Lop. 'Tis a pity, indeed, such excellent parts, | as you are master of, should be eclipsed by mean extraction. Fred. Such commendation would make me vain, my lord, did you not cast in the allay of my extraction. Lop. There is no condition of life without its cares; and it is the perfection of a man to wear them as easy as he can: this unfortunate duel of my son's does not pass without impression; but since it is past prevention, all my concern is now how he may escape the punishment. If Antonio dies, Felix shall for England. You have been there; what sort of people are the English? Fred. My lord, the English are, by nature, what the ancient Romans were by discipline, courageous, bold, hardy, and in love with liberty. Liberty is the idol of the English, under whose banner all the nation lists: give but the word for liberty, and straight more armed legions would appear, than France and Philip keep in constant pay. Lop. I like their principles: who does not wish for freedom in all degrees of life? though common prudence sometimes makes us act a gainst it, as I am now obliged to do; for, I intend to marry my daughter to Don Guzman, whom I expect from Holland every day, whither he went to take possession of a large estate left him by his uncle. Fred. You will not surely sacrifice the lovely Isabella to age, avarice, and a fool? Pardon the expression, my lord; but my concern for your beauteous daughter transports me beyond that good manners which I ought to pay your lordship's presence. in the right, though it is a secret which I never had the curiosity to enquire into, nor, I believe, ever shall. Inclination, quotha! Parents would have a fine time on't, if they consulted their children's inclinations! I'll venture you a wager, that in all the garrison towns in Spain and Portugal during the late war, there was not three women who have not had an inclination for every officer in the whole army; does it, therefore, follow, that their fathers ought to pimp for them? No, no, sir; it is not a father's business to follow his children's inclinations till he makes himself a beggar. Fred. But this is of another nature, my lord. Lop. Look ye, sir; I resolve she shall marry Don Guzman the moment he arrives. Though I could not govern my son, I will my daughter, I assure you. Fred. This match, my lord, is more preposterous than that which you proposed to your son, from whence arose this fatal quarrel. Don Antonio's sister, Elvira, wanted beauty only; but Guzman every thing but Lop. Money thing; and so adieu. and that will purchase every [Exit. Fred. Monstrous! these are the resolutions which destroy the comforts of matrimony. He is rich and well-born; powerful arguments, indeed! could I but add them to the friendship of Don Felix, what might I not hope? But a merchant and a grandee of Spain are inconsistent names. Lissardo! from whence came you? Enter LISSARDO in a riding-habit. Lis. I left him so; I have another to deliver which requires haste. Your most humble ser[Bowing. vant, sir. Fred. To Violante, I suppose? [Erit. Lop. I can't deny the justness of the character, Frederick; but you are not insensible what I have suffered by these wars; and he has two things which render him very agreeable to me for a son-in-law-he is rich and well born: as for his being a fool, I don't conceive how that can Fred. [Reads.] Dear Frederick! the two be any blot in a husband, who is already posses-chief blessings of this life, are a friend and a sed of a good estate. A poor fool, indeed, is a 'mistress; to be debarred the sight of those, is very scandalous thing, and so are your poor not to live. I hear nothing of Antonio's death, wits, in my opinion, who have nothing to be vain ' and therefore resolve to venture to thy house of but the inside of their sculls. Now, for Don 'this evening, impatient to see Violante, and emGuzman, I know I can rule him as I think fit.- brace my friend. Your's. This is acting the politic part, Frederick, without which, it is impossible to keep up the port of this life. Fred. But have you no consideration for your daughter's welfare, my lord? Lop. Is a husband of twenty thousand crowns a-year no consideration? Now, I think it a very good consideration. Fred. One way, my lord. But what will the world of such a match? say Lop. Sir, I value not the world a button. Fred. I cannot think your daughter can have any inclination for such a husband. Lop. There, I believe, you are pretty much FELIX.' Pray Heaven he comes undiscovered! Ha! Colonel Briton! Fred. If you are not provided of a lodging, I colonel, pray command my house while you stay. Col. If I were sure I should not be troublesome, I would accept your offer, Frederick. Fred. So far from trouble, colonel, I shall take it as a particular favour. What have we here? Col. My footman: this is our country dress, you must know, which, for the honour of Scotland, I make all my servants wear. Enter GIBBY, in a highland dress. Gib. What maun I de with the horses, and like yer honour? They will tack cald gin they stand in the causeway. Fred. Oh, I'll take care of them. What, hoa! Vasquez! Vas. Yes, sir.-Sir, by my master's orders, I am, sir, your most obsequious humble servant. Be pleased to lead the way. Gib. 'Sbleed! gang your gate, sir; and I sall follow ye. Ise tee hungry to feed on compli[Erit. Fred. Ha, ha! a comical fellow. Well, how do you like our country, colonel? ments. Col. Why, faith, Frederick, a man might pass his time agreeably enough within side of a nunnery; but to behold such troops of soft, plump, tender, melting, wishing, nay, willing girls, too, through a damned grate, gives us Britons strong temptations to plunder. Ah, Frederick! your priests are wicked rogues; they immure beauty for their own proper use, and shew it only to the laity to create desires, and inflame account, that they may purchase pardons at a dearer rate. Fred. I own wenching is something more difficult here than in England, where womens' liberties are subservient to their inclinations, and husbands seem of no effect but to take care of the children which their wives provide. Col. And does restraint get the better of inclination with your women here? No, I'll be sworn, not even in fourscore. Don't I know the constitution of the Spanish ladies? Fred. And of all the ladies where you come, colonel; you were ever a man of gallantry. Col. Ah, Frederick! the kirk half starves us Scotsmen. We are kept so sharp at home, that we feed like cannibals abroad. Hark ye, hast thou never a pretty acquaintance now that thou wouldst consign over to a friend for half an hour, ha? Fred. Faith, colonel, I am the worst pimp in Christendom; you had better trust to your own luck: the women will soon find you out, I warrant you. Col. Aye, but it is dangerous foraging in an enemy's country; and since I have some hopes of VOL. II. seeing my own again, I had rather purchase my pleasure than run the hazard of a stiletto in my guts. Egad, I think I must e'en marry, and sacrifice my body for the good of my soul. Wilt thou recommend me to a wife, then; one that is willing to exchange her moidores for English liberty? ha, friend? Fred. She must be very handsome, I suppose? Col. The handsomer the better--but be sure she has a nose. Fred. Aye, aye; and some gold. Col. Oh, very much gold; I shall never be able to swallow the matrimonial pill, if it be not well gilded. Fred. Puh! beauty will make it slide down nimbly. Col. At first, perhaps, it may; but the second or third dose will choke me. I confess, Frederick, women are the prettiest play-things in nature; but gold, substantial gold, gives them the air, the mien, the shape, the grace, and beauty of a goddess. Fred. And has not gold the same divinity in their eyes, colonel ? Col. Too often-Money is the very god of marriage; the poets dress him in a saffron robe, by which they figure out the golden deity; and his lighted torch blazons those mighty charms which encourage us to list under his banner. None marry now for love; no, that's a jest: The self-same bargain serves for wife and beast. Fred. You are always gay, colonel. Come, shall we take a refreshing glass at my house, and consider what has been said? Col, I have two or three compliments to dis charge for some friends, and then I shall wait on you with pleasure. Where do you live? Fred. At yon corner-house with the green rails. Col. In the close of the evening, I will endeavour to kiss your hand! Adieu. [Exit COL. Fred. I shall expect you with impatience. [Erit FRED. SCENE II-A room in DON LOPEZ's house. Enter ISABELLA, and INIs her maid. Inis. For goodness sake, madam, where are you going in this pet? Isa. Any where to avoid matrimony. The thoughts of a husband are as terrible to me as the sight of a hobgoblin. Inis. Ay, of an old husband: but if you may choose for yourself, I fancy matrimony would be no such frightful thing to you. Isa. You are pretty much in the right, Inis: but to be forced into the arms of an idiot, a sneaking, snivelling, drivelling, avaricious fool! who has neither person to please the eye, sense to charm the ear, nor generosity to supply those 3Z Inis. Here's an old dog for you! [Aside. defects-Ah, Inis! what pleasant lives women | flesh and blood to-morrow. Flesh and blood, lead in England, where duty wears no fetter but quotha! Heaven forbid I should deny thee flesh inclination! The custom of our country enslaves and blood, my girl! us from our very cradles, first to our parents, next to our husbands, and, when Heaven is so kind to rid us of both these, our brothers still usurp authority, and expect a blind obedience from us; so that, maids, wives, or widows, we are little better than slaves to the tyrant, man. Therefore, to avoid their power, I resolve to cast myself into a monastery. Inis. That is, you'll cut your own throat to avoid another's doing it for you. Ah, madam! those eyes tell me you have no nun's flesh about you. A monastery, quotha!—where you'll wish yourself into the green-sickness in a month. Isa. What care I? there will be no man to plague me. Inis. No; nor, what's much worse, to please you, neither-Odslife, madam, you are the first woman that ever despaired in a Christian country -Were I in your place Isa. Why, what would your wisdom do, if you were? Inis. I'd embark with the first fair wind with all my jewels, and seek my fortune on t'other side the water: no shore can treat you worse than your own. There's ne'er a father in Christendom should make me marry any man against iny will. Isa. I am too great a coward to follow your advice. I must contrive some way to avoid Don Guzman, and yet stay in my own country. Enter DON LOPEZ. Lop. Must you so, mistress? but I shall take care to prevent you. [Aside.]—Isabella, whither are you going, my child? Isa. Ha! my father!-To church, sir. Inis. The old rogue has certainly overheard her. [Aside. Lop. Your devotion must needs be very strong, or your memory very weak, my dear. Why, vespers are over for this night. Come, come; you shall have a better errand to church than to say your prayers there. Don Guzman is arrived in the river, and I expect him ashore to-morrow. Isa. Ha! to-morrow! Lop. He writes me word, that his estate in Holland is worth twelve thousand crowns a-year, which, together with what he had before, will make thee the happiest wife in Lisbon. Isa. And the most unhappy woman in the world. Oh, sir, if I have any power in your heart; if the tenderness of a father be not quite extinct, hear me with patience. Lop. No objection against the marriage, and I will hear whatsoever thou hast to say. Isa. That's torturing ine on the rack, and forbidding me to groan. Upon my knees, I claim the privilege of flesh and blood. [Kneels. Lop. I grant it; thou shalt have an armful of Isa. Do not mistake, sir. The fatal stroke, which separates soul and body, is not more terrible to the thoughts of sinners, than the name of Guzman to my ear. Lop. Puh, puh! you lie, you lie. Isa. My frighted heart beats hard against my breast, as if it sought a passage to your feet, to beg you'd change your purpose. Lop. A very pretty speech, this! if it were turned into blank verse, it would serve for a tragedy. Why, thou hast more wit than I thought thou hadst, child. I fancy this was all extempore; I don't believe thou didst ever think one word on't before. Inis. Yes, but she has, my lord; for I have heard her say the same things a thousand times. Lop. How, how!—What, do you top your second-hand jests upon your father, hussy, who knows better what's good for you than you do yourself? Remember 'tis your duty to obey. Isa. [Rising.] I never disobeyed before; and I wish I had not reason now; but nature has got the better of my duty, and makes me loathe the the harsh commands you lay. Lop. Ha, ha! very fine! ha, ha! Isa. Death itself would be more welcome. Isa. I am your daughter, my lord, and can boast as strong a resolution as yourself. I'll die before I'll marry Guzman. Lop. Say you so? I'll try that presently. [Draws.] Here, let me see with what dexterity you can breathe a vein now. [Offers her his sword.] The point is pretty sharp-'twill do your business, I warrant you. Inis. Bless me, sir! What! do you mean to put a sword into the hands of a desperate woman? Lop. Desperate! ha, ha, ha! you see how desperate she is. What, art thou frighted, little Bell? ha! sir. Isa. I confess I am startled at your morals, Lop. Ay, ay, child; thou hadst better take the man; he'll hurt thee the least of the two. Isa. I shall take neither, sir: Death has many doors; and, when I can live no longer with pleasure, I shall find one to let him in at without your aid. Lop. Say'st thou so, my dear Bell? Ods, I'm afraid thou art a little lunatic, Bell. I must take care of thee, child. [Takes hold of her, and pulls out of his pocket a key.] I shall make bold to secure thee, my dear; I'll see if locks and bars can keep thee till Guzman come. Go, get into your chamber: There I'll your boasted resolution try, [Pushes her in, and locks the door. ACT II. SCENE I-A room in DON PEDRO's house. an English colonel; but I should have rather thought she had been bred a good Roman catho Enter DONNA VIOLANTE, reading a letter, and lic all her lifetime-for she downed on her knees FLORA following. Flo. WHAT, must that letter be read again? Vio. Yes, and again, and again, and again; a thousand times again; a letter from a faithful lover can ne'er be read too often; it speaks such kind, such soft, such tender things [Kisses it. Flo. But always the same language. to every stock and stone we came along by.- Flo. You'd make one believe you are wondrous foud now. Lis. Od, if I had you alone, housewife, I'd shew you how fond I would be- [Aside to FLO. Vio. Where did you leave your master? Lis. At a little farm-house, madam, about five Flo. In my opinion, nothing charms that does miles off. He'll be at Don Frederick's in the not change and any composition of the four-evening--Od, I will so revenge myself of those and-twenty-letters, after the first essay, from the lips of thinesame hand, must be dull, except a bank-note, or a bill of exchange. Vio. Thy taste is my averson.-[Reads.] My all that's charming, since life's not life, exiled 'from thee, this night shall bring me to thy arins. 'Frederick and thee are all I trust. These six 'weeks' absence, has been, in love's account, six | 'hundred years. When it is dark, expect the ' wonted signal at thy window: till when, adieu. 'Thine, more than his own, FELIX.' Fio. Who would not have said as much to a lady of her beauty, and twenty thousand pounds? -Were I a man, methinks I could have said a hundred finer things. Vio. What would you have said? Vio. No more of your bombast; truth is the best eloquence in a lover. What proof remains ungiven of his love? When his father threatened to disinherit him for refusing Don Antonio's sister, from whence sprung this unhappy quarrel, did it shake his love for me? and now, though strict inquiry runs through every place, with large rewards to apprehend him, does he not venture all for me? Flo. But you know, madam, your father, Don Pedro, designs you for a nun-to be sure, you look very like a nun un—and says your grandfather left you your fortune upon that condition. Vio. Not without my approbation, girl, when I come to one-and-twenty, as I am informed. But, however, I shall run the risk of that. Go, call in Lissardo. Flo. Yes, madam. Now for a thousand verbal questions! Re-enter with LISSARDO. [Exit. ill. [TO FLORA. Vio. Is he in health? [To LISSARDO. Lis. No; every body knows I counterfeit very [TO FLORA. Vio. How say you? Is Felix ill? What's his distemper? ha! Lis. A pox on't; I hate to be interrupted.Love, madain, love-——In short, madam, I believe he has thought of nothing but your ladyship ever since he left Lisbon. I am sure he could not, if I may judge of his heart by my own. [Looking lovingly upon FLORA. Vio. How came you so well acquainted with your master's thoughts, Lissardo? Lis. By an infallible rule, madain; words are the pictures of the mind, you know: now, to prove he thinks of nothing but you, he talks of nothing but you. For example, madam; coming from shooting t'other day with a brace of partridges, Lissardo, said he, go bid the cook roast me these Violantes.I flew into the kitchen, full of thoughts of thec, cried, Here, cook, roast me these Floras. [TO FLORA. Flo. Ha, ha! excellent!-You mimic your master, then, it seems? Lis. I can do every thing as well as my master, you little rogue.-Another time, madam, the priest came to make him a visit; he called out hastily, Lissardo, said he, bring a Violante for my father to sit down on.-Then he often mistook my name, madam, and called me Violante : in short, I heard it so often, that it became as familiar to me as my prayers. Vio. You live very merrily, then, it seems? Lis. Oh! yes, yes, madam, several. absence? Vio. Why, at those balls you speak of. Vio. Why, sure you are in love, Lissardo! did not you say, but now, you had balls where you have been? Lis. Balls, madam! Odslife, I ask your pardon, madam! I, I, I, had mislaid some washballs of my master's t'other day; and, because I could not think where I had laid them, just when he asked for them, he very fairly broke my head, madam; and now, it seems, I can think of nothing else. Alas! he dance, madamn! No, no, poor gentleman! he is as melancholy as an unbraced drum. Vio. Poor Felix! There, wear that ring for your master's sake, and let him know I shall be ready to receive him. [Exit VIOLANTE. Lis. I shall, madam.-[Puts on the ring.] Methinks, a diamond ring is a vast addition to the little finger of a gentleman. [Admiring his hand. Flo. That ring must be mine.-Well, Lissardo, what haste you make to pay off arrears now! Look how the fellow stands! Lis. Egad, methinks I have a very pretty hand— and very white-and the shape!-Faith, I never minded it so much before-In my opinion, it is a very fine shaped hand-and becomes a diamond ring as well as the first grandee's in Portugal. Flo. The man's transported! Is this your love, this your impatience? Lis. [Takes snuff] Now, in my mind-I take snuff with a very jantee air-Well, I am persuaded I want nothing but a coach and a title to make me a very fine gentleman. [Struts about. Flo. Sweet Mr Lissardo! [Curtsying.] if I may presume to speak to you, without affronting your little finger Lis. Odso, madam, I ask your pardon-Is it to me, or to the ring-you direct your discourse, madam ? Flo. Madam! Good lack! how much a diamond ring improves one! Lis. Why, though I say it—I can carry myself as well as any body-But what wert thou going to say, child? Flo. Why, I was going to say, that I fancy you had best let me keep that ring: it will be a very pretty wedding-ring, Lissardo, would it not? Lis. Humph! ah! But-but-but-I believe I shan't marry yet awhile. Flo. You shan't, you say!-Very well! I suppose you design that ring for Inis? Flo. Little rogue! Prithee, fellow, don't be so familiar; [Pushing him away.] if I mayn't keep your ring, I can keep iny kisses. Lis. You can, you say! spoke with the air of a chambermaid. Flo. Replied with the spirit of a serving man. Lis. Prithee, Flora, don't let you and I fall out; I am in a merry humour, and shall certainly fall in somewhere. Flo. What care I where you fall in ! Enter VIOLANTE. Vio. Why do you keep Lissardo so long, Flora, when you don't know how soon my father may awake? his afternoon naps are never long. Flo. Had Don Felix been with her, she would not have thought the time long. These ladies consider nobody's wants but their own. [Aside. Vio. Go, go; let him out, and bring a candle. Flo. Yes, madam. Lis. I fly, madam. [Exeunt Lis. and FLORA. Vio. The day draws in, and night, the lover's friend, advances-night, more welcome than the sun to me, because it brings my love. Flo. [Shrieks within.] Ah, thieves, thieves! Murder, Murder! Vio. [Shrieks.] Ah! defend me, Heaven! What do I hear? Felix is certainly pursued, and will be taken.· Col. Madam, the necessity this lady was under of being conveyed into some house with speed and secrecy, will, I hope, excuse any indecency I might be guilty of in pressing so rudely into this-I am an entire stranger to her name and circumstances would I were so to her beauty, too. [Aside.] I commit her, madam, to your care; and fly Lis. No, no; I never bribe an old acquaint- to make her retreat secure, if the street be clear: ance-Perhaps I might let it sparkle in the eyes permit me to return, and learn, from her own of a stranger a little, till we come to a right un-mouth, if I can be further serviceable. Pray, maderstanding-but, then, like all other mortal dam, how is the lady of this house called? things, it would return from whence it came. Flo. Violante, signior-He is a handsome Flo. Insolent!-is that your manner of dealing? cavalier, and promises well. [Aside. Lis. With all but thee Kiss me, you little Col. Are you she, madam? rogue, you. [Hugging her. Flo. Only her woman, signior. |