1 it. Mrs. Bri. Don't speak to me, girl.-Unnatural parent ! Rosy. Read it out; a wondrous nostrum, I'll answer for of Just. [Reads.] In reading this you are cured by your affectionate son-in-law, O'CONNOR.-Who, in the name Beelzebub, sirrah, who are you? O'Con. Your affectionate son-in-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 hanged.-I'll die, sirrah, and leave Bridget my estate. Mrs. Bri. Ay, pray do, my dear, leave me your estate. I'm sure he deserves to be hanged. Just. He does, you say !-Hark'ee, Bridget, you showed such a tender concern for me when you thought me poisoned, that for the future I am resolved never to take your advice again in anything.-[To LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR.] So, do you hear, sir, you are an Irishman and a soldier, an't you? O'Con. I am, sir, and proud of both. Just. 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. O'Con. 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. Rosy. Ay, ay, you're right. Just. 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. O'Con. Oh, sir, say what you please; with such a gift as Lauretta, every word is a compliment. Mrs. Bri. Well, my lovee, I think this will be a good subject for us to quarrel about the rest of our lives. Just. Why, truly, my dear, I think so, though we are seldom at a loss for that. Rosy. 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. [Exeunt omnes DRAMATIS PERSONE AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT GARDEN THEATRE, NOV. 21, 1775 Masqueraders, Friars, Porter, Maid, and Servants SCENE.-SEVILLE Lop. Past three o'clock !-So! 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 to 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 serenade my young mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: so! 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 DON ANTONIO, with MASQUERADERS and music SONG.-Don Ant Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain So gently speak thy master's pain? So softly sing, so humbly sigh, That, though my sleeping love shall know Who sings-who sighs below, Her rosy slumbers shall not fly? Thus, may some vision whisper more Than ever I dare speak before. 1 Mas. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, while you sing so dolefully; love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody. Don Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. 1 Mas. The reason is, because you know she does not regard you enough to appear, if you awaked her. Don Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you. The breath of morn bids hence the night DONNA LOUISA-replies from a window Don. Louisa. Don Ant. Don Jer. Don. Louisa. Don Ant. Don. Louisa, Don Ant. Don Jer. Don Ant. Don. Louisa. Don Jer. DON JEROME-from a window What vagabonds are these, I hear, TRIO Nay, prithee, father, why so rough? How durst you, daughter, lend an ear Quick, from the window fly! Adieu, Antonio! Must you go? We soon, perhaps, may meet again. The god of love, who knows our pain [Sings Hence, or these slugs are through your brain. SCENE II.A Piazza Enter DON FERDINAND and LOPEZ Lop. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep once in a week or so |