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When all did sleep whose weary hearts did borrow

One hour from love and care to rest,
Lol as I press'd my couch in silent sorrow,
My lover caught me to his breast!

He vow'd he came to save me
From those who would enslave me!

Then kneeling,

Kisses stealing,
Endless faith he swore;

But soon I chid him thence,
For had his fond pretence
Obtain'd one favour then,

And he had press'd again,
I fear'd my treacherous heart might grant him more.

Don. Louisa. Well, for all this, I would have sent him to plead his pardon, but that I would not yet a while have him know of my flight. And where do you hope to find protection ?

Don. Clara. The Lady Abbess of the convent of St. Catharine is a relation and kind friend of mine- I shall be secure with her, and you had best go thither with me.

Don. Louisa. No; I am determined to find Antonio first; and, as I live, here comes the very man I will employ to seek him for me.

Don. Clara. Who is he? he's a strange figure

Don. Louisa. Yes; that sweet creature is the man whom my father has fixed on for my husband.

Don. Clara. And will you speak to him ? are you mad ?

Don. Louisa. He is the fittest man in the world for my purpose ; for, though I was to have married him to-morrow, he is the only man in Seville, who, I am sure, never saw me in his life.

Don. Clara. And how do you know him ?

Don. Louisa. He arrived but yesterday, and he was shown to me from the window, as he visited my father.

Don. Clara. Well, I'll begone.

Don. Louisa. Hold, my dear Clara-a thought has struck me : will you give me leave to borrow your name, as I see occasion ?

Don. Clara. It will but disgrace you ; but use it as you please : I dare not stay.-[Going. -But, Louisa, if you should see your brother, be sure you don't inform him that I have taken refuge with the Dame Prior of the convent of St. Catharine, on the left-hand side of the piazza, which leads to the church of St Anthony.

Don. Louisa. Ha! ha! ha! I'll be very particular in my directions where he may not find you.-{Exeunt DONNA CLARA and MAID.)-So! my swain, yonder, has done admiring himself, and draws nearer.

[Retires

Enter ISAAC and DON CARLOS

Isaac. [Looking in a pocket-glass.) I tell you, friend Carlos, I will please myself in the habit of my chin.

Don Car. But, my dear friend, how can you think to please a lady with such a face ?

Isaac. Why, what's the matter with the face ? I think it is a very engaging face; and, I am sure, a lady must have very little taste who could dislike my beard.—[Sees DONNA LOUISA.)-See now! I 'll die if here is not a little damsel struck with it already.

Don. Louisa. Signor, are you disposed to oblige a lady who greatly wants your assistance ?

(Unveils Isaac. Egad, a very pretty black-eyed girl! she has certainly taken a fancy to me, Carlos. First, ma'am, I must beg the favour of your name.

Don. Louisa. (Aside.) So I it's well I am provided.(Aloud.]—My name, sir, is Donna Clara d’Almanza.

Isaac. What ? Don Guzman's daughter ? I' faith, I just now heard she was missing.

Don. Louisa. But sure, sir, you have too much gallantry and honour to betray me, whose fault is love ?

Isaac. Sol assion for me! poor girl ! Why, ma'am, as for betraying you, I don't see how I could get any thing by it; so, you may rely on my honour; but as for your love, I am sorry your case is so desperate.

Don. Louisa. Why so, signor ?

Isaac. Because I am positively engaged to another-an't I, Carlos ?

Don. Louisa. Nay, but hear me.

Isaac. No, no ; what should I hear for ? It is impossible for me to court you in an honourable way; and for any thing else, if I were to comply now, I suppose you have some ungrateful brother, or cousin, who would want to cut my throat for my civility—so, truly, you had best go home again.

Don. Louisa. (Aside.]-Odious wretch k-[Aloud.]—But, good signor, it is Antonio d'Ercilla, on whose account I have eloped.

Isaac. How ! what! it is not with me, then, that you are in love ?

Don. Louisa. No, indeed, it is not.

Isaac. Then you are a forward, impertinent simpleton ! and I shall certainly acquaint your father.

Don. Louisa. Is this your gallantry ?

Isaac. Yet hold-Antonio d'Ercilla, did you say ? egad, I may make something of this—Antonio d'Ercilla ?

Don. Louisa. Yes ; and, if ever you hope to prosper in love, you will bring me to him.

Isaac. By St. Iago and I will too 1-Carlos, this Antonio is one who rivals me (as I have heard) with Louisa—now, if I could hamper him with this girl, I should have the field to myself; hey, Carlos ! A lucky thought, isn't it?

Don. Car. Yes, very good-very good

Isaac. Ah! this little brain is never at a loss-cunning Isaac ! cunning rogue ! Donna Clara, will you trust yourself awhile to my friend's direction ?

Don. Louisa. May I rely on you, good signor ?
Don. Car. Lady, it is impossible I should deceive you.

AIR

Had I a heart for falsehood framed,

I ne'er could injure you;
For though your tongue no promise claim'd,

Your charms would make me true.
To you no soul sbould bear deceit,

No stranger offer wrong:
But friends in all the aged you 'll meet,

And lovers in the young.

But when they learn that you have blest

Another with your heart,
They'll bid aspiring passion rest,

And act a brother's part:
Then, lady, dread not here deceit,

Nor fear to suffer wrong;
For friends in all the aged you'll meet,

And brothers in the young.

Isaac. Conduct the lady to my lodgings, Carlos; I must haste to Don Jerome. Perhaps you know Louisa, ma'am. She's divinely handsome, isn't she ?

Don. Louisa. You must excuse me not joining with you. Isaac. Why, I have heard it on all hands.

Don. Louisa. Her father is uncommonly partial to her ; but I believe you will find she has rather a matronly air.

Isaac. Carlos, this is all envy.—You pretty girls never speak well of one another.-[To Don CARLOS.) Hark ye, find

out Antonio, and I'll saddle him with this scrape, I warrant. On, 'twas the luckiest thought ! Donna Clara, your very obedient. Carlos, to your post.

DUET

Isaac.

My mistress expects me, and I must go to her,

Or how can I hope for a smile?
Don. Louisa. Soon may you return a prosperous wooer,

But think what I suffer the while !
Alone, and away from the man whom I love,

In strangers I'm forced to confide.
Isaac.

Dear lady, my friend you must trust, and he'll prove

Your servant, protector, and guide.

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Don. Jer. Hal hal hal run away from her father! has she given him the slip ? Hal hal hal poor Don Guzman ! Isaac. Ay; and I am to conduct her to Antonio ; by which means you see I shall hamper him so that he can give me no disturbance with your daughter-this is trap, isn't it? a nice stroke of cunning, hey ?

Don Jer. Excellent ! excellent ! yes, yes, carry her to him, hamper him by all means, ha! ha! ha! poor Don Guzman ! an old fool ! imposed on by a girl !

Isaac. Nay, they have the cunning of serpents, that's the truth on 't.

Don Jer. Psha ! they are cunning only when they have fools to deal with. Why don't my girl play me such a trick-let her cunning over-reach my caution, I say-hey, little Isaac !

Isaac. True, true; or let me see any of the sex make a fool of me -No, no, egad! little Solomon (as my aunt used to call me) understands tricking a little too well.

Don Jer. Ay, but such a driveller as Don Guzman), Isaac. And such a dupe as Antonio !

Don Jer. True ; never were seen such a couple of credulous simpletons ! But come, 'tis time you should see my daughter-you must carry on the siege by yourself, friend Isaac.

Isaac. Sir, you 'll introduce

Don Jer. No—I have sworn a solemn oath not to see or speak to her till she renounces her disobedience; win her to that, and she gains a father and a husband at once.

Isaac. Gad, I shall never be able to deal with her alone ; nothing keeps me in such awe as perfect beauty—now there is something consoling and encouraging in ugliness.

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Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast,
But health and good humour to make her his toast;
If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat,
And six feet or four-we'll ne'er quarrel for that.

Whate'er her complexion, I vow I don't care ;
If brown, it is lasting-more pleasing, if fair:
And though in her face I no dimples should see,
Let her smile-and each dell is a dimple to me.

Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen,
And her eyes may be e'en any colour but green;
For in eyes, though so various the lustre and hue,
I swear I've no choice-only let her have two.
78—E*

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