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THE LOAN OF A LOVER.

ACT I.

SCENE J.-Gardens of a Villa on the Canal near Utrecht. The tower of the Cathedral is seen in the distance. In one corner of the Garden, overlooking the Canal, is a Summer House, R., in the Dutch taste.

Enter SwYZEL and DELVE, r.

Swy. Do as you're bid, and no reflections.

know the mistress is the master?

Don't you

Del. Well, but now really, Mynheer Swyzel-to put out the orange-trees before the white frosts are over-is that common sense?

Swy. What have you to do with common sense? Nothing at all-or you would not pretend to have more than your mistress. It is Mamzelle Ernestine's pleasure to turn the orangery into a ball-room, and turned it must be. Del. But the trees will die.

Swy. Let 'em die, then-that's their business-yours is to clear the place out, according to order. About it, without more words! If she told me to fling all the Schiedam in the cellar into the canal, I should do so, without hesitation.

Del. You'd fling yourself after it, I'm sure.

Swy. Not when it was mixed with water, you rogue! or while the Baron has money enough to buy more. Come -to work! to work! or you'll not get the room ready by midnight.

Del. Oh, my poor range trees-they'll die, every one of them! [Exit, R. Swy. Silly fellow, to trouble his head about what does . not concern him. If his employers take no care for their

own interests, why should he fidget about them? He hasn't the slightest notion of service!

Spyk.

Well, Peter.

Ah! here's Peter

Enter PETER, l.

Pet. Good morning, Master Steward.

Swy. So, you've been to Amsterdam, to buy cattle, I hear?

Pet. Ay, and fine beasts they are, too, Master Steward. But, talking of beasts, how do you find yourself to-day? you were rather poorly when I left.

Swy. Oh! I'm better, thank you; but I'm not so young as I was thirty years ago I find that, Peter. Ah! I envy you, you rogue! Three-and-twenty-stout-timbered light-hearted and rich, I may say; for old Jan Spyk, your father, left you a pretty round sum, I take it?

Pet. Why, it might have been less, and yet worth having, Master Steward.

Swy. Well, and why don't you get a wife, now? All the girls in the neighbourhood are pulling caps for you.

Pet. Why, I don't know; they do look at me, somehow, but I'm not smitten with anybody in particular. However, I don't wish to prevent them-they may fall in love with me, and then I can choose, you know,

Swy. Well, perhaps that's the best way.

Pet. Yes, I think so-as Gertrude said to me the other day you don't love anybody in particular, Peter, so you can look about you.

Swy. Gertrude-what, our Gertrude? The simpleton that has the run of the house and gardens by permission of the Baron, because she's the orphan daughter of his old bailiff, and who is always so mighty busy, doing nothing at all, by way of earning the living allowed her! Is she your counsellor ?

Pet. Oh, she and I gossip now and then, when we meet. She's a sort of relation of inine-my brother-in-law's aunt stood godmother to her.

Swy. Well, that is a sort of relation, certainly.

Pet. And then, you see, simpleton as she is, she has now and then an idea, and that's the only thing I want-I never have an idea. It's very odd, but I never have what

you can really call an idea-of my own, that is-for I'm quick enough, if a person only just-and yesterday, now I saw her but for two or three minutes, and I'll be hanged if she didn't give me a capital idea! and that's what has brought me here this morning. You've a Captain Amersfort staying here, haven't you?

Swy. Oh, yes; one of our young lady's score of lovers -and the best of 'em, too, to my mind; but she's too capricious to make up hers. He's a fine fellow-handsome, clever, gallant

Pet. And landlord of the fine farm of Appledoorn-so Gertrude says.

Swy. Ah! and you want to be his tenant, no doubt? Pet. Why, Gertrude thinks

Swy. Well, she's right there-it's pretty property; but there are several farmers offering.

Pet. So she tells me; but she says that if you were to speak to the Captain in my favour

Swy. Well, she's right there, too. If I were to speakPet. And will you?-will you, Master Steward? I've a keg at home of the finest flavour, which I should be too happy

Swy. Pshaw! pshaw! you know, if I do anything, it's never with a view to benefit myself, Peter; [Crosses, R.] so send me the keg, if it will serve you, and we'll see what can be done about it.

Gertrude. [Without, L.] Mynheer Swyzel! Mynheer Swyzel!

Swy. Here comes Gertrude.

Enter GERTRUDE, running, L.

Ger. Mynheer Swyzel! Mynheer Swyzel!

Swy. Well, don't bawl so-you young baggage. [Crosses, c.] What do you want?

Ger. [Out of breath.] You're to go directly-I've been looking for you everywhere, to tell you there's Peter Spyk.

Swy. To tell me that ?-why, I know that.

Ger. No; to tell you to tell you-how d'ye do, Peter? are you very well?

Pet. Ay, ay!

[Crosses, c.

Swy. Will you tell me what you mean to tell me?

Sneer. Egad, the business comes on quick here.
Puff. Yes, sir: now she comes in stark mad, in white

satin.

Sneer. Why in white satin?

Puff. Oh, Lord, sir, when a heroine goes mad, she always goes into white satin-don't she, Dangle?

Dan. Always-it's a rule.

6

Puff. Yes, here it is. [Looking at the book.] Enter Tilburina, stark mad, in white satin, and her Confidant, stark mad, in white linen.'

Enter TILBURINA and CONFIDANT, R., mad, according to

custom.

Sneer. But what the deuce! is the Confidant to be mad, too?

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Puff. To be sure she is: the Confidant is always to do whatever her mistress does; weep when she weeps, smile when she smiles, go mad when she goes mad. Now, madam Confidant—but keep your madness in the background, if you please.

Til. The wind whistles-the moon rises-[Screams,]

see,

'They have killed my squirrel in his cage !—

Is this a grasshopper?-Ha! no, it is my 'Whiskerandos. You shall not keep him—

[Kneels.

'I know you have him in your breeches pocket-'An oyster may be crossed in love!-Who says 'A whale's a bird?-Ha! did you call, my love?— 'He's here!—He's there!—He's every where !— 'Ah me! he's no where!' [Exit Tilburina, R.—The Confidant imitates Tilburina, and exit, R.

Puff. There! do you ever desire to see any body madder than that?

Sneer. Never, while I live! And, pray, what becomes of her?

Puff. She is gone to throw herself into the sea, to be sure—and that brings us at once to the scene of action, and so to my catastrophe-my sea-fight, I mean.

Sneer. What, you bring that in at last?

Puff. Yes, yes; you know my play is called the Spanish Armada, otherwise, egad, I have no occasion for the

battle at all. Now, then, for my magnificence! my battle! my noise! and my procession! You are all ready? Promp. [Within, L.] Yes, sir.

Puff. Very well. Now, then, change the scene, and then for our grand display.

[The scene changes to a view of the Spanish Armada, in close action with the British fleet. Music plays "Britons strike home." Spanish fleet destroyed by fire-ships &c. English fleet advances-Music plays "Rule Britannia." During this scene, Puff directs and applauds everything: then,]

Well, pretty well-but not quite perfect; so, ladies and gentlemen, if you please, we'll rehearse this piece again on the first opportunity. [Curtain drops.

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