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Lov. 'Slife, Sir Tunbelly, you should do it, and bless yourself: ladies, what say you?

Ama. Good Sir Tunbelly, you must consent. Ber. Come, you have been young yourself, Sir Tunbelly,

Sir T. Well, then, if I must, I must; but turn --turn that sneering lord out, however, and let me be revenged on somebody. But first look whether I am a barbarian or not; there, children, I join your hands; and, when I'm in a better humour, I'll give you my blessing.

Lov. Nobly done, Sir Tunbelly; and we shall see you dance at a grandson's christening, yet. Miss H. By goles, though, I don't understand this; what, a'nt I to be a lady, after all? only plain Mrs. What's my husband's name, Nurse?

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Nurse. Squire Fashion.

Miss H. Squire, is he?-Well, that's better than nothing.

Lord F. Now will I put on a philosophic air, and show these people that it is not possible to put a man of my quality out of countenance. [Aside.] Dear Tam, since things have fallen out, pr'ythee give me leave to wish thee joy; I do it de bon cœur, strike me dumb! You have married into a family of great politeness and uncommon elegance of manners, and your bride appears to be a lady beautiful in person, modest in her deportment, refined in her sentiments, and of nice morality, split my windpipe!

Miss H. By goles, husband, break his bones, if he calls me names.

Young F. Your lordship may keep up your spirits with your grimace, if you please; I shall support mine, by Sir Tunbelly's favour, with this lady and three thousand pounds a year.

Lord F. Well adieu, Tam Ladies, I kiss your

hands. Sir Tunbelly, I shall now quit this thy den; but, while I retain the use of my arms, I shall ever remember thou art a demn'd horrid savage; Ged demn me! [Exit.

Sir T. By the mass, 'tis well he's gone-for I should have been provoked, by and by, to ha' dun un a mischief. Well, if this is a lord, I think Hoyden has luck on her side, in troth.

Čol. T. She has, indeed, Sir Tuabelly.-But I hear the fiddles; his lordship, I know, had provided 'em.

Lov. Oh, a dance and a bottle, Sir Tunbelly, by

all means.

Sir T. I had forgot the company below; wel!-what-we must be merry then, ha? and dance and drink, ha? Well, 'fore George, you sha'n't say I do these things by halves. Son-in-law, thee looks a hearty rogue, so we'll have a night on't: and which of these ladies will be the old man's partner, ha?-'Ecod, I don't know how I came to be in so good a humour.

Ber. Well, Sir Tunbelly, my friend and I both will endeavour to keep you so you have done a generous action, and are entitled to our attention. If you should be at a loss to divert your new guests, we will assist you to relate to them the plot of your daughter's marriage, and his lordship's deserved mortification; a subject which, perhaps, may afford no bad evening's entertainment.

Šir T. 'Ecod! with all my heart; though I am a main bungler at a long story.

Ber. Never fear, we will assist you, if the tale is judged worth being repeated; but of this you may be assured, that, while the intention is evi dently to please, British auditors will ever be indulgent to the errors of the performance. [Exeunt.

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THE DUEN NA.

AN OPERA.

BY RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN,
Author of "The School for Scandal," &c.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Don JEROME.

Don FERDINAND.

Don ANTONIO.

CARLOS.

ISAAC MENDOZA.

LOPEZ.

Father PAUL.

Lay Brother.

FRANCIS.

AUGUSTINE.

LORENZO.

LEWIS.

SANCHO.

CLARA.

LOUISA.

MARGARET, the Duenna.

LOUISA's Maid.

CLARA'S Maid.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-A Street.

Enter LOPEZ, with a dark Lantern.

friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my
young mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: soh!
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 ANTONIO and LORENZO, with Masks and

Music.

SONG.-ANTONIO.

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 Mask. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, while you sing so dolefully love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody.

Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest.

1 Mask. The reason is, because you know she does not regard you enough to appear, if you awakened her.

Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you.

[Sings.

The breath of morn bids hence the night;
Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair,
For till the dawn of love is there,
I feel no day, I own no light.

LOUISA-replies from a Window.
Waking, I heard thy numbers chide,
Waking, the dawn did bless my sight;
'Tis Phoebus sure that woos, I cried,
Who speaks in song, who moves in light.

Lopez. Past three o'clock! soh! 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 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 featherbed 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 Louisa. have we here? Oh, Don Antonio, my master's Ant.

Don JEROME from another Window.
What vagabonds are these I hear
Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting,
Piping, scraping, whining, canting!
Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!

TRIO.

Nay, pr'ythee, father, why so rough?
An humble lover I.

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SCENE II.-A Piazza.

Enter FERDINAND and Lorez.

Lopes. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep, once in a week, or so

Ferd. Peace, fool! don't mention sleep to me. Lopez. No, no, sir, I don't mention your lowbred, vulgar, sound sleep; but I can't help thinking that a gentle slumber, or half an hour's dozing, if it were only for the novelty of the thingFerd. Pence, booby, I say!-Oh Clara, dear, cruel disturber of my rest!

Lopez. And of mine, too.

Ferd. I believe I told you, that to-morrow was the day fixed by Don Pedro and Clara's unnatural step-mother, for her to enter a convent, in order that her brat might possess her fortune: made desperate by this, I procured a key to the door, and bribed Clara's maid to leave it unbolted; at two this morning, I entered unperceived, and stole to her chamber. I found her waking and weeping. Ant. Happy Ferdinand! I was

Ferd. 'Sdeath! hear the conclusion. rated as the most confident ruffian, for daring to approach her room at that hour of night.

Ant, Ay, ay, this was at first?

Ferd. No such thing; she would not hear a word from me, but threatened to raise her mother, if I did not instantly leave her.

Ant. Well, but at last?—

Ferd. At last! why, I was forced to leave the house, as I came in.

Ant. And did you do nothing to offend her? Ferd. Nothing, as I hope to be saved! I believe, I might snatch a dozen or two of kisses. Ant. Was that all? Well, I think I never heard of such assurance!

Ferd. Zounds! I tell you, I behaved with the utmost respect.

Ant. O Lord! I don't mean you, but in her but hark ye, Ferdinand, did you leave your key

Ferd. 'Sdeath! to trifle with me at such a junc-with them? ture as this-now to stand on punctilios-love me! I don't believe she ever did.

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Enter ANTONIO.

pre

[Exit.

Ferd. Yes, the maid, who saw me out, took it from the door.

Ant. Then, my life for it, her mistress elopes after you.

Ferd. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps. I am in a humour to suspect every body. You loved her once, and thought her an angel, as I do now.

Ant. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't love me, and then I discovered that she had'nt a good feature in her face.

AIR.

I ne'er could any lustre see

In eyes that would not look on me ;
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,
But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid, who seeks my heart,
Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art?
I will own the colour true,
When yielding blushes aid their hue.
Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it, grateful, press again.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so, when I see

That heaving bosom sigh for me.

Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in my love for your sister. Help me there, and I can never disturb you with Clara.

Ferd. As far as I can, consistently with the honour of our family, you know I will; but there must be no eloping.

Ant. And yet, now, you would carry off Clara? Ferd. Ah, that's a different case. We never Imean that others should act to our sisters and

Ferd. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you chant-wives, as we do to others.--But, to-morrow, Clara ing before our door. Was my father waked?

Ant. Yes, yes; he has a singular affection for music, so I left him roaring at his barred window, like the print of Bajazet in the cage. And what brings you out so early?

is to be forced into a convent.

Ant. Well, and am not I so unfortunately circumstanced? To-morrow, your father forces Louisa to marry Isaac, the Portuguese-but come with me, and we'll devise something, I warrant.

Ferd. I must go home.

Ant. Well, adieu!

neighbourhood with villanous catgut, and lascivious piping! Out on't! you set your sister, here, a Ferd. But, Antonio, if you did not love my vile example; but I come to tell you, madam, that sister, you have too much honour and friendship to supplant me with Clara.

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SCENE III-A Room in Dol. Jerome's House.

Enter LOUISA and Duenna.

Louisa. But, my dear Margaret, my charming Duenna, do you think we shall succeed?

Duenna. I tell you again, I have no doubt on't; but it must be instantly put to the trial. Everything is prepared in your room, and for the rest, we must trust to fortune.

Louisa. My father's oath was, never to see me till I had consented to

Duenna. 'Twas thus I overheard him say to his friend, Don Guzman-"I will demand of her tomorrow, once for all, whether she will consent to marry Isaac Mendoza: if she hesitates, I will make a solemn oath never to see or speak to her, till she returns to her duty."-These were his words.

Louisa. And on his known obstinate adherence to what he has once said, you have formed this plan for my escape. But have you secured my

maid in our interest?

I'll suffer no more of these midnight incantations -these amorous orgies, that steal the senses in the hearing; as, they say, Egyptian embalmers serve mummies, extracting the brain through the ears: however, there's an end of your frolicsIsaac Mendoza will be here presently, and to-mor row you shall marry him.

Louisa. Never, while I have life.

Ferd. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can think of such a man for a son-in-law.

Jerome. Sir, you are very kind, to favour me with Your sentiments:-and, pray, what is your objec

tion to him?

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Ferd. But the most remarkable part of his character is, his passion for deceit and tricks of cunning. Louisa. Though at the same time the fool predominates so much over the knave, that I am told he is generally the dupe of his own art.

Ferd. True, like an unskilful gunner, he usually misses his aim, and is hurt by the recoil of his own piece.

Jerome. Anything more?

Louisa. To sum up all, he has the worst fault a husband can have—he's not my choice.

Jerome. But you are his; and choice on one side is sufficient. Two lovers should never meet in marriage. Be you sour as you please, he is sweetDuenna. She is a party in the whole; but re-tempered, and for your good fruit, there's nothing member, if we succeed, you resign all right and like ingrafting on a crab. Anything more? title in little Isaac, the Jew, over to me.

Louisa. That I do, with all my soul: get him, if you can, and I shall wish you joy, most heartily. He is twenty times as rich as my poor Antonio.

AIR-LOUISA.

Thou canst not boast of fortune's store,
My love, while me they wealthy call;
But I was glad to find thee poor,
For, with my heart, I'd give thee all.

And then the grateful youth shall own,
I loved him for himself alone.

But when his worth my hand shall gain,
No word er look of mine shall show
That I the smallest thought retain
Of what my bounty did bestow.

Louisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall ten times more as a husband.

Jerome. I don't know that. Marriage generally makes a great change-but, to cut the matter short, will you have him, or not?

Louisa. There is nothing else I could disobey you in.

Jerome. Do you value your father's peace? Louisa. So much, that I will not fasten on him the regret of making an only daughter wretched.

Jerome. Very well, ma'am; then mark menever more will I see or converse with you till you return to your duty. No reply! This and your chamber shall be your apartments; I never will stir out, without leaving you under lock and key; and when I'm at home, no creature can approach you but through my library. We'll try who can be most obstinate. Out of my sight!-there remain, till you know your duty. [Pushes her out. Duenna. I hear Don Jerome coming. Quick, Ferd. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations should give me the last letter I brought you from Antonio be consulted in a matter of this kind, and some -you know that is to be the ground of my dismis-regard paid to Don Antonio, being my particular sion. I must slip out to seal it up, as undelivered. [Exit.-JEROME speaking within.

Yet still his grateful heart shall own,
I loved him for himself alone.

Enter Don JEROME and FERDINAND. Jerome. What, I suppose, you have beer: serenading, too! Eh, disturbing some peaceable

friend.

Jerome. That, doubtless, is a very great recommendation. I certainly have not paid sufficient respect to it.

Ferd. There is not a man living I would sooner choose for a brother-in-law.

Jerome. Very possible; and if you happen to have e'er a sister who is not at the same time a daughter of mine, I'm sure I shall have no objection to the relationship-but at present, if you please, we'll drop the subject.

Ferd. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my sister makes me speak.

Jerome. Then pray, sir, in future, let your regard for your father make you hold your tongue. Ferd. I have done, sir-I shall only add a wish, that you would reflect what at our age you would have felt, had you been crossed in your affection for the mother of her you are so severe to.

Jerome. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe on. What have you pilfered, eh?

Duenna. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress; she has valuables of mine; besides, my cardinal and veil are in her room.

Jerome. Your veil, forsooth! What, do you dread being gazed at? or are you afraid of your complexion? Well, go, take your leave, and get your veil and cardinal! soh! you quit the house within these five minutes. In-in-quick! [Exit Duenna.] Here was a precious plot of mischief! These are the comforts daughters bring us!

AIR.

If a daughter you have, she's the plague of your life;
No peace shall you know, though you've buried
your wife:
At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her:
O what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
Sighing and whining,
Dying and pining;

O what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
When scarce in their teens, they have wit to per-
With letters and lovers for ever they vex us;
plex us;
While each still rejects the fair suitor you've
brought her;

Jerome. Why, I must confess I had a great af
fection for your mother's ducats, but that was all,
boy. I married her for her fortune, and she took
me in obedience to her father, and a very happy
couple we were. We never expected any love
from one another, and so we were never disap-
pointed. If we grumbled a little now and then,
it was soon over, for we were never fond enough
to quarrel; and when the good woman died, why,
why-I had as lieve she had lived, and I wish
every widower in Seville could say the same.
shall now go and get the key of this dressing.
room-so, good son, if you have any lecture in
support of disobedience to give your sister, it must
be brief; so make the best of your time. D'ye
hear?
[Exit.
Ferd. I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio bas
little to hope for: however, Louisa has firmness,
and my father's anger will probably only increase
her affection. In our intercourse with the world,
it is natural for us to dislike those who are inno-
cently the cause of our distress; but in the heart's
attachment, a woman never likes a man with ar-
dour till she has suffered for his sake. [Noise.]I
Soh! what bustle is here! between my father and
the Duenna, too. I'll e'en get out of the way. [Exit.

Enter Don JEROME with a letter, pulling in the
Duenna.

Jerome. I'm astonish'd! I'm thunder-struck! here's treachery and conspiracy with a vengeance! You, Antonio's creature, and chief manager of this plot for my daughter's eloping!-you, that I placed here as a scarecrow?

Duenna. What?

Jerome. A scarecrow-to prove a decoy-duck! What have you to say for yourself?

O what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
Wrangling and jangling,
what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
Flouting and pouting;

Enter Louisa, dressed as the Duenna, with cardinal
and veil, seeming to cry.

Jerome. This way, mistress; this way. What, warrant, a tender parting! Soh! tears of turpentine down those deal cheeks. Ay, you may well hide your head. Yes, whine till your heart breaks; but I'll not hear one word of excuse-so you are right to be dumb. This way. [Pushing her [Exeunt.

out.

Enter Duenna.

Duenna. So, speed you well, sagacious Don Jerome! Oh, rare effects of passion and obstinacy! Now shall I try whether I can't play the fine lady as well as my mistress; and, if I succeed, I may be a fine lady for the rest of my life. I'll lose no time to equip myself. [Exit.

SCENE IV.-The Court before Don Jerome's
House.

Enter Don JEROME and LOUISA.

Duenna. Well, sir, since you have forced that letter from me, and discovered my real sentiments, I scorn to renounce them. I am Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that your daughter should have served you as all such old tyrannical sots Jerome. Come, mistress, there is your way. The should be served. I delight in the tender pas-world lies before you, so troop, thou antiquated sions, and would befriend all under their influence. Eve, thou original sin. Hold, yonder is some felJerome. The tender passions! yes, they would low skulking; perhaps it is Antonio. Go to him, become those impenetrable features! Why, thou d'ye hear? and tell him to make you amends, and deceitful hag I placed thee as a guard to the rich as he has got you turned away, tell him I say it is blossoms of my daughter's beauty. I thought that but just he should take you himself: go. [Exit dragon's front of thine would cry aloof to the sons LOUISA.] Soh! I am rid of her, thank Heaven! of gallantry: steel traps and spring-guns seemed and now I shall be able to keep my oath, and conwrit in every wrinkle of it. But you shall quit fine my daughter with better security. [Exit. my house this instant. The tender passions, indeed! Go, thou wanton sibyl, thou amorous woman of Endor, go!

Duenna. You base, scurrilous, old-but I won't demean myself by naming what you are. Yes, savage, I'll leave your den; but I suppose you don't mean to detain my apparel. I may have my things, I presume?

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SCENE V.-The Piazza.

Enter CLARA and her Maid.

Maid. But where, madam, is it you intend to go? Clara. Any where to avoid the selfish violence of my mother-in-law, and Ferdinand's insolent importunity.

M

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