SCENE III-Justice Woodcock's Hall. Enter JUSTICE WOODCOCK, MRS. DEBORAH WOODCOCK, LUCINDA, EUSTACE and HODGE. Mrs. D. Why, brother, do you think I can't hear, or see, or make use of my senses? I tell you, I left that fellow locked up in her closet; and, while I have been with you, they have broke open the door, and got him out again.

Jus. W. Well, you hear what they say.

Mrs. D. I care not what they say; it's you encourage them in their impudence. Hark ye, hussy, will you face me down that I did not lock the

fellow up?

Luc. Really, aunt, I don't know what you mean; when you talk intelligibly, I'll answer you.

Eust. Seriously, madam, this is carrying the jest

a little too far.

Mrs. D. What, then, I did not catch you together in the chamber, nor overhear your design of going off to-night, nor find the bundles packed upEust. Ha, ha, ha!

Luc. Why, aunt, you rave. Mrs. D. Brother, as I am a Christian woman,

her

music-master; a thrummer of wire, and a scrape of catgut, and teaches my daughter to sing.

Sir W. What, Jack Eustace a music-master! no, no; I know him better.

Eust. 'Sdeath, why should I attempt to carry on this absurd farce any longer: what that gentleman tells you is very true, sir; I am no musicmaster, indeed.

Jus. W. You are not? you own it, then?

Eust. Nay more, sir, I am, as this lady has redaughter's lover: whom, with her own consent, I presented me, (pointing to Mrs. Deborah,)—your did intend to have carried off this night; but now that sir William Meadows is here, to tell you who and what I am, I throw myself upon your generosity; from which I expect greater advantages than I could reap from any imposition upon your unsuspicious nature.

yourself now? You have made a precious day's Mrs. D. Well, brother, what have you to say for work of it! Had my advice been taken-Oh, I am ashamed of you; but you are a weak man, and it can't be helped; however, you should let wiser

heads direct you.

Luc. Dear papa, pardon me.

will make her a good husband, I'll answer for it. Sir W. Ay, do, sir, forgive her; my cousin Jack

Ros. Stand out of the way, and let me speak two or three words to his worship. Come, my dear sir, though you refuse all the world. I am sure you can deny me nothing: love is a vonial fault. You know what I mean. Be reconciled to your

would conceal it from you.

Hodge. Oh Lord! Oh Lord!

Mrs. D. What, sirrah, would you brazen me too! Take that. (Boxes his ears.)

Hodge. I wish you would keep your hands to yourself! You strike me, because you have been telling his worship stories.

Jus W. Why, sister, you are tipsy.

Mrs. D. I tipsy, brother! I-that never touch a drop of anything strong from year's end to year's end; but now and then a little aniseed water, when I have got the cholic.

Luc. Well, aunt, you have been complaining of the stomach-ache all day; and may have taken too powerful a dose of your cordial.

Jus. W. Come, Come, I see well enough how it is: this is a lie of her own invention, to make herself appear wise: but, you simpleton, did you not know I must find you out?

Enter SIR WILLIAM MEADOWS, HAWTHORN, ROSETTA, ana Young MEADOWS.

Young M. Bless me, sir! look who is yonder. Sir W. Cocksbones! Jack, honest Jack, are you there?

Eust. Plague on't, this rencounter is unlucky; sir William, you servant.

Sir W. Your servant, again and again, heartily your servant; may I never do an ill turn, but I am glad to meet you.

Jus. W. Pray, sir William, are you acquainted with this person?

Sir W. What, with Jack Eustace? why he's my kinsman: his mother and I were cousin-germans once removed, and Jack's a very worthy young fellow may I never do an ill turn, if I tell a word of a lie.

Jus. W. Well but, sir William, let me tell you, you know nothing of the matter; this man is a

AIR.

Go, naughty man, I can't abide you;
Are then your vows so soon forgot?
Ah! now I see if I had tried you,

What would have been my hopeful lot.

But here I charge you,-make them happy;
Bless the fond pair, and crown their bliss;
Come, be a dear, good-natur'd pappy,

And I'll reward you with a kiss.

Mrs. D. Come, turn out of the house, and be thankful that my brother does not hang you, for he could do it; he's a justice of peace; turn out of the house, I say:

of the house? he shall stay where he is. Jus. W. Who gave you authority to turn him out

Mrs. D. He shan't marry my niece.

Jus. W. Shan't he; but I'll show you the difference now; I say he shall marry her, and what will you do about it?

Mrs. D. And you will give him your estate too, will you?

Jus. W. Yes, I will.

Mrs. D. Why, I'm sure he's a vagabond.

Jus. W. I like him the better; I would have him a vagabond.

Mrs. D. Brother, brother!

Haw. Come, come, madam, all's very well; and I see my neighbour is what I always thought him, a man of sense and prudence.

Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, but I say so too.

Jus. W. Here, young fellow, take my daughter, and bless you both together; but hark you, no money till I die. Sister Deborah, you're a fool. Mrs. D. Ah, brother, brother, you're a silly old man.

[Exit

Val. I am his servant, it is true-trusted by him -and 1 know him well; and, therefore, 'tis I ask

tent.

ELVIRA discovered sleeping under a canopy. VALVERDE enters, gazes on Elvira, and attempts to kiss her hand; Elvira awakened, rises, and looks a him with indignation.

Elv. Audacious, whence is thy privilege to interrupt the few moments of repose my harassed mind can snatch, amid the tumults of this noisy camp? Shall I inform your master of this presumptuous treachery?

No. 2.-THE BRITISH DRAMA

a

what fatality still holds he your affections? Elv. Hold! thou trusty secretary! Val. Ignobly born, in mind and manners rude, ferocious, and unpolished, though cool and crafty if occasion need; in youth, audacious; in his first manhood, a licensed pirate, treating men as brutes, the world as booty; yet now the Spanish hero is he styled-the first of Spanish conquerors! and for a warrior so accomplished, 'tis fit Elvira should leave her noble family, her fame, her home, to share the dangers, humours, and the crimes of such a lover as Pizarro!

Vall. "Elvira was laughing at my apprehensions thut

Piz. Apprehensions!

Elv. What, Valverde moralizing! But, grant I am in error, what is my incentive? Passion, infatuation, call it as you will. But, what attaches thee to this despised, unworthy leader? Base lucre is thy object, mean fraud thy means. Could you gain me, you only hope to win a higher interest in Pizarro. I know you.

Val. On my soul, you wrong mo: what else my faults, I have none towards you. But, indulge the scorn and levity of your nature; do it while yet the time permits; the gloomy hour, I fear, too soon approaches.

Elv. Valverde a prophet, too!

Val. Hear me, Elvira: shame from his late defeat, and burning wishes for revenge, again have brought Pizarro to Peru; but, trust me, he overrates his strength, nor measures well the foo. Encamped in a strange country, where terror cannot force, nor corruption buy a single friend, what have we to hope? The army murmuring at increasing hardships, while Pizarro decorates, with gaudy spoil, the gay pavilion of his luxury, each day diminishes our force.

Elv. But, are you not the heirs of those that fall? Val. Are gain and plunder then, our only purpose? Is this Elvira's heroism?

Elv. No, so save me heaven! I abhor the motive, means, and end of your pursuits; but, I will trust none of you. In your whole army, there is not one of you that has a heart, or speaks ingenuously; aged Las-Casas, and he alone, excepted.

Val. He! an enthusiast in the opposite and worse

extreme.

Elv. Oh! had I earlier known that virtuous man, how different might my lot have been!

Val. I will grant Pizarro could not then so easily have duped you. Forgive me, but, that event, I still most wonder.

Elv. Hear me, Valverde: when first my virgin fancy waked to love, Pizarro was my country's idiol. Self-taught, self-raised, and self-supported, he became hers, and I was formed to be won by glory and renown. 'Tis known that when he left Panama, in a slight vessel, his force was not an hundred men. Arrived in the island of Gallo, with his sword he drew a line upon the sands, and said, "Pass those who fear to die or conquer with their leader." Thirteen alone remained; and, at the head of these, the warrior stood his ground. Even at the moment when my ears first caught this tale, my heart exclaimed, "Pizarro is its lord!" What since I have perceived, or thought, or felt, you must have more worth to win the knowledge of.

Val. I press no further; still assured, that while Alonzo de Molina, our general's former friend and pupil, leads the enemy, Pizarro never more will be & conqueror. (Trumpets without.)

Ew. Silence! I hear him coming. Look not perplexed. How mystery and fraud confound the countenance! Quick, put on an honest face, if thou

canst.

Piz. (Speaking without.) Chain and secure him; I will examine him myself.

Enter PIZARRO. (Valverde bows; Elvira laughs.)
Piz. Why dost thou smile, Elvira?
Elv. To laugh or weep without a reason, is one
of the few privileges poor women have.

Piz. Elvira, I will know the cause, I am resolved. Eiv. I am glad of that, because I love resolution, and am resolved not to tell you. Now my icsolution, I take it, is the better of the two, because it depends upon myself, and yours does not Piz. Psha! trifler!

Val. Yes; that Alonzo's skill and genius should so have disciplined and informed the enemy, as

to

Piz. Alonzo! the traitor! How I once loved that man! His noble mother entrusted him, a boy, to my protection. At my table did he feast; in my tent did he repose. I had marked his early genius, and the valorous spirit that grew with it. Often I had talked to him of our first adventures; what storms we struggled with, what perils we surmounted! When landed, with a slender host, upon an unknown land; then, when I told how famine and fatigue, discord and toil, day by day, did thin our ranks; amid close-pressing enemies how still undaunted I endured and dared; maintained my purpose and my power, in despite of growling mutiny or bold revolt, till, with my faithful few remaining, I became, at last victorious;~ when, I say, of these things I spoke, the youth Alonzo, with tears, of wonder and delight, would throw himself on my neck, and swear his soul's ambition owned no other leader.

Val. What could subdue attachment so begun? Piz. Las-Casas. He it was, with fascinating craft, and canting precepts of humanity, raised, in Alonzo's mind, a new enthusiasm, which forced him (as the stripling termed it) to forego his country's claims for those of human nature.

Val. Yes: the traitor left you, joined the Peruvians, and became thy enemy and Spain's.

Piz. But, first, with weariless remonstrance, he sued to win me from my purpose, and untwine the sword from my determined grasp. Much he spoke of right, of justice, and humanity; calling the Peruvians our innocent and unoffending brethren. Val. They! Obdurate heathens! They our

brethren!

Piz. But, when he found, that the soft folly of the pleading tears he dropped upon my bosom, fell on marble, he flew and joined the foe; then profiting by the lessons he had gained in wronged Pizarro's school, the youth so disciplined and led his new allies, that soon he forced me-(Ha! I burn with shame and fury while I own it!)-in base retreat and foul discomfiture to quit the shore.

Val. But, the hour of revenge is come.

Piz. It is. I am returned; my force is strengthened, and the audacious boy shall soon know that Pizarro lives, and has a grateful recollection of the thanks he owes him.

Val. 'Tis doubted whether still Alonzo lives.

Piz. 'Tis certain that he does: one of his armourbearers is just made prisoner: twelve thousand is their force, as he reports, led by Alonzo and Peruvian Rolla. This day they make a solemn sacrifice on their ungodly altars. We must profit by their security, and attack them unprepared: the sacrificers shall become the victims.

Elv. Wretched innocents! And their own blood shall bedew their altars!

Piz. Right! (Tumpets without.) Elvira, retire! Ele. Why should I retire?

Piz. Because men are to meet here, and on manly business.

Elv. Oh! men, men! ungrateful and perverse! Oh, woman! still affectionate though wronged! the beings to whose eyes you turn for animation, hope, and rapture, through the days of mirth and revelry: and on whose bosoms in the hour of sore calamity, you seek for rest and consolation, them, when the pompous follies of your mean ambition are the