Just. Oh horrible! What, no anti-in so few words? What a fine landote? guage it is! Well, I agree, if he can Lieut. Curum benakere bono ful-prevail on the girl; and that I am sure lum. Just. What, does he say in a boat to Fulham? I must row he never will. Doct. Greal. [Aside. [Both sit down to write. Lieut. Writhum bothum. Doct. He says he'll undertake to Doct. He says you must give this cure you for three thousand pounds. under your hand, while he writes you Bri. Three thousand pounds! three a miraculous receipt. thousand halters! No, lovec, you shall never submit to such impositions: die at once, and be a customer to none of them. Just. I won't die, Bridget-I don't natural parent! like death. Lau. Do, mamma, tell me the meaning of this. Bri. Don't speak to me, girl-Un Just. There, doctor; there's what he Doct. And here's your receipt: read it yourself. Bri. Pshaw! there is nothing in it: requires. a moment; and it is over. Just. Ay, but it leaves a numbness behind that lasts a plaguy long time. Bri. O my dear, pray consider the will. Enter LAURETTA. Just. Hey! what's here! plain English? Doct. Read it out: a wondrous nostrum, I'll answer for it. Lau. O my father, what is this I Just. 'In reading this you are cured, hear? by your affectionate son-in-law, Lieut. Quiddam seomriam deos tol-O'Connor.' Who, in the name of Beelzebub, sirrah, who are you? lam rosam. Doct. The doctor is astonished at Lieut. Your affectionate son-inthe sight of your fair daughter. Just. How so? Lieut. Damsellum livivum suvum rislibani. Doct. He says that he has lost his heart to her, and that if you will give him leave to pay his addresses to the young lady, and promise your consent to the union, if he should gain her affections, he will on those conditions cure you instantly, without fee or reward. Just. The devil! Did he say all that law, O'Connor, and your very humble servant, Humphrey Hum. Just. 'Tis false, you dog, you are not my son-in law; for I'll be poison'd again, and you shall be hang'd—I'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. Just. He does, you say—hark'ee, Bridget, you show'd such a tender concern for me when you thought me you please; poison'd, that for the future I am re-wrong-Here, sir, I give my daughter solved never to take your advice to you, who are the most impudent again in any thing. So, do you hear, dog I ever saw in my life. sir, you are an Irishman and a soldier,| Lieut. O, sir, say what an't you ? with such a gift as Lauretta, every Lieut. I am, sir, and proud of both. word is a compliment. Just. The two things on earth I most Bri. Well, my lovee, I think this hate; so I'll tell you what-renounce will be a good subject for us to quaryour country and sell your commis-rel about the rest of our lives. sion, and I'll forgive you. Just. Why, truly, my dear, I think so, though we are seldom at a loss for that. Lieut. 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 desir-Alexander, I give you joy, and you ing the second. Doct. Ay, ay, you're right. Doct. This is all as it should be. My my little goddaughter; and now my sincere wish is,that you may make just Just. Is he? then I'm sure I must be such a wife as my poor dear Dolly. ACT. I. SCENE I. A Street. Don Carlos. position, to be strolling like a bravo through the streets of Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young lover Enter LOPEZ, with a dark lantern. is the hardest-not that I am an eneLop. PAST three o'clock! soh! a no-my to love; but my love, and my table hour for one of my regular dis-master's, differ strangely-Don Fer dinand is much too gallant to eat, know she does not regard you enough drink, or sleep-now, my love gives to appear, if you awaked her. 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 Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you. [Sings. The breath of morn bids hence the night, Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair; For till the dawn of love is there, feel no day, I own no light. LOUISA-replies from a Window. Waking, I heard thy numbers chide, Waking, the dawn did bless my sight; 'Tis Phoebus sure, that woos, I cried, Who speaks in song, who moves in light. I guess [Music without]-hey! What vagabonds are these, I hear, DON JEROME from a Window. sure, I heard music! So, so! who have Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting, we here? Oh, Don Antonio, my mas- Piping, scraping, whining, canting, ter's friend, come from the masquer-Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly! ade, to serenade 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, with Masks Who sings-who sighs below, 1 Mask. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, while you sing so dolefully: love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody. TRIO. Louisa. Nay, pr'ythee, father, why so To such deceitful stuff? Louisa. Ant. an ear We soon, perhaps, may meet again; For though hard fortune is our foe, The god of love will fight for us. Jerome. Reach me the blunderbuss. Ant. & L. The god of love, who knows our pain, Jerome. Hence, or these slugs are through your brain. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II. A Piazza. Enter FERDINAND and Lopez. Lopez. Truly,sir, I think that a little Ant. I do not wish to disturb her sleep, once in a week or so rest. Ferd. Peace, fool, don't mention 1 Mask. The reason is, because you sleep to me. Lopez. No, no, sir, I don't mention | But when enraged I number your low-bred, vulgar, sound sleep; Each failing of her mind, but I can't help thinking that a gentle And sees-while Reason's blind. Love still suggests each beauty, slumber, or half an hour's dozing, if it were only for the novelty of the thing Ferd. Peace, booby, I 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. Ali, they know them oftener than they'll own them. Ferd. Well, go you home-I shall [Exit. Enter ANTONIO. Ferd. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you chanting before our door-was my father waked? Ant. Yes, yes; he has a singular affection for music, so I left him roaring at his barred window, like the print of Bajazet in the cage. And what Ferd. I believe I told you, that tobrings you out so early? morrow was the day fixed by Don Pedro and Clara's unnatural stepmother, for her to enter a convent, in fortune: made desperate by this, I Ferd. Is there, in the world, so inconstant a creature as Clara? Lopez. I could name one. Ferd. Yes; the tame fool, who sub-order that her brat might possess her mits to her caprice. Lopez. I thought he couldn't miss it. procured a key to the door, and bribed Ferd. Is she not capricious, teasing, Clara's maid to leave it unbolted; tyrannical, obstinate, perverse, abat two this morning, I entered, unsurd? ay, a wilderness of faults and follies; her looks are scorn, and her very smiles-'Sdeath! I wish I hadn't mentioned her smiles; for she does smile such beaming loveliness, such-I was rated as the most confident fascinating brightness - Oh, death ruffian, for daring to approach her room at that hour of night. Ant. Ay, ay, this was at first? and madness! I shall die if I lose her. Lopez. Oh, those damned smiles bave undone all ! AIR. Ferd. Could I her faults remember, perceived, and stole to her chamber -I found her waking and weeping. Ant. Happy Ferdinand! Ferd. 'Sdeath! hear the conclusion Ferd. No such thing; she would not hear a word from me, but threatened to raise her mother, if I did not instantly leave her. Ant. Well, but at last ?— Ferd. At last! why, I was forced to That heaving bosom sigh for me. leave the house, as I came in. Ant. And did you do nothing to of-curity in my love for your sister; help fend her? Ferd. Nothing, as I hope to be saved -I believe, I might snatch a dozen or two of kisses. Ant. Was that all? well, I think, I never heard of such assurance! Ferd. Zounds! I tell you, I behaved with the utmost respect. Ant. O Lord! I don't mean you, but in her-but, hark ye, Ferdinand, did you leave your key with them? Ferd. Yes; the maid, who saw me out, took it from the door. Ant. Then, my life for it, her mistress elopes after you. - Besides, Ferdinand, you have full se me there, and I can never disturb you with Clara. Ferd. As far as I can, consistently with the honour of our family, you know I will; but there must be no eloping. Ant. And yet, now, you would carry off Clara? Ferd. Ay, that's a different case— we never mean that others should act to our sisters and wives, as we do to others'-But, to-morrow, Clara is to be forced into a convent. - but Ant. Well, and am not I so unfortunately circumstanced? To-morFerd. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps row, your father forces Louisa to -I am a in humour to suspect every marry Isaac, the Portuguese you loved her once, and come with me, and we'll devise something, I warrant. Ferd. I must go home. Ant. Well, adicu! body Ant. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't love me, and then I discovered that she hadn't a good feature in her face. AIR. I ne'er could any lustre see Ferd. But, Antonio, if you did not love my sister, you have too much honour and friendship to supplant me with Clara. AIR. Ant. Friendship is the bond of reason; Heaven dissolves all other treason But to the charms which I adore, Then if to one I false must be, A breach of social faith with thee, |