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now-Let us give this day to mirth; and, la- Each calls forth her charms, to provoke his dies, I hope you will give me leave to present

desires, a partner to each of you; and for this time, Though willing to all, but with one be I take Polly for mine-and for life, you slut,

retires: for we are really married.

Then think of this maxim, and put off all

sorrow,

The wretch of 10-day may be bappy toThus, I stand like a Turk, and his doxies

around, From all sides, their glances his passion

CHORUS confound; For black, brown, and fair, his inconstancy Then think of this maxim, and cast away burns,

sorrow, And the different beauties subdue him by The wretch of to-day may be bappy to

turns:

FINALE.

morrow

morrow

THE DUENNA, Com. Opera by Richard Prinsley. Sheridan. Acted at Covent Garden, 1775. This piece (the plot of likes borrowed from n Filosofo di Campagna, froin Moliere's Sicilien, and from The IVonder of Mrs. Centlivre) **** ceived with applause by crowded audiences through a run of sixty-five nighis, during the first season of its appea22 In the following year, it was repeated at least thiny times, and still continues a favourite with the public. so happy a mixture of true humour and musical excellence, that it deservedly stands second on the list of its kieht? performances. The Beggar's Opera perhaps will always remain the first, says the Biographia Dramatica ; but ! Byron maintains that Sheridan wiole the best comedy (school for Scandal), the best Opera (Duemia), the besi irer (Critic), and the best speech (the famous Begum specch) in the English language; and calls the Beggar's Opera, a se St. Giles's production.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

DON FERDINAND.
ISAAC MENDOZA.
DON JEROME.

DON ANTONIO.
FATHER PAUL.
LOPEZ.

DON CARLOS.
FRANCIS.
I.AY BROTHER.

DONNA LOCISA.
DONNA CLARA.
THE DUENNA.

АСГ І.

That, though my sleeping love shall koos Scene I.-A Street.

Who sings - who sighs below,

Her rosy slumbers shall not fly? Enter Lopez, with a dark lantern. Thus, may some vision whisper more Lop. Past three o'clock! soh! a notable Than ever I dare speak before. hour for one of my regular disposition, to be 1 Mask. Anlonio, your mistress will beter strolling like a bravo ihrough the streets of wake, while you sing so dolefully; love, like Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young a cradled infant, is lulled by sad melody lover is the hardest-nol that I am an enemy Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. to lore; but my love, and my master's, differ 1 Mask. The reason is, because you strangely-Pon Ferdinand is much too gallant she does not regard you enough to appest, 10 eat, drink, or slecp-now, my love gives if you awaked her. me an appelite-then I am fond of dreaming Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you, (Singa of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her The breath of morn bids hence the night ---This cannot be done without good sleep Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair; and good liquor; hence my partiality to a fea- For till the dawn of love is there, ther-bed and a bottle. Wbat a pity now,

I feel no day, I own no light. that I have not further time for reflections!

LOUISA replies from a Window. but my, master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his retreat from Donna Clara's window, Waking, I heard thy numbers chide, as I guess [Music without] hey! sure, I beard Waking, the dawn did bless my sigbt;, music! So, so! wbo have we here? Oh, Don 'Tis Phoebus sure, that woos, I cried, Antonio, my master's friend, come from the Who speaks in song, wbo moves in light masquerade, to serenade my young mistress,

Don JEROME-from a Windoa. Donna Louisa, I suppose: soh! we shall have the old gentleman up presently--lest he should What vagabonds are these, I hear, miss his son, I had best lose no time in gelt- Fiddling, Iluting, rhyming, ranting, ing lo my post.

[Exit. Piping, scraping, whining, canting, Enter ANTONIO, with Masks and Music,

Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!
ANTONIO.

LOUISA, ANTONIO, JERONE Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain Louisa. Nay, pr’ythee, fatber, why so roti So gently speak thy master's pain?

Ant. An humble lover I. So softly sing, so humbly sigh,

Jerome. How durst you, daughter, legd as

TRIO,

SONG.

possess her

your brain.

To such deceitful stuff?

Ant. Yes, yes; he has a singular affection Quick, from the window, fly!

for music, so I left him roaring at his barred Louisa. Adieu, Antonio !

window, like the print of Bajazet in the cage. Ant. Must you go?

And what brings you out so early?
Louisa.
We soon, perhaps, may meet

Ferd. I believe I told you, that to-morrow again;

was the day fixed by Don Pedro and Clara's For though hard fortune is our unnatural stepmother, for her to enter a conAnt.

foe,

vent, in order that her brat might The god of love will fight for us. fortune: made desperate by this, procured Jeroic. Reach me the blunderbuss. a key to the door, and bribed Clara's maid Ant. et L. The god of love, who knows our to leave it unbolted; at two this morning, I pain,

entered, unperceived, and stole to ber chamJerome. Hence, or these slugs are through ber-I found her waking and weeping.

Ant. Happy Ferdinand ! [Ereunt severally. Ferd. 'Sdeath! hear the conclusion—I was Scene II.-A Piazza.

rated as the most confident ruffian, for daring

to approach her room at that hour of night. Enter FERDINAND and Lopez.

Ant. Ay, ay, this was at first ? Lopez. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep, Ferd. No such thing; she would not hear once in a week or so

a word from me, but threatened to raise her Ferd. Peace, fool, don't mention sleep to me. mother, if I did not instantly leave her.

Lopez. No, no, sir, I don't mention your Ant. Well, but at last? low-bred, vulgar, sound sleep; but I can't help Ferd. At last! why, I was forced to leave thinking that a gentle slumber, or half an the house, as I came in. bour's dozing, if it were only for the novelty Ant. And did you do nothing to offend of the thing

ber? Ferd. Peace, booby, I say!-Oh Clara, Ferd. Nothing, as I hope to be saved - I dear, cruel disturber of my rest!

believe, I might snatch a dozen or two of Lopez. And of mine too.

kisses. Ferd. 'Sdeath! to trifle with me at such a Ant. Was that all? well, I think, I never juncture as this-now to stand on punctilios beard of such assurance ! -love me! I don't believe she ever did. Ferd. Zounds! I tell you, I behaved with Lopez. Nor I either.

the utmost respect. Ferd. Or is it, that her sex never know Ant. O Lord! I don't mean you, but in her their desires for an hour together?

-but, bark ye, Ferdinand, did you leave your Lopez. Ah, they know them oftener than key with them? they'll own them.

Ferd. Yes; the maid, who saw me out, f'erd. Is there, in the world, so inconstant took it from the door. a'creature as Clara ?

Ant. Then, my life for 'it, her mistress Lopez. I could name one.

elopes after you. Ferd. Yes; the tame fool, who submits to Ferd. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps- I am her caprice.

in a humour to suspect every body-you loved Lopez. I thought he couldn't miss it. her once, and thought her an angel, as I do

Ferd. Is she not capricious, teasing, tyran- now. nical, obstinate, perverse, absurd ? ay, a' wil- Ant. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't derness of faults and follies; her looks are love me, and then I discovered that she hadn't scorn, and her very smiles_'Sdeath! I wish I good feature in her face. hadn't mentioned her smiles; for she does smile such beaming loveliness, such fascinating brightness-Oh, death and madness! I shall I ne'er could any lustre see die if I lose her.

In eyes that would not look on me;
Lopez. Oh, those damned smiles have un- I ne'er «aw nectar on a lip,
done all!

But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart

Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art?
Could I her faults remember,

I will own the colour true, Forgetting, every charm,

When yielding blushes aid their hue. Soon would impartial Reason

Is her hand so soft and pure ? The tyrant Love disarm;

I must press it, to be sure; But when enraged I number

Nor can I be certain then, Teach failing of her mind,

Till it, grateful, press again. Love still suggests each beauty,

Must I, with attentive eye, And sees- - while Reason's blind.

Watch her heaving bosom sigh? Lopez. Here comes Don Antonio, sir.

I will do so, when I see Ferd. Well, go you home-I shall be there

That heaving bosom sigh for me. resently. Lopez. Ah, those cursed smiles! [Exit. Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in

my love for your sister; help me there, and Enter ANTONIO.

I can never disturb you with Clara. Ferd. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you Ferd. As far as I can, consistently with the hanting before our door -- was my father honour of our family, you know I'will; but raked?

there must be no eloping.

AIR.

AIR.

FERDINAND

AIR

AIR.

Ant. And yet, now, you would carry off herence to what he has once said, you have Clara?

formed this plan for my escape – But have Ferd. Ay, that's a different case—we never you secured my maid in our interest? mean that others should act to our sisters and Duenna. She is a party in the whole; but wives, as we do fo others'—But, to-morrow, remember, if we succeed, you resign all right Clara is to be forced into a convent.

and title in little Isaac, the Jew, over to me. Ant. Well, and am not I so unfortunately Louisa. That I do with all my, soal; get circumstanced? To-morrow, your father forces him, if you can, and I shall wish you joy, Louisa to marry Isaac, the Portuguese -- but most heartily. He is twenty times as rich as come with me, and we'll devise something, I my poor Antonio. warrant.

Ferd. I must go home.
Ant. Well, adieu!

Thou canst not boast of fortune's store, Ferd. But, Antonio, if you did not love My love, while me they wealthy call: my sister, you have too much honour' and

But I was glad to find thee poor, friendship to supplant me with Clara.

For with my heart I'd give thee all.

And then the grateful youth shall own ANTONIO.

I loved him for himself alone. Friendship is the bond of reason;

But when his worth my hand shall gain, But if beauty, disapprove,

No word or look of mine sball show Heaven dissolves all other treason

That I the smallest thought retain In the heart that's true to love.

Of what my bounty did bestow : The faith which to my friend I swore, Yet still bis grateful heart shall own As a civil oath I view;

I loved him for bimself alone. But to the charms which I adore,

Duenna. I hear Don Jerome coming'Tis religion to be true.

Quick, give me the last letter I brought you Then if to one I false must be,

from Antonio - you know that is to be the Can I doubt which to prefer

ground of my dismission-I must slip out la * A breach of social faith with thee, seal it up, as undelivered.

[Επί. Or sacrilege to love and her? [Erit. Ferd. There is always a levity in Antonio's

Enter Don JEROME and FERDINAND. manner of replying to me on this subject that Jerome. What, I suppose, you have been is very alarming—'Sdeath! if Clara should love serenading too! Eh, disturbing some peaceable him after all!

neighbourhood with villanous catgut, and lascivious piping! Out on't! you set your sister,

here, & vile example; but I come to tell you, Though cause for suspicion appears, madam, that I'll suffer no more of these midYet proofs of her love, too, are strong; night incantations—these amorous orgies, that I'm a wretch if I'm right in my fears, steal the senses in the hearing; as, they say, And unworthy of bliss if I'm wrong. Egyptian embalmers serve mummies, extracting What heart-breaking torments from jealousy the brain through the ears; however, there's flow,

an end of your frolics—Isaac Mendoza will Ab! none but the jealous—the jealous can be here presently, and to-morrow you sinal

know! When blest with the smiles of my fair, Louisa. Never, wbile I have life. I know not how much I adore:

Ferd. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can Those smiles let another but share,

think of such a man for a son-iolaw. And I wonder I prized them no more! Jerome. Sir, you are very kind, to favour Then whence can I hope a relief from my ine with your sentiments-and pray, what is woe,

your objection tổ him? When the falser she seems, still the fonder Ferd. He is a Portuguese, in the first plass

. I grow !

[Erit. Jerome. No such thing, boy; he has forScene III. – A Room in Don JEROME's

sworn bis country.

Louisa. He is a Jew.
House.

Jerome. Another mistake: he has been a
Enter LOUISA and Duenna.

Christian these six weeks. Louisa. But, my dear Margaret, my charm- Ferd. Ay, he left his old religion for an ing Duenna, do you think we shall succeed? estate, and has not had time to get a new one.

Duenna. It tell you again, I have no doubt Louisa. But stands like a dead wall between on't; but it must be instantly put to the trial church and synagogue, or like the black leates - Every thing is prepared in your room, and between the Old and New Testament. for the rest, we must trust to fortune.

Jerome. Any thing more? Louisa. My father's oath was, never to see Ferd. But the most remarkable part of mis me till I had consented to

character is his passion for deceit and tricks Duenna. 'Twas thus I overheard him say of cunning: to his friend, Don Gusman,-'I will demand Louisa. Though at the same time, the fool of her to-morrow, once for all, whether she predominates so much over the knare, that i will consent to marry Isaac Mendoza; if she am told he is generally the dupe of bis own hesitates, I will make a solemn oath never to art. see or speak to ber, till she returns to her Ferd. True, like an unskilful guones, be duty'— These were his words.

usually misses his aim, and is hurt by the man Louisa. And on his known obstinate ad-coil of his own piece.

SON G.

marry him.

Jerome. Any thing more?

ness, and my father's anger will probably only Louisa. To sum up all, he has the worst increase her affection. In our intercourse with fault a husband can have--he's not my choice. the world, it is natural for us to dislike those

Jerome. But you are his; and choice on who are innocently the cause of our distress; one side is sufficient-two lovers should never but in the heart's attachment a woman never pleet in marriage—be you sour as you please, likes, a man with ardour till she has suffered he is sweet-tempered, and for your good fruit, for his sake. [Noise) "Soh! what busile is there's nothing like ingrasting on a crab. here! between my father and the Duenna too

Louisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall-I'll c'en get out of the way. [Exit. ten times more as a husband. Jerome. I don't know that-marriage gene

Enter Don JEROME with a Letter, pulling rally makes a great change-but, to cut the

in the DUENNA. matter, short, will you have him or not? Jerome. I'm astonish'd! I'm thunderstruck!

Louisa. There is nothing else I could dis- here's treachery and conspiracy with a venobey you in.

geance! you, Antonio's creature, and chief Jerome. Do you value your father's peace? manager of this plot for my daughter's elop

Louisa. So much, that I will not fasien on ing! you, that I placed here as a scare-crow? him the regret of making an only daughter Duenna. What? wretched.

Jerome. A scare-crow-to prove a decoyJerome. Very well, ma'am, then mark me duck-what have you to say for yourself? -never more will I see or converse with you Duenna. Well, sir, since you have forced till you return to your duty-no reply—this that letter from me, and discovered my real and your chamber shall be your apartments : sentiments, I scorn to renounce them. I am I never will (stir (out, without leaving, you Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that under lock and key, and when I'm at home your daughter should have served you as all no creature can approach you but through such old iyranuical sols should be served-I my library-we'll try who can be most obsii- delight in the tender passions, and would benate-out of my sight—there remain till you friend all under their influence. know your duty.

[Pushes her out. Jerome. The tender passions ! yes, they Ferd. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations would become those impenetrable features! should be consulted in a matter of this kind, why, thou deceitful hag! I placed thee as a and some regard paid to Don Antonio, being guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's my particular friend.

Beauty-I thought that dragon's front of thine 'Jerome. That, doubtless, is a very great would cry aloof ļo the sons of gallantry-steel recommendationI certainly bave not paid traps and spring guns ) seemed writ in every sufficient respect to it.

wrinkle of 'il-but yoú shall quit my house Ferd. There is not a man living I would this instant—the tender passions, indeed! go, sooner choose for a brotherin-law.

thou wanton sybil, thou amorous woman of Jerome. Very possible; and if you happen Endor, go! to have e'er a sister, who is not at the same Duenna. You basc, scurrilous, old – but I time a daughter of mine, I'm süre I shall have won't demean myself by naming what you no objection to the relationship. - but a pre-are-yes, savage, I'll leave your den; but I sent, if you please, we'll drop the subject. suppose you don't mean to detain my apparel

Ferd. Nay, sir, 'lis only my regard for my -I may have my things, I presume ? sister makes me speak.

Jerome. I look you, mistress, with your Jerome. Then pray, sir, in future, let your wardrobe on-what have you pillered, heh? regard for your father make

you
hold

your Duenna. Sir, I must take leave of my mitongue.

stress; she has valuables of mine: besides, my Ferd. I have done, sir-I shall only add a cardinal and veil are in her room. wish that you would reflect what at our age Jerome. Your weil forsooth! what, do you you would have felt, had you been crossed dread being, gazed at? or are you afraid of in your affection for the mother of her you your complexion? well, go take your leave,

and get your veil and cardinal! soh! you quit Jeromc. Why, I must confess I had a great the house within these five minutes In--inaffection for your mother's ducats, but that quick. [Exit Duenna] Here was a precious was all, boy-I married her for her fortune, plot of mischief! these are the comforts daugh. and she took me in obedience to her father, iers bring us! and a very happy couple we were-we never expected any love from one another, and so we were never disappointed—if we grumbled If a daughter you have, she's the plague of a little now and then, it was soon over, for we were never fond enough to quarrel; and No peace shall you know, though you've buwhen the good woman died, why, why-I had

ried your wife! as lieve she had lived, and' I wish every wi-At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught dower in Seville could say the same

e-I shall

hernow go and get the key of this dressing-room Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! -so, good son, if

you

have support of disobedience to give your sister, it

1) Steel-traps and spring-guns," is generally writion must be brief; so make the best of your time, on tbe doors of gardens near London, in order to d'ye hear?

[Erit
.

deter thieves from entering the garden and stealing

the fruit;-these things have done a great deal of harm, Ferd. I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio has

and tuken away the life of many an innocent person, little to bope for-bowever, Louisa has firm- accidentally walking in the garden.

are so severe to.

AIR

your life,

any lecture in

you going?

Sighing and whining,

Clara. No, ber notions of filial duty are so Dying and pining,

severe, she would certainly betray me. Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! Louisa. Clara is of a cold temper, and

would think this step of mine bighly forward. When scarce in their teens, they have wit to perplex us,

Clara. Louisa's respect for her father is so With letters and lovers for ever they vex us;

great, she would not credit the unkindness of

mine. While each still rejects the fair suitor you've [Louisa turns, and sees Claro and Maid.

brought her; Ob, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! Clara—if it be, "I'll trust her.-Clara. ( Advances. Wrangling and jangling,

Clara: Louisa! and in masquerade too! Flouting and pouting, Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! I tell you, that I have run away from my

Louisa. You will be more surprised wbes

father. Enter Louisa, dressed as the Duenia, with

Clara. Surprised indeed! and I should cerCardinal and Veil, seeming to cry.

tainly chide you must horridly, only that I Jerome. This way, mistress, this way- bave just run away from mine. what, I warrant, a tender parting; soh! tears Louisa. My dear Clara! [Embrace of turpentine down those deal cheeks-Ay, Clara. Dear sister truant! and whither aft you may well hide your head-yes, whine till your heart breaks; but I'll not hear one word Louisa. To find the man I love, to be sure of excuse-so`you are right to be dumb, this -And, I presume, you would have no aserway, this way

[Exeunt. sion to meet my brother?

Clara. Indeed I should-be bas belaved so Enter Duenna.

ill to me, I don't believe I shall ever forgive Duenna. So speed you well, sagacious Don him. Jerome! Oh, rare effects of passion and obstinacy-now shall I try whether I can't play When sable night, each drooping plant re

A I R. the fine lady as well as my mistress, and if I

storing, succeed,

may

be a fine lady for the rest of Wept o'er the flowers her breath did cheer, my life-I'll lose no time to equip myself.

[Exit

. Wakes its beauty with a tear;

As some sad widow o'er ber babe deploring, SCENE IV.The court before Don Jerome's When all did sleep, whose weary hearts died House.

borrow Enter Don JEROME and Louisa.

One hour from love and care to rest, Jerome. Come, mistress, there is your way My lover caught me to his breast;

Lo! as I press'd my couch in silent : Orrow, -The world lies before you, so troop, thou le vow'd be came to save me antiquated Eve, thou original sin-hold, yon- From those who would enslave' me! der is some fellow skulking ; perhaps it is Antonio-go to him, d'ye hear, and tell him

Then kngeling, to make you amends, and as he has got you Endless faith he swore;

Kisses stealing, turned away, tell him I say it is but just he But soon I chid him thence, should take you himself; go. [Exit Louisa] For had his fond pretence Soh! I am rid of ber, thank Heaven ! and

Obtain'd one farour then, I shall be able to keep my oath, and confine

And he had press'd again, my daughter with beiter security. [Exit.

treacherous heart might gran! Scene V.-The Piazza.

bin inore. Enter CLARA and her Maid.

Louisa. Well, for all this, I would have Maid. But where, madam, is it you intend sent him to plead his pardon, but that I would to go?

not yet a while have bim know of my flight Clara. Any where to avoid the selfish vio- And where do you hope to find protectioe lence of my mother-in-law, and Ferdinand's Clara. The Lady Abbess of the convent of insolent importunity.

St. Calberine is a relation and kind friend of Maid. Indeed, ma'am, since we have pro- mine-I shall be secure with her, and you fited by Don Ferdinand's key, in making our had best go thither with me. escape, I think we had best find him, if it Louisa. No; I am determined to find Atwere only to thank him.

tonio first; and, as I live, bere comes the Clara. No-he has offended me exceedingly. very man I will employ to seek bim for me

[Retire. Člara. Who is he? he's a strange figure!

Louisa. Yes; that sweet creature is the Enter Louisa.

man whom my father has fixed on for my Louisa. So I have succeeded in being turn-husband. cd out of doors—but how shall I find Anto- Clara. And will you speak to him? art nio? I dare not inquire for him, for fear of you mad? being discovered; I would send to my friend Louisa. He is the Gttest man in the world Clara, but that i doubt her prudery would for my purpose-for, though I was to how condemn me.

married 'him to-morrow, he is tbe only made Maid. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to in Seville, who, I am sure, never saw tzelt your friend 'Donna Louisa would not his life.

Clara. And how do you know bim?

now

I fear'd my

try if

receive you.

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