Jerome. That's right-attack him, I give you my word, this cunning Duenna. Why, you little insigniPortuguese has brought all this upon ficant reptile! himself, by endeavouring to overreach you, by getting your daughter's Margaret. fortune, without making any settlement in return. Jerome. Overreach me! Duenna. Dare such a thing as you pretend to talk of beauty? - A walking rouleau!-a body that seems Louisa. 'Tis so, indeed, sir, and we to owe all its consequence to the can prove it to you. dropsy!-a pair of eyes like two Jerome. Why, gad take me, it must dead beetles in a wad of brown dough! be so, or he could never have put up with such a face as Margaret's-so, little Solomon, I wish you joy of your wife, with all my soul. —a beard like an artichoke, with dry Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in Duenna. But you shall know that love-let you alone for the plot. Ant. A cunning dog, ar'n't you? sly little villain, heh? I have a brother, who wears a sword A—and if you don't do me justice— Isaac. Fire seize your brother, and you too! I'll fly to Jerusalem, to avoid you! Duenna. Fly where you will, I'll follow you. about him, Margaret. [Exeunt Isaac Jerome. Throw your snowy arms and DUENNA.]-But, Louisa, are you really married to this modest gentleman? Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands, Í gave him my hand I within this hour. Jerome. My commands! Ant. Yes, sir; here is your consent, under your own hand. Jerome. How! would you rob me of my child by a trick, a false pretence? and do you think to get her fortune by the same means? Why, 'slife, you are as great a rogue as Isaac ! Ant. No, Don Jerome; though I have profited by this paper, in gaining doors thrown open? Our children's weddings are the only holidays our age can boast; and then we drain, with pleasure, the little stock of spirits time has left us. [Music within.] But see, here come our friends and your daughter's hand, I scorn to ob- Jerome. Ifecks, those lips ha'n't tain her fortune by deceit. There, been chilled by kissing beads-Egad, sir. [Gives a letter.] Now give her I believe I shall grow the best humyour blessing for a dower, and all oured fellow in Spain-Lewis! Santhe little I possess shall be settled on cho! Carlos! d'ye hear? are all my her in return. Had you wedded her to a prince, he could do no more. Jerome. Why, gad take me, but you are a very extraordinary fellow! But have you the impudence to suppose no one can do a generous action but yourself? Here, Louisa, tell this neighbours! proud fool of yours, that he's the only man I know that would renounce And, 'faith, we'll make a night on't, your fortune; and, by my soul, he's with wine, and dance, and catchesthe only man in Spain that's worthy then old and young shall join us. of it. There, bless you both: I'm an obstinate old fellow when I'm in the wrong; but you shall now find me as steady in the right. Enter FERDINAND and CLARA. Another wonder still! why, sirrah! Ferdinand, you have not stole a nun, have you? Ferd. She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sir-look nearer, and you will perceive 'tis Clara D'Almanza, Don Guzman's daughter; and, with pardon for stealing a wedding, she is also my wife. Jerome. Gadsbud, and a great fortune. Ferdinand, you are a prudent young rogue, and I forgive you: and, ifecks, you are a pretty little damsel. Give your father-in law a kiss, you smiling rogue. Clara. There, old gentleman; and now mind you behave well to us. Enter MASQUERADERS. FINALE. Jerome. Come now for jest and smiling, Till we banish care away. Louisa. Thus crown'd with dance and With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees Ferd. Each bride with blushes glowing, Ant. Then healths to every friend, Clara. Nor, while we are so joyous, Jerome. For generous guests like these A COMEDY. PROLOGUE. WHAT various transformations we re- Now,like the ocean, dreadful to the view, Hath broke its bounds, and swallows up the shoe; mark, From east Whitechapel, to the west Hyde-park! Men, women, children, houses, signs, and fashions, State, stage, trade, taste, the humours, and the passions; Th' Exchange, 'Change-alley, where- The streets, sometime ago, were paved The purest lovers then indulged no bliss; - As they approach'd slap went the black eye. The wearer's foot, like his once fine estate, Is almost lost, th' encumbrance is so great. 1 Ladies may smile-are they not in the plot? The bounds of nature have not they forgot? Were they design'd to be, when put together, Made up, like shuttle-cocks, of cork and feather? Their pale-faced grand-mammas appear'd with grace, When dawning blushes rose upon the face; No blushes now their once-loved station The foe is in possession of the cheek! But now weak nerves in hackney-Hinder'd the fair to pass the lowest gate; coaches roam, of former times, that polish'd thing, a beau, Is metamorphosed now, from top to toe; Then the full flaxen wig, spread o'er the shoulders, Conceal'd the shallow head from the beholders! But now the whole's reversed—each fop appears, Cropp'd, and trimm'd up, exposing head and ears: The buckle then its modest limits knew,| Some plays may justly call for alteration; o'er That graceless wit* which was too bare before: Those writers well and wisely use their Who turn our wantons into Magdalens; * And Van wants grace, who never wanted wit.-POPE. ACT I. SCENE I. The Hall of an Inn. Enter Young FASHION and LORY, Postillion following with a Portmanteau. Young F LORY, pay the post-boy, and take the portmanteau. Lory. Faith, sir, we had better let the postboy take the portmanteau and pay himself. Young F. Why sure there's something left in it. Lory. Not a rag, upon my honour, sir-we eat the last of your wardrobe at Newmalton-and if we had had twenty miles further to go, our next meal must have been of the cloak-bag. Young F. Why, 'sdeath, it appears full. Lory. Yes, sir-I made bold to stuff it with hay, to save appearances, and look like baggage. Young F. What the devil shall I do? -harkee, boy, what's the chaise? Post. Thirteen shillings, please your honour. Tailor. Mendlegs. Lory. Amanda. Berinthia. Miss Hoyden. Mrs. Coupler. Nurse. Young F. Ay, ay, the turnpikes by all means. Post. And I hope your honour will order me something for myself. Young F. To be sure; bid them give you a crown. Lory. Yes, yes-my master doesn't care what you charge them—so get along you Post. And there's the hostler, your honour. Lory. Pshaw! damn the hostlerwould you impose upon the gentleman's generosity. [Pushes him out.]—A rascal, to be so curst ready with his change! Young. F. Why, faith, Lory, he had nearly posed me. Lory. Well, sir, we are arrived at Scarborough, not worth a guinea! I hope you'llown yourself a happy man -you have out lived all your cares. Young F. How so, sir? Lory. Why you have nothing left to take care of. Young F. Yes, sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of still. Young F. Yes. Lory. I can't-good-by t'ye, sir. Young F. Stay-thou❜lt distract me. But who comes here-my old friend, Colonel Townly. Enter Colonel TOWNLY. My dear colonel, I am rejoiced to meet you here. Col. T. Dear Tom, this is an unexpected pleasure-what, are you come to Scarborough to be present at your brother's wedding? Lory. Ah, sir, if it had been his funeral, we should have come with Lory. Sir, if you could prevail with somebody else to do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for it. But now, sir, for my Lord Fopping-pleasure. ton, your elder brother. Young F. Damn my eldest brother. Lory. With all my heart; but get him to redeem your annuity, however. Look you, sir, you must wheedle him, or you must starve. Col. T. What, honest Lory, are you with your master still? Lory. Yes, sir, I have been starving with him ever since I saw your honour last. Young F. Why, Lory is an attach'd nei-rogue-there's no getting rid of him. Young F. Look you, sir, I will ther wheedle him nor starve. Lory. Why what will you do, then? Young F. Cut his throat, or get some one to do it for me. Lory. 'Gad so, sir, I'm glad to find I. was not so well acquainted with the strength of your conscience as with the weakness of your purse. Young F. Why, art thou so impenetrable a blockhead as to believe he'll help me with a farthing? Lory. Not if you treat him de haut en bas, as you used to do. Young F. Why, how wouldst have me treat him? Lory, Like a trout-tickle him. Lory. True, sir, as my master says, there's no seducing me from his service, till he's able to pay me my Aside. wages. Young F. Go,go, sir—and take care of the baggage. Lory. Yes, sir-the baggage!-O Lord! I suppose, sir, I must charge the landlord to be very particular where he stows this? Young F. Get along, you rascal. [Exit LORY, with the portmanteau.] But, colonel, are you acquainted with my proposed sister-in-law? Col. T. Only by character-her father, Sir Tunbelly Clumsy,lives within a quarter of a mile of this place, in a lonely old house, which nobody |