ha! [Holds up his cane. Lis. What shall I say, to make him give this Scotch dog a good beating? [Aside.]I know your daughter, signior! Not I; I never saw your daughter in all my life.

Gib. [Knocks him down with his fist.] Deel ha my saul, sar, gin ye get no your carich for that

lie now.

Ped. What, hoa! where are all my servants?

Enter COLONEL, FELIX, ISABELLA, and V10

LANTE.

Raise the house in pursuit of my daughter!
Ser. Here she comes, signior.

Col. Hey-day! what's here to do?

Gib. This is the loon-like tike, an lik your honour, that sent me heam with a lee this morn. Col. Come, come; 'tis all well, Gibby; let him rise.

Ped. I am thunderstruck-and have no power to speak one word.

Fel. This is a day of jubilee, Lissardo; no quarrelling with him this day.

Lis. A pox take his fists-Egad! these Britons are but a word and a blow.

Enter DON LOPEZ.

my thoughts were not over-strong for a nunnery, father.

Lop. Your daughter has played you a slippery trick, too, signior.

Ped. But your son shall never be the better for it, my lord; her twenty thousand pounds was left on certain conditions, and I'll not part with a shilling.

Lop. But we have a certain thing, called law, shall make you do justice, sir.

Ped. Well, we'll try that-my lord, much good may it do you with your daughter-in-law. [Exit. Lop. I wish you much joy of your rib. [Exit.

Enter FREDERICK.

Fel. Frederick, welcome!-I sent for thee to be partaker of my happiness; and pray give me leave to introduce you to the cause of it.

Fred. Your messenger has told me all, and I sincerely share in all your happiness.

Col. To the right about, Frederick; wish thy friend joy.

Fred. I do, with all my soul-and, madam, I congratulate your deliverance.-Your suspicions are cleared now, I hope, Felix?

Fel. They are; and I heartily ask the colonel pardon, and wish him happy with my sister; for love has taught me to know, that every man's happiness consists in choosing for himself.

Lis. After that rule, I fix here. [To FLORA. Flo. That's your mistake; I prefer my lady's Then service, and turn you over to her that pleaded right and title to you to-day.

Lop. So, have I found you, daughter?
you have not hanged yourself yet, I see.
Col. But she is married, my lord.
Lop. Married! Zounds! to whom?
Col. Even to your humble servant, my lord.
If you please to give us your blessing. [Kneels.
Lop. Why, hark ye, mistress, are you really
married?

Isa. Really so, my lord.
Lop. And who are you, sir?

Col. An honest North Briton by birth, and a
colonel by commission, my lord.
Lop. An heretic! the devil!

[Holding up his hands. Ped. She has played yon a slippery trick, indeed, my lord.-Well, my girl, thou hast been to see thy friend married- next week thou shalt have a better husband, my dear.

[TO VIOLANTE. Fel. Next week is a little too soon, sir; I hope to live longer than that.

Ped. What do you mean, sir? You have not made a rib of my daughter, too, have you?

Vio. Indeed but he has, sir; I know not how, but he took me in an unguarded minute-when!

Lis. Choose, proud fool! I sha'nt ask you twice.

Gib. What say ye now, lass?-will ye gee yer hond to poor Gibby?-What say you? will you dance the reel of Bogie with me?

Inis. That I may not leave my lady, I take you at your word; and, though our wooing has been short, I'll, by her example, love you dearly.

[Music plays. Fel. Hark! I hear the music; somebody has done us the favour to call them in.

[A country-dance.

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VOL. II.

4 C

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SCENE I.—A great hall.

ACT I.

in the cellar last night, that I'm afraid he'll sour all the beer in my barrels.

Enter the BUTLER, COACHMAN, and GARDENER. But. There came another coach to town last night, that brought a gentleman to inquire about this strange noise we hear in the house. This spirit will bring a power of custom to the George. -If so be he continues his pranks, I design to sell a pot of ale, and set up the sign of the drum. Coach. I'll give madam warning, that's flat- Gard. I thought I heard him in one of my I've always lived in sober families-I'll not dis-bed-posts. I marvel, John, how he gets into the parage myself to be a servant in a house that is house, when all the gates are shut! haunted.

Coach. Why, then, John, we ought to take it off as fast as we can.-Here's to you. He rattled so loud under the tiles last night, that I verily thought the house would have fallen over our heads. I durst not go up into the cock-loft this morning, if I had not got one of the maids to go along with me.

But. Why, look ye, Peter, your spirit will Gard. I'll e'en marry Nell, and rent a bit of creep you into an augre-hole-he'll whisk ground of my own, if both of you leave madam; ye through a key-hole, without so much as justnot but that madam is a very good woman, ifling against one of the wards. Mrs Abigail did not spoil her. Come, here's her health.

But. Tis a very hard thing to be a butler in a house that is disturbed. He made such a racket

Coach. Poor madam is mainly frighted, that's certain; and verily believes it is my master, that was killed in the last campaign.

But. Out of all manner of question, Robin,

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ghost, I'd tell him his own. But, alack! what can one of us poor men do with a spirit, that can neither write nor read?

But. Thou art always cracking and boastfounding, Peter; thou dost not know what mischief it might do thee, if such a silly dog as thee should offer to speak to it. For aught I know, he might flea thee alive, and make parchment of thy skin, to cover his drum with.

But. Found! Why, ye fool, is not his body here about the house? Dost thou think he can beat his drum without hands and arms?

Coach. Tis master, as sure as I stand here alive; and I verily believe I saw him last night in the town-close.

Gard. Ay! How did he appear?
Coach. Like a white horse.

But. Phoo, Robin! I tell ye he has never appeared yet, but in the shape of the sound of a drum.

Coach. This makes one almost afraid of one's own shadow. As I was walking from the stable t'other night, without my lanthorn, I fell across a beam that lay in my way; and faith my heart was in my mouth. I thought I had stumbled over a spirit!

But. Thou might'st as well have stumbled over a straw. Why, a spirit is such a little thing, that I have heard a man, who was a great scholar, say, that he'll dance you a Lancashire hornpipe upon the point of a needle. As I sat in the pantry last night, counting my spoons, the candle, methought, burnt blue, and the spayed bitch looked as if she saw something.

Coach. Ay, poor cur, she is almost frightened out of her wits!

Gard. Ay, I warrant ye, she hears him, many a time and often, when we don't.

But. My lady must have him laid, that's certain, whatever it cost her.

Gurd. I fancy, when one goes to market, one might hear of somebody that can make a spell. Coach. Why, may not the parson of our parish lay him?

But. No, no, no; our parson cannot lay him. Coach. Why not he, as well as another man? But. Why, ye fool, he is not qualified. He has not taken the oaths.

Gard. Why, d'ye think, John, that the spirit would take the law of him? Faith, I could tell you one way to drive him off.

Coach. How's that?

Gard. I'll tell you immediately.-[Drinks.] I fancy Mrs Abigail might scold him out of the house.

Coach. Ay, she has a tongue that would drown his drum, if any thing could.

But. Pugh, this is all froth; you understand nothing of the matter. The next time it makes a noise, I tell you what ought to be done-I would have the steward speak Latin to it.

Coach. Ay, that would do, if the steward had but courage.

Gard. There you have it. He's a fearful man. If I had as much learning as he, and I met the

Gard. A fiddlestick! tell not me-I fear nothing, not I. I never did harın in my life; I never committed murder.

But. I verily believe thee. Keep thy temper, Peter; after supper we'll drink each of us a double mug, and then let come what will.

Gard. Why, that's well said, John-An honest man, that is not quite sober, has nothing to fearHere's to ye- -Why, now, if he should come this minute, here would I stand- -Ha! what noise is that?

But. Coach. Ha! where? Gard. The devil! the devil! Oh, no, 'tis Mrs Abigail.

But. Ay, faith! 'tis she; 'tis Mrs Abigail! A good mistake; 'tis Mrs Abigail.

Enter ABIGAIL.

Abi. Here are your drunken sots for you! Is this a time to be guzzling, when gentry are come to the house! Why don't you lay your cloth? How come you out of the stables? Why are you not at work in your garden?

Gard. Why, yonder's the fine Londoner and madam fetching a walk together; and, methought, they looked as if they should say, they had rather have my room than my company.

But. And so, forsooth, being all three met together, we are doing our endeavours to drink this same drummer out of our heads.

Gard. For you must know, Mrs Abigail, we are all of opinion, that one cannot be a match for him, unless one be as drunk as a drum.

Coach. I am resolved to give madam warning to hire herself another coachman; for I came to serve my master, d'ye see, while he was alive; but do suppose that he has no further occasion for a coach, now he walks.

But. Truly, Mrs Abigail, I must needs say, that this spirit is a very odd sort of a body, after all, to fright madam, and his old servants, at this rate.

Gard. And truly, Mrs Abigail, I must needs say, I served my master contentedly, while he was living; but I will serve no man living (that is, no man that is not living) without double wages.

Abi. Ay, 'tis such cowards as you that go about with idle stories, to disgrace the house, and bring so many strangers about it: you first frighten yourselves, and then your neighbours.

Gard. Frightened! I scorn your words: frightened, quotha!

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