Aug. Don Juan Corduba has left a hundred Bloated I am, indeed! for fasting is a windy ducats, to remember him in our masses. recreation, and it hath swoln me like a bladder. Ant. But thou hast a good fresh colour in thy face, father; rosy, i'faith. Paul. Has he? let them be paid to our wine merchant, and we'll remember him in our cups, which will do just as well. Any thing more? Aug. Yes; Baptista, the rich miser, who died last week, has bequeathed us a thousand Paul. Yes, I have blushed for mankind, till the hue of my shame is as fixed as their vices. Isaac. Good man! Paul. And I have laboured too, but to what pistoles, and the silver lamp he used in his purpose? they continue to sin under my own chamber, to burn before the image of very nose. St. Anthony. Isaac. Ifecks, father, I should have guessed Paul. 'Twas well meant, but we'll employ as much, for your nose seems to be put to his money better-Baptista's bounty shall light the blush more than any other part of your the living, not the dead.-St. Anthony is not face. afraid to be left in the dark, though he wasSee who's there. [4 knocking, Francis goes to the door, Enter PORTer. Porter. Here's one without in pressing haste o speak with Father Paul. Francis. Brother Paul! [Paul comes from behind a curtain, with a glass of wine, and in his Hand a piece of cake. Paul. Here! how durst you, fellow, thus bruptly break in upon our devotions? Porter. I thought they were finished. Paul. No, they were not-were they, Brother 'rancis? Francis. Not by a bottle each. Paul. Go, you're a wag. Ant. But, to the purpose, father-will you officiate for us? Paul. To join young people thus clandestinely is not safe: and, indeed, I have in my heart many weighty reasons against it. Ant. And I have in my hand many weighty reasons for it. Isaac, hav'n't you an argument or two in our favour about you? Isaac. Yes, yes; here is a most unanswerable purse. Paul. For shame! you make me angry: you forget who I am, and when importunate people have forced their trash-ay, into this pocket, here-or into this-why, then the sin was theirs. [They put money into his pockets] Fie, now how you distress me! I would return it, but that I must touch it that way, and so wrong my oath. Ant. Now then, come with us. Isaac. Ay, now give us your title to joy and rapture. Paul. Well, when your hour of repentance comes, don't blame me. Paul. But neither you nor your fellows ark how the hours go-no, you mind nothing ut the gratifying of your appetites: ye eat nd swill, and sleep, and gormandize, and rive, while we are wasting in mortification. Porter. We ask no more than nature craves. Paul. Tis false, ye have more appetites Ant. No bad caution to my friend Isaac. an hairs! and your flushed, sleek, and pam- [Aside] Well, well, father, do you do your ered appearance is the disgrace of our order-part, and I'll abide the consequence. ut on't If you are hungry, can't you be ontent with the wholesome roots of the earth; d if you are dry, isn't there the crystal ring? [Drinks] Put this away, [Gives a lass and show me where I'm wanted. Porter draws the glass. - Paul, going, rns] So, you would have drank it, if there ad been any left. Ah, glutton! glutton! [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-The Court before the Priory Ant. No, here he comes. Enter PAUL. Food Father Paul, I crave your blessing. Isaac. Yes, good Father Paul, we are come > beg a favour. Paul. What is it, pray? Isaac. To marry us, good Father Paul; nd in truth thou dost look the very priest of ymen. Isaac. Ay, and so will I. [They are going. Enter LOUISA, running. Louisa. O, Antonio, Ferdinand is at the porch, and inquiring for us. Isaac. Who? Don Ferdinand! he's not inquiring for me, I hope. Ant. Fear not, my love; I'll soon pacify him. Isaac. Egad, you won't-Antonio, take my most unmerciful dog! and has the cursedest advice, and run away: this Ferdinand is the long sword!-and, upon my soul, he comes on purpose to cut your throat. Ant. Never fear, never fear. Isaac. Well, you may stay if you will; but I'll get some one to marry me; for, by St. Iago, he shall never marry me again, while I am master of a pair of heels. [Runs out. Enter FERDINAND. Ferd. So, sir, I have met with you at last. Ferd. Base, treacherous man! whence can a false, deceitful soul, like yours, borrow confidence to look so steadily on the man you've Paul. In short, I may be called so: for I injured? eal in repentance and mortification. Ant. Ferdinand, you are too warm:-'tis Isaac. No, no, thou seemest an officer of true you find me on the point of wedding ymen, because thy presence speaks content one I love beyond my life; but no argument nd good humour. of mine prevailed on her to elope — I scorn Paul. Alas! my appearance is deceitful.-deceit, as much as you - By Heaven I knew Wordy vows of feign'd regard; Kind to those who wed for love. [Exeunt. not she had left her father's, till I saw her.| Ferd. What a mean excuse! You have wronged your friend, then, for one, whose wanton forwardness anticipated your treachery -of this, indeed, your Jew pander informed me; but let your conduct be consistent, and since you have dared to do a wrong, follow me, and show you have a spirit to avow it. Enter DON JEROME, Servants, and LOPEZ Louisa. Antonio, I perceive his mistake— leave him to me. SCENE VII.-4 Grand Saloon. Jerome. Be sure now let every thing be in the best order-let all my servants have ca Paul. Friend, you are rude, to interrupt their merriest faces — but tell them to get as the union of two willing hearts. Ferd. No, meddling priest, the hand he seeks is mine. little drunk as possible, till after supper. Se, Lopez, where's your master? sha'n't we have him at supper? Paul. If so, I'll proceed no further. Lady, Lopez. Indeed, I believe not, sir-he's mad, did you ever promise this youth your hand? I doubt; I'm sure he has frighted me from him. [To Louisa, who shakes her head. Jerome. Ay, ay, he's after some wench, I Ferd. Clara, I thank you for your silence- suppose? a young rake! Well, well, we'll be I would not have heard your tongue avow merry without him. such falsity, be't your punishment to remember I have not reproached you. Enter CLARA. Clara. What mockery is this? Ferd. Antonio, you are protected now, but we shall meet. [Going, Clara holds one Arm, Louisa the other. DUET. Louisa. Turn thee round, I pray thee, Clara. I must help to stay thee, Louisa. Couldst thou not discover Clara, Canst thou be a lover, and And thus fly from me? [Both unveil. Ferd. How's this! my sister! Clara tooI'm confounded. Louisa. 'Tis even so, good brother. Paul. How! what impiety! Did the man want to marry his own sister? Louisa. And ar'n't you ashamed of yourself, not to know your own sister? Clara. To drive away your own mistress— Louisa. Don't you see how jealousy blinds people? Enter Servant. Enter ISAAC. Jerome. So, my dear son-in-law — ther. take my blessing and forgiveness.-But where my daughter? where's Louisa? Isaac. She's without, impatient for a bless ing, but almost afraid to enter. Jerome. Oh, fly and bring her in. [L. Isaak] Poor girl, I long to see her pretty far Isaac. [Without] Come, my charmer! trembling angel! Enter ISAAC and DUENNA; DON JET runs to meet them; she kneels. Jerome. Come to my arms, my-[S back] Why, who the devil have we here? Isaac. Nay, Don Jerome, you promised forgiveness; see how the dear creature drops Jerome. Droops indeed! Why, gad me, this is old Margaret - but where's = daughter, where's Louisa? Isaac. Why, here, before your eyesdon't be abashed, my sweet wife! Jerome. Wife with a vengeance! Wi zounds, you have not married the Duenna! Duenna. [Kneeling] O, dear papa! you Clara. Ay, and will you ever be jealous not disown me, sure! again? Jerome. Papa! papa! Why, zounds, Ferd. Never-never-you, sister, I know impudence is as great as your ugliness! will forgive me-but how, Clara, shall I pre Isaac. Rise, my charmer, go throw y snowy arms about his neck, and conv him you are is Duenna. Oh, sir, forgive me! Jerome. Help! murder! Servants. What's the matter, sir? Jerome. Why, here, this damned Jew b brought an old harridan to strangle me. Isaac. Lord, it is his own daughter, and -so hard-hearted he won't forgive her. Enter ANTONIO and LOUISA; they kneti Jerome. Zounds and fury! what's here now who sent for you, sir, and who the de are you? Ant. This lady's husband, sir. Isaac. Ay, that he is, I'll be sworn; for left them with the priest, and was to b given her away. Jerome. You were? Isaac. Ay; that's my honest friend, An- to talk of beauty?-A walking rouleau!—a tonio: and that's the little girl, I told you I body that seems to owe all its consequence to had hampered him with. the dropsy!-a pair of eyes like two dead beetles in a wad of brown dough! - a beard like an artichoke, with dry shrivelled jaws, that would disgrace the mummy of a monkey! Jerome. Well done, Margaret! Jerome. Why, you are either drunk or mad-this is my daughter. Isaac. No, no; 'tis you are both drunk and mad, I think-here's your daughter. Jerome. Hark ye, old iniquity, will you explain all this, or not? Duenna. Come then, Don Jerome, I willhough our habits might inform you all-look on your daughter, there, and on me. Isaac, What's this I hear? Duenna, But you shall know that I have a brother, who wears a sword - and if you don't do me justice Isaak. Fire seize your brother, and you too! I'll fly to Jerusalem, to avoid you! Duenna. Fly where you will, I'll follow you. Jerome. Throw your snowy arms about Duenna. The truth is, that in your passion his morning, you made a small mistake; for ou turned your daughter out of doors, and him, Margaret. [Exeunt Isaac and Duenna] ocked up your humble servant. -But, Louisa, are you really married to this modest gentleman? Isaac. O lud! O lud! here's a pretty fellow, o turn his daughter out of doors, instead of in old Duenna. Jerome. And, O lud! here's a pretty fellow, ɔ marry an old Duenna instead of my daugher-but how came the rest about? Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands, I gave him my hand within this hour. Jerome. My commands! Ant. Yes, sir; here is your consent, under your own hand. Duenna. I have only to add, that I reJerome. How! would you rob me of my ained in your daughter's place, and had the child by a trick, a false pretence? and do you ood fortune to engage the affections of my think to get her fortune by the same means? weet husband here. Why, 'slife, you are as great a rogue as Isaac. Her husband! why, you old witch, Isaac! > you think I'll be your husband now? this Ant. No, Don Jerome; though I have proa trick, a cheat, and you ought all to be fited by this paper, in gaining your daughter's hamed of yourselves. hand, I scorn to obtain her fortune by deceit. Ant. Hark ye, Isaac, do you dare to com- There, sir. [Gives a Letter] Now give her ain of tricking?-Don Jerome, I give you your blessing for a dower, and all the little word, this cunning Portuguese has brought I possess shall be settled on her in return. this upon himself, by endeavouring to Had you wedded her to a prince, he could erreach you, by getting your daughter's do no more. rtune, without making any settlement in Jerome. Why, gad take me, but you are turn. Jerome. Overreach me! Louisa. Tis so, indeed, sir, and we ove it to you. a very extraordinary fellow! But have you the impudence to suppose no one can do a can generous action but yourself? Here, Louisa, tell this proud fool of yours, that he's the only Jerome. Why, gad take me, it must be so, man I know that would renounce your forhe could never have put up with such a tune; and, by my soul, he's the only man in ce as Margaret's-so, little Solomon, I wish Spain that's worthy of it. There, bless you u joy of your wife, with all my soul. both: I'm an obstinate old fellow when I'm Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love-in the wrong; but you shall now find me you alone for the plot. steady in the right. Ant. A cunning dog, ar'n't you? A sly little lain, heb? Louisa. Roguish, perhaps; but keen, i keen. Jerome. Yes, yes; his aunt always m little Solomon. devil called as Enter FERDINAND and CLARA. Another wonder still! why, sirrah! Ferdinand, you have not stole a nun, have you? she is also my wife. Ferd. She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sir-look nearer, and you will perceive Isaac. Why, the plagues of Egypt upon 'tis Clara D'Almanza, Don Guzman's daughu all!-but do you think I'll submit to such ter; and, with pardon for stealing a wedding, imposition? Ant. Isaak, one serious word-you'd better Jerome. Gadsbud, and a great fortune.content as you are; for, believe me, you Ferdinand, you are a prudent young rogue, ill find, that, in the opinion of the world, and I forgive you: and, ifecks, you are a ere is not a fairer subject for contempt and pretty little damsel. Give your father-in-law icule, than a knave become the dupe of his a kiss, you smiling rogue. wn art. Clara. There, old gentleman; and now mind Isaac. I don't care-I'll not endure this. you behave well to us. on Jerome, 'tis you have done this you Jerome. Ifecks, those lips ha'n't been chilled ould be so cursed positive about the beauty by kissing beads-Egad, I believe I shall grow her you locked up, and all the time, I told the best humoured fellow in Spain-Lewis! u she was as old as my mother, and as Sancho! Carlos! d'ye bear? are all my doors ly as the devil. thrown open? Our children's weddings are Duenna. Why, you little insignificant the only holidays our age can boast; and then tile! we drain, with pleasure, the little stock_of Jerome. That's right-attack him, Margaret. spirits time has left us. [Music within] But Duenna. Dare such a thing as you pretend see, here come our friends and neighbours! Enter MASQUEraders. Let us laugh and play, so blithe and And, 'faith, we'll make a night on't, with wine, Till we banish care away. and dance, and catches-then old and young shall join us. gay, Ant. Then healths to every friend, Clara. Nor, while we are so joyous, Jerome. For generous guests like these So we'll laugh and play, so blithe and gay, [Exeunt FARCES. HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS. MAYOR OF GARRAT. LYING VALET. HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS. сред This after-piece was, for a long period, attributed to Mr. Garrick, but it is now known to have been the pros. of the Rev. James Townley, the master of Merchant Tailors' School. The main idea of it appears to have be gested by the Spectator, No. 88, in which it is observed. "Falling-in the other day at a victualling-house er house of Peers, I heard the maid come down and tell the landlady at the bar, that my Lord Bishop swore he throw her out at the window, if she did not bring up more mild beer, and that my Lord Duke would have a ba mug of parl. My surprise was increased, in hearing loud and rustic voices speak and answer to each other public affairs, by the names of the most illustrious of our nobility; till of a sudden one came running in, and the house was rising, Down came all the company together, and away! The ale-house was immediately filled ** clamour, and scoring one mug to the Marquis of such a place, oil and vinegar to such an Earl, three quarts to my m Lord for wetting his title, and so forth " A most important reform was elected, by this well-timed exposure, a manners and habits of both servants and masters; the wastefulness and infidelity of the former were never mere s spicuous than about 1759, when this piece was first acted Amidst all the Huctuations of dramatic taste, it has for m* than half a century received constant applause, and is on the stock-list of all the theatres in the kingdom. SCENE I.-An Apartment in FREEMAN'S House. Lovel? I always told you, that there is a worse set of servants in the parish of James than in your kitchen. Loo. 'Tis with some difficulty I believe » now, Mr. Freeman; though, I must ov my expenses often make me stare:-Phiar Lov. Some time-I am now convinced of am sure, is an honest fellow; and I will sw what you have so often been hinting to me, for my blacks;-if there is a rogue among that I am confoundedly cheated by my servants. folks, it is that surly dog, Tom. Free. Oh! are you satisfied at last, Mr. Free. You are mistaken in every one. P Free. Shall you be able to play your part? lip is an hypocritical rascal: Tom has a good Free. To tell you the truth, Mr. Lovel, our servants are so abandoned, that I have orbid him your house-however, if you have mind to ask him any question, he shall be >rthcoming. Lov. Let us have him. Free. You shall; but it is an hundred to e if you get any thing out of him; for ough he is a very honest fellow, yet he is much of a servant, that he'll never tell any ing to the disadvantage of another.-Who Enter Servant. aits? Rob. Your honour ordered me to wait on Free. I did, Robert-Robert. Free. Come here - you know, Robert, I Free. Pray have not you some acquaintance among Mr. Lovel's people? Rob. A little, your honour. Free. How do they behave?-we have nobody but friends-you may speak out. Lov. Ay, Robert, speak out, Rob. I hope your honours will not insist on my saying any thing in an affair of this nd Robert to me - -[Exit Servant] And kind. bat was it determined you upon this pro ct at last? Lov. Oh, but we do insist-if you know any thing. Loc. This letter. It is an anonymous one, d so ought not to be regarded; but it has mething honest in it, and put me upon safying my curiosity. Read it. Free. Psha! this is false honesty-speak out. Rob. Don't oblige me, good sir.-Consider, Free. I should know something of this sir, a servant's bread depends upon his cha[Reads. racter. Rob. Sir, I am but a servant myself, and it would not become me to speak ill of a brother servant. ad [Gives the Letter. Lov. But if a servant uses me ill- Free. You see how they trim for one another. To Peregrine Lovel, Esq. Please your honour,—I take the liberty acquaint your honour, that you are sad- is cheated by your servants.-Your honour I find it as I say.—I am not willing to known, whereof if I am, it may bring that is not approved in one place, may give e into trouble.-So no more, from your satisfaction in another. Every body must live, nour's servant to command. your honour. Odd and honest! Well-and now what are steps you intend to take? [Returns the Letter. Lov. I shall immediately apply to my friend manager for a disguise-under the form a gawky country boy, I will be an eyeness of my servants behaviour.-You must ist me, Mr. Freeman. Free. As how, Mr. Lovel? Loo. My plan is this-I gave out that I s going to my borough in Devonshire, and terday set out with a servant in great form, I lay at Basingstoke. Free. Well?__ Lov. I ordered the fellow to make the best Free. It is now one o'clock. Free. How will you get in? Loo. When I am properly habited, you all get me introduced to Philip as one of ur tenant's sons, who wants to be made a od servant of Lov. Robert, I like your heartiness, as well as your caution; but in my case, it is necessary that I should know the truth. Rob. The truth, sir, is not to be spoken at all times, it may bring one into trouble, whereof if Free. [Musing] Whereof if-Pray, Mr. Free. D you know any thing of this letter? Free. I ask you if you were concerned in writing this letter.-You never told me a lie yet, and I expect the truth from you now. Rob. Pray, your honour, don't ask me. Lov. What induced you to it. Rob. I will tell the truth!-I have seen such waste and extravagance, and riot and drunkenness, in your kitchen, sir, that, as my master's friend, I could not help discovering to you. it Lov. Go on. Rob. I am sorry to say it to your honour; but your honour is not only imposed on, but laughed at by all your servants; especially by Philip, who is a very bad man. Free. They will certainly discover you. Lov. Never fear, I'll be so countryfied that u shall not know me.-As they are thor- Lov. Philip? an ungrateful dog! Well! ghly persuaded I am many miles off, they'll Rob. I could not presume to speak to your more easily imposed on. Ten to one but honour, and therefore I resolved, though but y begin to celebrate my departure with a a poor scribe, to write your honour a letter. nking bout, if they are what you describe Lov. Robert, I am greatly indebted to you. m. -Here [Offers Money. |