.;' 'IHf -^ .,^_^^^- ^^^fcr- I W^ Mh), n V _;^ -" ^K^31 ^^^^' ^-.^^-^^'^ ^-^^ m^ ^ -'F: u~ / f. s /I, \ V f N\ A ^ *3ri TY OF CALIFORN AT LOS ANGELES THE GIFT OF MAY TREAT MORRISON IN MEMORY OF ALEXANDER F MORRISON /. nmd-t M J u THE NEW ENGLISH DRAMA, WITH PREFATORY REMARKS, BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES, AND NOTES, Critical anD (Enjlanatorv ; Being the only Edition existing which is faithJ'uUy marked with the STAGE BUSINESS, AND STAGE DIRECTIONS, As Performed 0c tt)e SDtjcatrcs Hoi^aL By W. OXBERRY, Comedian. VOLUME FOURTH, CONTAINING SHK STOOPS TO CONQUEU. VENICE PRESERVED. JUE WONDER. CASTLE S?ECTRE. WOODflA'^'s HUT. JlonDciu I'LliLISHED FOR THR PROPRIETORS BY W. SlMI'KlN AM) n. MARSHALL, stationers' COURT, LUDGATE-STREKT ; C. CHAPPLE, 6Y>, PALL-MALL ; ANO SOLD BY W. AND J. LOWNDES, 9, BRYDGES-STREET, CO VENT-GARDEN. ISIS. (Bi^ttt^'H CEDtticn. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER, J COMEDY; BY (liber (0oKr^mit6, M. S* (HE ONLY EDITION EXISTING WHICH IS FAITHFULLY MARKED WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS AND STAGE DIRECTIONS, AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE LONDON: rUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETORS, BT W. 6IMPK1N AND R. MARSHALL, STATIONERS' COURT, LUDGATE-STREET ; C, CHAPPLE, C6, PALL-MALL J AND SOLD BY W. AND J. LOWNDES, 9, BRYDGES-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN. 1S18. IV want of being carried far enough. He is in his own sex what a hoy- den is in the other. He is that vulgar nickname, a hohboty-hoy, dramatised ; forward and sheepish, mischievous and idle, cunning and stupid, with the vices of the man and the follies of the boy, fond of low company, and giving himself all the airs of consequence of the young squire. His vacant delight in playing at cup and ball, and his impenetrable confusion and obstinate gravity in spelling the letter, drew fresh beauties from Mr. Liston's face. Youn^ Mar- low's bashfulness in the scenes with his mistress is, when well-act- ed, irresistibly ludicrous ; but still nothing can quite overcome our incredulity as to the existence of such a character in the present day, and in the rank of life, and with the education which Marlcmt is supposed to have had. It is a highly amusing caricature, a ridi- culous fancy, but no more. One of the finest and most delicate touches of character is in the transition from this modest gentle- man's manner with his mistress to the easy and agreeable tone of familiarity with the supposed chambermaid, which was not total and abrupt, but exactly such in kind and degree as such a character of natural reserve and constitutional timidity would undergo from the change of circumstances. Of the other characters in the piece, the most amusing are Tony Lumpkin's associates at the Three Pigeons; and of these we profess the greatest partiality for the im- portant showman, who declares, that " his bear dances to none but the genteelest of tunes, ' fVater parted from the sea,' or the 7ninuct in Ariadne .'" This is certainly the " high-fantastical" of low co- medy, W, li. o^tm\\t* SIR CHARLES MARLOW. Gentleman's old fashioned blue suit, camlet fly, and cocked hat. HARDCASTLE. Old fashioned camlet suit, cocked hat, and scarlet roquelaure. YOUNG MARLOW. Slate-coloured coat, white waistcoat, paiitaloous, and black boots. 2nd. Dress suit. "HASTINGS. Gentleman's plain suit. TONY LUMPKIN. Scarlet jacket, flowered silk waistcoat, buff breeches. STINGO. Country coat, red waistcoat, blue apron. DIGGORY. White country coat, flowered waistcoat, huff breeches. MRS. HARDCASTLE. Brocade sack and petticoat. 2iid dress, brown stuff petticoat, with mud on it, and a small black cloak. MISS HARDCASTLE. White muslin dress, trimmed with lace. 2nd dress, smart coloured gown, white apron trimmed with ribband. MISS NEVILLE. Blue satin body, leno petticoat trimmed with blue satin. The time this piece takes in representation is two hours and fifty-seven minutes. Tlie first act oc'cu[)ics the space of thirty minntes the second, forty the third, tl)irty-five the fourth, thirty-seven the fifth, tliirty-fi>e. The half j)rice commences, generally, at nine o'clock. Stage Direflions. By R. H is meant Ki^lit H;iiul. L. H Lelt Hand. 3. E Sfcoiiil iMitrance. U. E Up])! T Kntrance. M,D Miildlf Door. D. F l>e road you are going, nor where you are, nor the road you came, the first tiling I have to Inform you is, that you have lost your way. 3Iar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that. Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may 1 be so bold as to ask the place from whence you came ? 3Iar. That's not necessary towards directing us where we are to go. To)iy. No offence : but question for question Is all fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle, a cross-grain'd, old-fashion'd, whimsical fellow, witli an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son ? Hast. W^e have not seen the gentleman, but he has the family YOU mention. Tony. The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trolloping, TO CONftUER. 11 talkative maypole the son, a pretty, well-bred, agree- able youth, that every body is fond of. Mar. Our information differs in this : tlie daughter is said to be well-bred and beautiful ; the son, an awk- ward booby, reared up and spoiled at his mother's apron-string. Tomj. He-he-hem Then, Gentlemen, all I have to tell you is, that you won't reach Mr. Hardeastle's house tills night, I believe. Hast. Unfortunate ! Tony. It's a damn'd long, dark, boggy, dirty, dan- gerous way. Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr. Hardeastle's 5 {Winking upon the Landlord.) Mr. Hardeastle's, of Quagmire-marsh, you understand me. Land. Master Hardeastle's ! Lack-a-daisy, my mas- ters, you're come a deadly deal wrong ! When you came to the bottom of the hill, you should have cross'd down Squash-lane. 3Iar. Cross down Squash-lane. Land. Then you were to keep straight forward till you came to four roads. Mar. Come to where four roads meet ? Tony. Ay, but you must be sure to take only one of them. Mar. (), sir, you're facetious. Tony. 'J'hen keeping to tiie riglit, you are to go sideways till you come upon Crack-skull common: there you must look sharj) for the track of the wheel, and go forward till you come to farmer Muriain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you arc to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old mill Mar. Zounds, man ! we could as soon find out the longitude ! J last \\ hat's to he done, Marlow ? 3far. This house j)romiscs but a poor reception ; though perhaps the landlord can accommodate us. Land. Alack, master, we iiave but one spare bed in the whole house. jj G 13 SHE STOOPS T(my, And, to my knowledge, that's taken up by three lodgers already. {After a Pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.) I liave hit it : don't you think. Stingo, our landlady could accommodate the gentle- men by the fireside, with three chairs and a bolster ? Hast, I hate sleeping by the fireside. Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster. Tony. You do, do you? then let me see what if you go on a mile further, to the Buck's Head, the old Buck's Head, on the hill, one of the best inns in the whole country ? Hast. O ho ! so we have escaped an adventure for this night, however. Land. {Apart to Tony.) Sure you be'nt sending them to your father's as an inn, be you ? Tony. Mum, you fool you ; let tliem find that out- {To them.) you have only to keep on strait forward till you come to a large house on the road side : you'll see a pair of large horns over the door : that's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you. Hast. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants can't miss the way. Tony. No, no : but I tell you, though, the landlord is rich, and going to leave off business ; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving your presence, he ! he ! he ! He'll be for giving you his company, and, ecod, if you mind him, he'll persuade you that his mother was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of peace. Land. A troublesome old blade, to be sure : but a keeps as good wines, and beds, as any in the whole country. Mar. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no further connexion. We are to turn to the right, did you say ? Tony. No, no, strait forward. I'll just step, my- self, and show you a piece of the way. {To the Landlord.) Mum. Land. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant damn'd, mischievous son of a whore. [Exeunt, l.h. TO CONftUER. 13 ACT II. SCENE I. An old-fashioned House. Enter Hardcastlk, followed by three or four awk- ward Servants, K.H. Hard. Well, I hope you're perfect in the table exer- cise 1 have been teaching you these three days. You all know your posts and your places, and can show that you have been used to good company, without stirring from home, Ornnes. Ay, ay; Hard. When company comes, you are not to pop out and stare, and then run in again, like frighted rab- bits in a warren. Omnes. No, no. Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a show at the side-table ; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself behind my chair. But you're not to stand so, with your bauds in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger, and from your iiead, you blockliead you. See how Diggory carries his hands. They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter. Hig. Ay, mind how I hold them ; I learned to hold my hands this way when 1 was upon drill for the mili- tia. And so being upon drill Hard. You must not be so talkative, Diggory; you must be all attention to the guests : you nmst hear us talk, and not think of talking; you must see us drink, and not think of thinking; you must see us eat, and not think of eating. Dig. By the laws, your worship, that's parfcctly un- possible. Whenever Digtrory sees ycating going for- wards, ecod he's alvvavs wishing for a mouthful him- self. Hard. Blockhead ! is not a bellyful in the kitchen 14 SHE STOOPS as good as a bellyful in the parlour ? Stay your stomach with that rcllection. Dig. Ecod 1 thank your worship, I'll mfike a shift to slay my stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantiy. Hard. Diggory, you are too talkative. Then if I hapi)en to say a good thing, or tell a good story at table, you must not all hurst out a laughing, as if you made jjiirt of tlie company. Dig. Then ecod your worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room : 1 can't help laughing at that he ! he ! he ! he ! for the suul of me. VVe have laughed at that these twenty years ha! ha! ha I Hard. Ha ! ha ! ha ! The story is a good one. Well, honest Diggory, you may laugh at that but still remember to be attentive. Suppose one of the com- pany should call for a glass of wine, how will you be- have ? A glass of wine, Sir, if you please. {^Tu Dig- gory.) Kli, why don't you move ? Dig. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the eatables and drinkables brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld as a lion. Hard. A glass of wine, if you please what, will no- body move? 1 Serv. I'm not to leave this pkce. 2 Serv, I'm sure it's no pleace of mine. ;i Serv. Nor mine, for sartain. Dig. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine. Hard. Vou numskulls ! and so while, like your bet- ters, you are (iiiarrelling for places, the guests must be btarv'd. () \on dunces ! 1 find I must begin all over again. Hut don't 1 hear a coach drive into the yard? To your l)()^ts, you blockheads. I'll go in the mean time, and give my old friend's son a hearty welcome at the gate. " ' [Exit, l.h. I^ig. By the elevens, my {)lace is gone quite out of my head. Roger. 1 know that my place is to be every where. 1 Serv. Where the devil is mine? TO CONftUER. 15 2 Serv. My place is to be no where at all; and so I'ze go about my business. [Exeiait ServantSy run- ning about y as if frighted, different ways. Enter Marlow and Hastings, l.h Hast. After the disappointments of the day, wel- come once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well- looking house ; antique, but creditable. Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having first ruined the master by good house-keeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as an inn. Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good side- board, or a marble chimney-jMece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame the bill confoundedlv. Mar. 'iVavellers, George, inust pay in all places ; the only difterence is, that in good inns you pay dearly for luxuries ; in bad inns you are fleeced and starved. Hast. You have lived pretty much among them. In truth, I have been often surprised that yt)u, who have seen so nuich of tlie world, with your natural good sense, and vour many opportunities, could never yet acquire a rccjuisite s'nre of ;issurance. 3Iar. The ! jiglishman's malady : but tell me, George, where could 1 h;ue Iccirned that assvuance you talked of? My life has !)ecn chiefly spent in a college or an inn, in seclusion from that lovely part of the creation that chiefly teach men confidence. I don't know that I was ever familiarly acquainted with a single modest woniiin except mv mother. But among females of another class, you know Hast. Ay, among ihern you are im[)udcnt enough of all conscience. jMar. 'I'liey are of U'^, you know. Hast, lint in the company of wduien of reputation I never saw s\uh ;in ideot, such a trembler; you look for all the world as if you wanted an ojiportuuity of steal- ing out of the room. l6 SHE STOOPS 3Iar. Why, man, that's because I do want to steal out of the room. Faith, I have often formed a resolu- tion to break the ice, and rattle away at any rate. But 1 don't know how, a single glance from a p?.ir of fine eyes has totally overset my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty, but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever counterfeit impudence. Hast. It you could but say half the fine things to them that 1 have heard you lavish upon the bar-maid of an inn, or even a college bed-maker 3Iar. Why, George, 1 can't say fine things to them. Tiiey freeze, they petrify me. They may talk of a comet, or a burning mountain, or some such bagatelle ; but to me a modest woman, drest out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation. Hast. Ha! ha ! ha ! At this rate, man, how can you ever expect to marry ? Mar. Never, unless, as among kings and princes, my bride were to be courted by proxy. If indeed, like an eastern bridegroom, one were to be introduced to a wife he never saw before, it might be endured. But to go through all the terrors of a formal courtship, toge- ther with the episode of aunts, grandmothers, cousins, and at last to blurt out the broad start-question, of madam, will you marry me ? No, no, that's a strain much above me, I assure you. Hast. 1 pity you ; but how do you intend behaving to the lady you are come down to visit at the request of your father ? Mar. As I beiiave to all other ladies. Bow very low. Answer yes, or no, to all her demands But for the rest, I don't think I shall venture to look in her face till 1 see my father's again. Hast. I'm surprised, that one who is so warm a friend can be so cool a lover. Mar. To be explicit, my dear Hastings, my chief inducement down was to l)e instrumental in forward- ing your li;,i|)|)iut-s, not my own, Mi^s Neville loves you; the family don't know you ; as my friend, you are sure of a reception, and let honour do the rest. TO CONaUER. 17 Enter Hardcastle, l.h. Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily wel- come. Which is Mr. Marlow ? Sir, you're heartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, to receive my friends with my back to the fire -, I like to give them a hearty reception in the old style at my gate : I like to see their horses and trunks taken care of. JMar. [Aside.) He has got our names from the ser- vants already. [To Mar.) We approve your caution and hospitality, sir. [To Hast.) I have been thinking, George, of changing our travelling dresses in the morning j I am grown confoundedly ashamed of mine. Hard. I beg, Mr. Marlow, you'll use no ceremony in this house. Hast. I fancy, George, you're right : the first blow is half the battle. We must, however, open the cam- paign. Hard. Mr. Marlow Mr. Hastings gentlemen pray be under no restraint in this house. This is Liberty-hall, gentlemen; you may do just as you please here. Mar. Yet, George, if we open the campaign too fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is over. We must show our generalship, by securing, if necessary, a retreat. Hard. Your talking of a retreat, Mr. Marlow, puts me in mind of tlie duke of Marlborough, when he went to besiege Denain. He iirst summoned the garrison. 3Tnr. Ay, and we'll summon your garrison, old boy. Hard. He first summoned the garrison, which miglit consist of about five thousand men. Hast. Marlow, wliat's a clock. Hard. \ say, gentlemen, as 1 was telling you, he summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men. Mar. I'^ive minutes to seven. Hard. Which might consist of about ^\\<:^ thousruid 18 SHE STOOPS men, well appointed witli stores, ammunition, and other implements of war. Now, says the duke of Marlborougli, to George Brooks that stood next to him You nuist iiave heard of George Brooks I'll pawn my dukedom, says he, but I take that garrison without spilling a drop of blood. So Mar. What, my good friend, if you give us a glass of puneh in the mean time, it would help us to carry on the siege with vigour. Hard. Puneli, sir ! This is the most unaccountable kind of modesty I ever met with, [upside.) Mar. Yes, sir, punch. A glass of warm punch after our journey, will be comfortable. Enter Servant, with a Tankard, l.h. This is Liberty-hall, you know. Hard. Here's a cup, sir. Mar. So this fellow, in his Liberty-hall, will only let us have just what he pleases. Hard. {Taking- the cup.) I hope you'll find it to your mind. I have prepar'd it with my own hands, and I believe you'll own the ingredients are tolerable. Will you be so good as to pledge me, sir ? Here, Mr. Marlow, here is to our better acquaintance. {Drinks, and gives the Cup to Marlotv.) Mar. A very impudent fellow tins ; but he's a clia- racter, and I'll humour him a little. {Aside.) Sir, my service to you. {Drinks and gives the Cup to Ilastings.) Mast. I see this fellow wants to give us his com- pany, and forgets that he's an innkeeper, before he has learned to be a gentleman. {Aside.) ^lar. From the excellence of your cup, my old friend, I suppose you have a good deal of business in this part (jf the country. Warm work, now and then at elections, 1 suppose. {Gives the Tankard to Hardcastte.) ^ Hard. Xo, sir, I liave long given that work over. Smce our betters Imve hit upon'the expedient of elect- ing each other, there's no business for us tliat sell ale. {Gives the Tankard to Hastings.) TO CONaUER. 19 Hast. So then you have no turn for politics, 1 find. Hard. Not in the least. There was a time, indeed, I fretted myself about the mistakes of government, like other people ; but finding myself every day grow more angry, and the government growing no better, I left it to mend itself. Since that, I no more trouble my head about who's in or who's out, than I do about John Nokes or Tom Stiles. So my service to you. Hast. So that with eating above stairs and drinking below, with receiving your friends within and amusing them without, you lead a good, pleasant, bustling life of it. Hard. T do stir about a good deal, that's certain. Half the differences of the parish are adjusted in this very parlour. Mar. {After drinking.) And you have an argument in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in West- minster-hall. Hard. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a little phi- losophy. Mar. Well, this is the first time I ever heard of an innkeeper's philosophy. {Aside.) Hast. So then, like an experienced general, you at- tack them on every quarter. Jf you find their reason manageable, you attack them with your j)hilosophy; if you find they liave no reason, you attack them with this, flere's your health, my philosopher. {Drinks.) Hard. Good, very good, thank you 5 ha! ha! Your generalship puts me in mind of prince J'2ugciie, when he fought the Turks, at the battle of Belgrade, ^'ou shall hear. Mar. Instead of the battle of IJelgrade, I think it's almost time to talk about supper. What has your [)hi- loso])hy got in the hou^e for supper ? Hard. For sui>]ht, sir! Was ever such a re(piest to a man in his own iiouse ! {Aside.) Mar. Yes, sir, supj)or, sir ; 1 begin to feci an appe- tite. I sliall nuike devilish work to-night in tiie larder, 1 promise you. Hard. Such a bra/cn dog suic never my eyes be 20 SHE STOOPS held. [Aside.) Why really, sir, as for supper, I can't well tell. My Dorothy and the cookmaid settle these things between them. I leave these kind of things entirely to them. Mar. You do, do you ? Hard. Entirely. By-the-by, I believe they are in actual consultation upon wliat's for supper this moment in the kitchen, 3Iar. Then I beg they'll admit me as one of their privy-council. It's a way 1 iiave got. When I travel, I always choose to regulate my own supper. Let the couk be called. No offence, I hope, sir. Hard. O no, sir, none in the least: yet, I don't know how, our Bridget, the cookmaid, is not very communi- cative upon these occasions. Should we send for her, she might scold us all out of the house. Hast. Let's see the list of the larder then. I ask it as a favour. I always match my appetite to my bill of fare. 3Iar. (To Hardcastle, who looks at them tvith SW' prise.) Sir, he's very right, and it's my way too. Hard. Sir, you have a right to command here. Here, Roger, bring tis the bill of fare, for to-night's supper. 1 believe it's drawn out. Your manner, Mr. Hastings, puts me in mind of my uncle, colonel Wal- lop. It was a saying of his, that no man was sure of his supper till he had eaten it. {^Servant Jn-ings on the hill of fare, and Exit, l.h. Hast. All upon the high ropes ! His uncle a colo- nel ! We shall soon hear of his mother being a justice of peace. Hut let's hear the bill of fare. {Aside.) Mar. (Peri/.sing.) What's here ? For the first course; for the second course; for the dessert. The devil, sir ! do you think we have brought down the whole joiners' company, or the corporation of Bedford, to eat up suc-h a .sui)per ? Two or three little things, clean and comfortable, will do. Hast. But let's hear it. Mar. {Itcading.) For the f.rst course : at the top, a pig and prune sauce. TO CONaUER. 21 Hast. Damn your pig, I say. Mar. And damn your prune sauce, say I. Hard. And yet, gentlemen, to men that are hungry, pig, with prune sauce, is very good eating. Their im- pudence confounds me. [Aside.) Gentlemen, you are my guests, make what alterations you please. Is there any thing else you wish to retrench or alter, gen- tlemen ? Mar, Item. A pork pie, a boiled rabbit and sau- sages, a florentine, a shaking pudding, and a dish of tili^ tatf taft'ety cream. Hast. Confound your made dishes ! I shall be as much at a loss in this house, as at a green and yellow dinner at the French ambassador's table. I'm fur plain eating. Hard. I'm sorry, gentlemen, that I have nothing you like ; but if there be any thing you have a parti- cular fancy to Mar. Why really, sir, your bill of fare is so exqui- site, that any one part of it is full as good as another. Send us what you please. So much for supper. And now to see that our beds are aired, and properly taken care of. Hard. I intreat you'll leave all that to me. You shall not stir a step. Mar. Leave that to you ! I protest, sir, you must excuse me, I always look to these things myself. Hard. I must insist, sir, you'll make yourself easy on that head. Mar. You see I'm resolved on it. A very troui)le- some fellow, as ever ] met with. (Aside.) Hard. Well, sir, I'm resolv'd at least to attend you. This may be modern modesty, but 1 never saw any thing look so like old-fa-hioned impudence, [EjX'Hiit Jlarloio and I/ardcast/c, r.h. Hast. So 1 find this fellow's civilities begin to grow troublesome. But who can be angry with those assi- duities which are meant to please him? IJa ! what do I sec ? Miss Neville, by all that's happy ! 22 SHE STOOPS Enter Miss Neville, l.h. Miss N. My dear Hastiness ! To what unexpected good fortune, to what accident, am I to ascribe this happy meeting? Nasi. Rather let me ask the same question, as I could never have hoped to meet my dearest Constance at an inn. Miss JV. An inn! you mistalic ; my aunt, my guar- dian, lives here. What could induce you to think this house an inn ? Hast. My friend, Mr. Marlow, with whom I came down, and 1, have been sent here as to an inn, I as- sure you. A young fellow, whom we accidentally met at a house hard by, directed us hither. Miss N. Certainly it must be one of my hopeful cousin's tricks, of whom you have heard me talk so often. Ha ! lia ! ha! Hast. He whom your aunt intends for you ? He of whom I have svich just apprehensions? 3Iiss N. You have nothing to fear from him, I as- sure you. You'd adore him, if you knew how heartily he despises me. My aunt knows it too, and has under- taken to court mc for him, and actually begins to think she has made a conquest. Hast. Thou dear dissembler ! You must know, my Constance, I have just seized this happy opportunity of my friend's visit here to get admittance into the family. The horses that carried us down are now fatigued with the journey, l)ut they'll soon be refreshed; and then, if my dearest girl will trust in her faithful Hastings, we shall soon be landed in France, where even among slaves the laws of marriage are respected. Miss N. I have often told you, that, though ready to obey you, I yet should leave my little fortune behind with reluctance. The greatest pari of it was left me by my uncle, the India j^irector, and chiefly consists in jewels. 1 have been for some time persuading my aunt to let me wear them. I fancy I'm very near succeed- TO CONftUER. 23 ing. The instant they are put into my possession, you shall find me ready to make them and myself your's. Hast. Perish the baubles ! Your person is all I de- sire. In the mean time, my friend Marlow must not be let into his mistake. I know tiie strange reserve of his temper is such, that, if abruptly informed of it, he would instantly quit the house, before our plan was ripe for execution. Miss N. But how shall we keep him in the decep- tion ? Miss Hardcastle is just returned from walking ; what if we persuade him she is come to this house as to an inn r Come tiiis way. {They confer.) Eiiter Mar LOW, r.h. 3f{n\ The assiduities of these good j)eople tease me beyond bearing. My host seems to think it ill manners to leave me' alone, and so he claps not only himself, but his old-fashioned wife on my back. J hey talk of coming to sup with us too; and then, I suppose, we are to run tlie gauntlet through all the rest of the family. What have we got here ? Hast. My dear Charles, let me congratulate you Tlie most fortunate accident ! Who do you think has just alighted r M(ir. C anuot guess. Hast. Our mistresses, boy; miss Hirdcastle, and miss Neville. Give me leave to introduce Miss Con- stance Neville to your ac(|UHintance. Hap[)cning to dine in the neighbourhood, tliey called, on their return, to take fresh horses liere. Miss Hardcastle has just stept into the next room, and will be back in an instant. \\ asn't it lucky ? eh ! ]\Iar. I have just been mortified enough of all con- science, and here comes soiuething to eoujplete my embarrassnu-nt. {^side.) Hast. Well ! but wasn't it the )nost r(itunate thing in the world ? Mar. Ob ! yes. Verv fortunate a most joyful encounter J3ut our dresses, (icorge, you knt)w, are in 24 SHE STOOPS disorder What, if we should postpone the happiness till to-morrow ? To-morrow at her own house it will be every bit as convenient and rather more respectful ^I'o-morrow let it be. {Offering to go.) J//.SA- A'. By no means, sir. Your ceremony will displease her. Tlie disorder of your dress will show the ardour of your impatience. Besides, she knows you are in the house, and will permit you to see her. jMar. O ! the devil ! how shall I support it ? Hem ! hem ! Hastings, you must not go. You are to assist me, you know. I shall be confoundedly ridiculous. Yet, hang it ! I'll take courage. Hem ! Hast. Pshaw, man ! 'tis but the iSrst plunge, and all's over. She's but a woman, you know. 3Iur. And of all women, she that 1 dread most to encounter ! Enter Miss Hardcastle, l.h. as retimiing from u-al/d)ig, a bonnet, 3,c. Hast. {Introdudiig them.) Miss Hardcastle, Mr. Marlow. I'm proud of bringing two persons together, who only want to know, to esteem each other. 3Iiss H. {Aside.) Now, for meeting my modest gentleman with a demure face, and quite in his own manner. {After a Pause, in which he appears verj/ uneasi/ and disconcerted.) I'm glad of your safe arrival, bir I'm told you liad some accidents by the way. Jllar. Only a few, madam. Yes, we had some. Yes, madajn, a good many accidents, but should be sorry, nuidam or rather glad of any accidents that are so agreeably concluded. Hem ! Hast. {To Mar.) You never spoke better in your whole life. Keep it up, and I'll insure you the victory. Mis.s II. I'm afraid you flatter, sir. You that have seen so much of the finest company, can find little en- tertainment in an obscure corner of the country. Mar. {Gathering courage.) I have lived, indeed, in the world, mattam ; but I have kept very little com- TO CONftUER. 35 pany. I have been but an observer upon life, madam, while others were enjoying it. Miss H. An observer, like you, upon life, were, I fear, disagreeably employed, since you must have had much more to censure than to approve. Mar. Pardon me, madam ; 1 was always willing to be amused. The folly of most people is rather an object of my mirth than uneasiness. Hast. {To Mar.) Bravo, bravo! never spoke sq well in your whole life. Well ! miss Hardcastle, I see that you and Mr. Marlow are going to be very good company. I believe our being here will but embarrass the interview. Mar. Not in the least, Mr. Hastings. We like your company of all things. {To Hast.) Zounds! George, sure you wont go ! How can you leave us ? Hast. Our presence will but spoil conversation, so we'll retire to the next room. {To Mar.) You don't consider, man, that we are to manage a little t^te-a-t^te of our own. [Exeunt Hast, and Miss 2V. r.h. Miss H. {After a ])ause.) But you have not been wholly an observer, I presume, sir? The ladies, i should hope, have employed some part of your ad- dresses. Mar. {Relapsing into timidity.) Pardon me, ma- dam, 1 1 I as yet have studied only to deserve them. Misur insolence for more than four hours, and 1 see no likelihood of its coming to an end. I'm now re^-olved to be master here, sir, and I desire that you and your drunken pack may leave my house directly. TO CONftUER. 47 Mar. Leave your house ! Sure you jest, my good friend? What, when I'm doing what I can to please you? Hard. I tell you, sir, you don't please me ; so I de- sire you'll leave my house. Mar. Sure you cannot be serious. At this time o'night, and such a night? You only mean to banter me. Hard. I tell you, sir, I'm serious; and, now that my passions are roused, I say tliis house is mine, sir ; this house is mine, and I command you to leave it directly. Mar. Ha ! ha ! ha ! A puddle in a storm. I sha'n't stir a step, I assure you. {In a serious tone.) This your house, fellow ! It's my house. This is my house. Mine, wliile I choose to stay. What right have you to bid me leave this house, sir ? I never met with such impudence, curse me, never in my whole life before. Hard. Nor I, confound me if ever I did. To come to my house, to call for what he likes, to turn me out of my own chair, to insult the family, to order his ser- vants to get drunk, and then to tell me, this house is mine, sir. By all timt's impudent, it makes me laugh. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Pray, sir, {Bantering) as you take the hou-f, what think you of taking the rest of the furniture? There's a pair of silver candlesticks, and there's a Hre-screen, and a pair of bellows, perhaps you may take a fancy to them ? Mar. liring me your 1)111, sir, bring me your bill, and let's make no more words about it. Hard. There are a set of |)riiits too. What think you of the Rake's Progress for your own apartment ? 3Iar. Hririg me your bill, 1 say; and I'll leave you and your infernal hou^^e directly. Hard. Tiien there's a bright, brazen ^varming-pan, that you may see voiir own brazen face in. Mar. i\ly bill,"! >ay. Hard. I had forgot the great chair, for your own particular slumbers, after a hearty meal. 48 SHE STOOPS Mar, Zounds ! bring me my bill, I say, and let's hear no more on't. Hard. Young man, young man, from your father's letter to me, 1 was taught to expect a well-bred, mo- dest man, as a visitor here, but now I find him no bet- ter than a coxcomb and a bully ; but he will be down here presently, and shall hear more of it. {Exit, l.h.) Mar. How's this? sure I have not mistaken the house ! Every thing looks like an inn. The servants cry, coming ! The attendance is awkward ; the bar- maid too to attend us. But she's here, and will fur- ther inform me. Whither so fast, child ? a word with you. Enter Miss Hardcastle, l.h. 3Iiss H. Let it be siiort, then ; I'm in a hurry I believe he begins to find out his mistake, but it's too soon quite to undeceive him. {Aside.) Mar, Pray, child, answer me one question. What are you, and what may your business in this house be? 3Iiss H. A relation of the family, sir. Mar. What, a poor relation ? Miss H. Yes, sir. A poor relation, appointed to keep the keys, and to see that the guests want nothing in my power to give them. Mar. That is, you act as the bar-maid of this inn. Miss H. Inn ! O law What brought that in your head ; One of the best families in the county keep an inn. Ha ! ha ! ha ! old Mr. Hardcastle's house an inn. Mar. Mr. Hardcastle's house ! Is this house Mr. Hardcastle's house, child ? Miss H. Ay, sir, whose else should it be ? Mar. So then all's out, and I have been damnably imposed on. O, confound my stupid head, I shall be laughed at over the whole town. I shall be stuck up in caricatura, in all the print-shops. The Dullissimo Macaroni. To mistake this house of all others for an inn, and my father's old friend for an inn-keeper. TO CONaUER. 49 What a swaggering puppy must he take me for. What a silly puppy do I find myself. There again, may I be hang'd, my dear, but I mistook you for the bar- maid. Miss H. Dear me ! dear me ! I'm sure there's no- thing in my behaviour to put me upon a level with one of that stamp. Mar. Nothing, my dear, nothing. But I was in for a list of blunders, and could not help making you a subscriber. My stupidity saw every thing the wrong way. I mistook your assiduity for assurance, and your simplicity for allurement. But it's all over. This house I no more show my face in. Miss H. 1 hope, sir, I have done nothing to disoblige you. I'm sure 1 should be sorry to affront any gentle- man who has been so polite, and said so many civil things to me. I'm sure I should be sorry {Pretending' to cry) if he left the family upon my account. I'm sure I should be sorry people said any thing amiss, since I have no fortune but my character. 3Iar. By heaven, she weeps. This is the first mark of tenderness I ever had from a modest woman, and it touches me. {Aside.) Miss H. I'm sure my family is as good as miss Hardcastle's ; and, though I'm poor, that's no great misfortune to a contented mind ; and, until this mo- ment, 1 never thought that it was bad to want fortune. Mar, And why now, my pretty simplicity ? Miss H. Because it puts me at a distance from one, that if I had a thousand pounds I would give it all to. Mar. This simplicity bewitches me, so that if I stay I'm undone. I must make one bold effort, and leave her. {Aside.) Excuse me, my lovely girl, you are the only part of the family 1 leave with reluctance. But to be plain with you, the difference of our birth, for- tune, and education, make an honourable coiniection impossible; and I can never harbour a thought of seducing simplicity tjiat trusted in my iionoiu* ; or of bringing ruin upon one, wliose only fault was being too lovely. [Exit, u.ii. D 50 SHE STOOPS Miss H. I never knew half his merit till now. He shall not go, if I have power or art to detain him. I'll still preserve the character in which I stooped to con- quer, but will undeceive my papa, who perhaps may laugh him out of his resolution. {Exit, r.h. Enter Tony and Miss Neville, r.h. Tony. Ay, you may steal for yourselves the next time; I have done my duty. She has got the jewels again, that's a sure thing; but she believes it was all a mistake of the servants. Mis,s N. But, my dear cousin, sure you wont for- sake us in this distress. If she in the least suspects that I am going off, I shall certainly be locked up, or sent to my aunt Pedigree's, which is ten times worse. Tomj. To be sure, aunts of all kinds are danin'd bad things. But what can I do ? I have got you a pair of horses that will fly like Whistlejacket, and I'm sure you can't say l)ut I liave courted you nicely before her face. Here she comes ; we must court a bit or two more, for fear she should suspect us. {They retire and seem to fu7idle.) Enter Mrs. Hardcastle, r.h. Mrs. H. Well, I was greatly fluttered, to be sure. But my son tells me it was all a mistake of the ser- vants. 1 sha'n't be easy, however, till they are fairly married, and then let her keep her own fortune. But what do I see? Fondling togetiier, as I am alive. I never saw Tony so sprightly before. Ha ! have I caught you, my })retty doves ! What, billing, exchang- ing stolen glances, and broken murmurs ? Ha ! Tony. As for murmurs, mother, we grumble a little now ;ii\(l then, to be sure. ]5ut there's no love lost be- tween I.-. Mrs. 11. A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the flame, only to make it burn brighter. TO CONAUER. 51 Miss iV. Cousin Tony promises to give us more of his company at home. Indeed he shan't leave us any more. It won't leave us, cousin Tony, will it ? Tony. Oh! it's a pretty creature. No, I'd sooner leave my horse in a pound, than leave you when you smile upon one so. Your laugh makes you so be- coming. Miss N. Agreeable cousin ! who can help admiring that natural humour, that pleasant, broad, red, thought- less {Fatting his cheek) Ha ! it's a bold face. Mrs. H. Pretty innocence ! Tony. I'm sure I always loved cousin Con's hazel eyes, and her pretty long fingers, that she twists this way and that over the harpsicholls, like a parcel of bobbins. Mrs. H. Ah, he would charm the bird from the tree. I was never so happy before. My boy takes after his father, poor Mr. Lumpkin, exactly. The jewels, my dear Con, shall be your's incontinently. You shall have them. Isn't he a sweet boy, my dear ? You shall be married to-morrow, and we'll put off the rest of his education, like Dr. Drowsy's sermons, to a fitter op- portunity. Enter Diggory, l.h.d. JOigg. Where's the squire ? I have got a letter for your worship. Tony. Give it to my mamma. She reads all my let- ters first. Digg. I had orders to deliver it into your own hands. Tony. Who does it come from ? Digg. Your worship mun ask that o* the letter it self. Tony. I could wish to know, though. (Iiirning the letter^ and gazing on it.) Miss N. (Asi'le.) Undone, undone ! A letter to him from Hastings. I know the hand. If my aunt sees it, we are ruined for ever. I'll keep her employed d2 52 SHE STOOPS a little If I can. {To Mrs, Hardcasile.) But I have not told you, madam, of my cousin's smart answer just now to Mr. Marlow. We so laugh'd. You must know, madam this way a little, for lie must not hear us. {They confer.) Tony. {StilL gazing.) A damn'd cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life. I can read your print-hand very well. But here tiiere are such handles, and shanks, and dashes, that one can scarce tell the head from the tail. Jo Anthony Lumpkin, Msq. It's very odd, I can read the outside of my letters, where my own name is, well enough. But when I come to open it, it is all buzz. That's hard, very hard ; for the inside of the letter is always the cream of the correspondence. Mrs. H. Ha! ha! ha! Very well, very well. And so my son was too hard for the philosopher. Miss N. Yes, madam ; but you must hear the rest, madam. A little more this way, or he may hear us. You'll hear how he puzzled him again. Mrs. IT. He seems strangely puzzled now himself, methinks. Tony. {Still gazing.) A damn'd up and down hand, as if it was disguised in liquor. {Reading.) Dear sir. Ay, that's that. Then there's an M, and a T, and an S ; but whether the next be an izzard or an R, confound me, I cannot tell. 3'Irs. H. What's that, my dear ? Can I give you any assistance ? Miss N. Pray, aunt, let me read it. Nobody reads a cramp hand better than I. {Tivitching the letter from her.) Do you know who it is from ? Tony. Can't tell, except from Dick Ginger, the feeder. Miss N. Ay, so it is. (Pretending to read.) Dear squire, hoping that you're in health, as I am at present. The gentlemen of the Shake-bag club has cut the gentlemen of the Goose-green quite out of feather. The odds um odd battle um long fight- ing um here, here, it's all about cocks, and fighting ; TO CONftUEK. 63 it's of no consequence ; here, put it up, put it up. ( Thrusting the crumpled letter upon him.) Tony. But I tell you, miss, it's of all the conse- quence in the world. I would not lose the rest of it for a guinea. Here, mother, do you make it out. Of no consequence. {Giving Mrs. Hardcastle the let- ter,) Mrs. H. How's this ? {Reads.) Dear Squire, Fm now waiting for Miss Neville, with a post-chaise and pair, at the bottom of the garden ; but 1 find my horses yet unable to perform the journey . I expect you'll assist us ivith a pair of fresh horses, as you promised. Dispatch is neces- sary, as the hag, (ay, the hag,) your m,other, tvill otherwise sicspect us. Your's, Hastings. Grant me patience ! I shall run distracted ! My rage chokes me. Miss N. I hope, madam, you'll suspend your resent- ment for a few moments, and not impute to me any impertinence, or sinister design that belongs to an- other. 3Irs. H. {Curtseying very low.) Fine-spoken ma- dam, you are most miraculously jjolite and engaging, and quite tlie very pink of courtesy and circumspec- tion, madam. {Changing her tone.) And you, you great ill-fashioned oaf, with scarce sense enough to keep your mouth shut, were you too joined against me ? But I'll defeat all your plots in a moment. As for you, madam, since you have got a |)air of fresh horses ready, it would he cruel to disappoint them. 80, if you please, instead of running away with your spark, |)reparc, this very moment, to run off with me. Your old aunt Pedigree will keep you secure, I'll war- rant me. You too, sir, may mount your horse, and guard us upon the way. Here, Thomas, Koger, Dig- gory ; I'll show you, that 1 wish you better than you do yourselves. [Exit, l.h. Miss N. So, now I'm completely ruined. Tony. Av, that's a sure thintr. D 3 54 SHE STOOPS Jkfiss N. What better could be expected from being connected with such a stupid fool, and after all the nods and signs I made him ? Tony. By the laws, miss, it was your own clever- ness, and not my stupidity, that did your business. You were so nice and so busy with your Shake- bags and Goose- greens, that 1 thought you could never be making believe. Enter Hastings, l.h. Hast. So, sir, I find by my servant, that you have shown my letter, and betray'd us. Was this well done, young gentleman ? Tony. Here's another. Ask miss there who be- tray'd you. Ecod, it was her doing, not mine. Enter Marlow, r.h. Mar. So, I have been finely used here among you. Rendered contemptible, driven into ill-manners, de- spised, insulted, laughed at. Tony. Here's another. Wc shall have old Bedlam broke loose presently. 3Iiss N. And there, sir, is the gentleman to whom we all owe every obligation. Mar. What can 1 say to him, a mere boy, an idiot, whose ignorance and age are a protection. Hast. A poor contemptible booby, that would but disgrace correction. JSIiss N. Yet with cunning and malice enough to make himself merry with all our embarrassments. Hast. An insensible cub. Mar. Replete with tricks and mischief. Tony. J5aw ! damme, but I'll fight you both, one after tlic other with baskets. Mar. As for him, he's })elow resentment. But your conduct, Mr. Hastings, requires an explanation. You knew of my mistakes, yet would not undeceive me. Hast. Tortured as J am with my own disappoint- TO CONaUER. 55 ments, is this a time for explanations ? It is not friend- ly, Mr. Marlow. Mar. But, sir Miss A^. Mr. Marlow, we never kept on your mis- take, till it was too late to undeceive you. Be paci- fied. Enter Diggory, l.h. Digg. My mistress desires you'll get ready imme- diately, madam. The horses are putting to. Your hat and things are in the next room. We are to go thirty miles before morning. [Exit, l.h. Miss A\ I come. Oh, Mr. Marlow, if you knew what a scene of constraint and ill-nature lies before me, I'm sure it would convert your resentment into phy. 3Trs. H. {IFithiii.) Miss Neville ! Constance; why Constance, I say. Miss N. I'm coming. Well, constancy. Remem- ber, constancy i-' tiie word. [Exit, l.h. Mast. My iieart, how can I support this ? To be so near happiness, and siicb happiness! 3I(tr. {To Tom/.) You see now, young gentleman, the efVects of your fully. What iniirht l)e a. nsement to yon, is here disa])pointnient, ard exiMi disires-. Tony. {From o rercrie.) l\,(o(i, 1 ha\e hit it. It's liere. Vonr hands. Vour's, and vour's, in\ poor Sulky. Meet me two hours hence at the i.oUom of the gii.;en; and if you don't find Tonv Lumpkin a more i;ood-natuie(l fello-.v than vou though; t'i;r, I'll give you leave to lake my best horse, and l>ct Bouncer into the bargain. Come along. [Exeunt 3Iar. Tom/, and Hast, R.n. n 4 56 SHE STOOPS ACTV. SCENE I. An old-fashioned House. iwi^er Sir Charles MARLo\vaMf^HARDCASTLE,R.H.D. Hard. Ha ! ha ! ha ! The peremptoiy tone in which he sent forth his sublime commands. Sir C. And the reserve witii which I suppose he treated all your advances. Hard. And yet he might have seen something in me above a common innkeeper, too. Sir C. Yes, Dick, but he mistook you for an un- common inkeeper, hal ha! ha! Hard. Well, I'm in too good spirits to think of any thing but joy. Yes, my dear friend, this union of our families will make our personal friendships hereditary ; and though my daughter's fortune is but small Sir C. Why, Dick, will you talk of fortune to me. My son is possessed of more than a competence already? and can want nothing but a good and virtuous girl to share his happiness, and increase it. ]f they like each other, as you say they do Hard. If, man. 1 tell you tlicy do like each other. My daughter as good as told me so. Sir C. But girls are apt to flatter themselves, you know. Hard. I saw him grasp her hand in the warmest manner myself; and here he comes to put you out of your ifs, 1 warrant him. Enter Marlow, l.h. Mar. I come, sir, once more, to ask pardon for my strange conduct. I can scarce reflect on my insolence without confusion. Hard. Tut, boy, a tiiiie. You take it too gravely. An lujur or two's laughing with n)y daughter will set all to rights again. She'll never like you the worse for it. TO CONQ,UER. 67 Mar. Sir, I shall be always proud of her approbation. Hard. Approbation is but a cold word, Mr. Marlow ; if I am not deceived, you have something more than approbation thereabouts. You take me. Mar. Really, sir, I have not that happiness. Hard. Come, boy, I'm an old fellow, and know what's what, as well as you that are younger. I know what has passed between you ; but mum. Mar. Sure, sir, nothing has passed between us but the most profound respect on my side, and the most distant reserve on her's. You don't think, sir, that my impudence has been passed upon all the rest of the family. Hard. Impudence. No, I don't say that Not quite impudence. Girls like to be played with, and rumpled too sometimes. But she has told no tales, I assure you. Mar. May 1 die, sir, if I ever Hard, I tell you, she don't dislike you j and as I'm sure you like her Mar. Dear sir, I protest, sir Hard. I see no reason why you should not be joined as fast as the parson can tie you. Mar. But why wont you hear me ? By all that's just and true, I never gave miss Hardcastle the slightest mark of my attachment, or even the most distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but one interview, and that was formal, modest, and uninteresting. Hard. This fellow's formal, modest impudence is beyond bearing. {Aside.) Sir C. And you never grasp'd her hand, or made any protestations? 3/ar. As heaven is my witness, I came down in obe- dience to your commands. 1 saw the lady without emotion, and parted without reluctance. I hope you'll exact no furtlier proofs of my duty, nor prevent me from leaving a house in which I suffer so many morti- fications. [Kvif, L.H. Sir C. I'm astonish'd at the air of sincerity with which he parted. Hard. And I'm astonish'd at the deliberate intrcpi- u5 58 SHE STOOPS dity of his assurance. Sii' C. I dare pledge my life and honour upon l\U truth. Hard. Here comes my daughter, and I would stake my happiness upon her veracity. Enter Miss Hardcastlk, r.h. Kate, come hither, child. Answer us sincerely, and without reserve ; has Mr. Marlow made you any pro- fessions of love and affection ? Miss H. The question is very abrupt, sir : but since you require unres^erved sincerity, I think he has. Hard. {To Sir C.) You see. Sir C. And pray, madam, have you and my son had more than one interview ? Miss H. Yes, sir, several. Hard, {To Sir C.) You see. Sir C. But did he profess any attachment ? 3Iiss H. A lasting one. Sir C. Did he talk of love? Miss H. Much, sir. Sir C. Amazing ! and all this formally ? 3Iiss H. Formally. Hard. Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied. Sir C. And how did he behave, madam ? Miss H. As most professed admirers do. Said some civil things of my face, talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine : mentioned his heart, gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with pretended rapture. Sir C. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indeed, I know his conversation among women to be modest and sub- missive. This forward, canting, ranting, manner by no means describes him, and I'm confident he never sat for the picture. Miss II. Then what, sir, if I should convince you to your face of my slnceiity r If you and my papa, in about half an hour, will place yourselves behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his passion to me in person. TO CONCIUER. 59 Sir C. Agreed. And if I find him what you de- scribe, all my happiness in him must have an end. [Exeunt Hard, and Sir C. r.h. Miss H. And if you don't find him what I describe I fear my happiness must never have a beginning. \Bxit, L.H. SCENE \\.The Back of the Garden. Enter Hastings, l.h. Hast. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow, who probably takes a delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual, and I'll wait no longer. What do I see ? It is he, and perhaps with news of my Constance. Enter Toxy, hooted and spattered, r.h. My honest squire ! I now find you a man of your word. This looks like friendship. Tony. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best friend you have in the world, if you knew but all. This riding by night, by-the-by, is cursedly tiresome. It has shook me worse than the basket of a stage coacli. Hast. But how ? where did you leave your fellow travellers? Are they in safety? Are they housed? Tony. Five and twenty miles in two hours and a half is no such bad driving. "^I'lie ])oor beasts have smoked for it. Rabbit me, but I'd rather ride forty miles after a fox, than ten with such varment. Hast. Well, but where liave you left the ladies ? I die vvith inipatietice. Tuny. Left them 1 Why, where should I leave tliem, but where I found them ? Hast. This is a rifldle. Tonii. Kidflle ine this, then. What's that goes round the house, and round the house, and never touches tlie house ? Hast. I'm still astray. D G 60 SHE STOOPS Tont/. Wliy that's it, mon. I have led them a stray. By jingo, there's not a pond or slough within five miles of the place, but they can tell the taste of. Hast. Ha! ha! ha! I understand; you took them in a round, while they supposed themselves going forward. And so you have at last brought them home again. Tony. You shall hear. I first took them down Feather-bed-lane, where we stuck fast in the mud. I then rattled them crack over the stones, up-and- downhill. 1 then introduced them to the gibbet on Heavy-tree-heath, and from that, with a circumben- dibus, I fairly lodg'd them in the horsepond at the bot- tom of the garden. Hast. But no accident, I hope. Tony. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly fright- ened. She thinks herself forty miles off. She's sick of the journey, and the cattle can scarce crawl. So if your own horses be ready, you may whip off with cou- sin, and I'll be bound that no soul here can budge a foot to follow you. Hast. My dear friend, how can I be grateful ? Tony. Ay, now it's dear friend, nol)le squire. Just now, it was all idiot, cub, and run me tliruugh tlie guts. Damn your May of fighting, I say. x\fter we take a knock in tliis part of the country, we shake hands and be friends. But if you had run me through the guts, then I should be dead, and you might go shake hands witli tJie hangman. Hast. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten to re- lieve Miss Neville; if you keep the old lady employed, I promise to take care of tlie young one. [Exit, r.h. Tony. Never fear me. Here she comes. Vanish ! Slic's got into tlie pond, and is draggled up to the waist like a mermaid. Kntcr Mrs. Hardcastik, l.h. Mrs.H. Oh, Tony, Tm kill'd! Shook! Battered to death ! I shall never survive it. Th.at last jolt that laid us against the quickset-hedge has done my business. TO CONCIUER. Si Tony. Alack, mamma, it was all your own fault. You would be for running away by night, without knowing one inch of the way. Mrs. H. I wish we were at home again. I never met so many accidents in so short a journey. Drench'd in the mud, overturn'd in a ditch, stuck fast in a slough, jolted to a jelly, and at last to lose our way. Where- abouts do you think we are, Tony ? Tony. By my guess we should be upon Crackskull- common, about forty miles from home. Mrs. H. O lud ! O lud ! the most notorious spot in all the country. We only want a robbery to make a complete night on't. Tony. Don't be afraid, mamma, don't be afraid. Two of the five that kept here are hanged, and the other three may not find us. Don't be afraid. Is that a man galloping behind us ? No ; its only a tree. Don't be afraid. 3[rs. H. The fright will certainly kill me. Tony. Do you see any thing like a black hat moving bcliind the thicket ? Mrs. H. O death ! Tony. No, it's only a cow. Don't be afraid, mamma ! don't be afraid. Mrs. H. As I'm alive, Tony, I see a man coming towards us. Ah ! I'm sure on't. If he perceives us, we are undone. Tony. Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky, come to take one of his night walks, {./side.) Ai), it's a high- way man with pistols as long as my arm. A dunni'd ill- looking fellow. Jlrs. II. Good heaven deferulus 1 lie approaches. Tony. Do you hide yourself in tiiat thicket, and leave me to manage him. If there be any danger I'll cougli and trv hem. \\ hen I cough l)e sure to keep close. {Mrs. II. hides he hind (i tree in the hack scene.) En t er H a in ) c A si- l i : , ii . 1 1 . Hard. I'm mistaken, or I heard voices of people in want of help. O, Tony, is that you ? 1 did not expect 62 SHE STOOPS you so soon back. Are your mother and her charge in safety ? Tout/. Very safe, sir, at my aunt Pedigree's. Hem. Mrs. II. (From behind.) Ah, death ! I find there's danger. Hard. Forty miles in three hours ; sure, that's too much, my youngster. Tony. Stout horses and willing minds make short journeys, as they say. Hem. Mrs. H. {From behind.) Sure, he'll do the dear boy no harm. Hard. But I heard a voice here; 1 should be glad to know from whence it came ? T'ony. It was I, sir, talking to myself, sir. I was saying that forty miles in three hours was very good going. Hem. As to be sure it was. Hem. I have got a sort of cold by being out in the air. We'll go in, if you please. Hem. Hard. But if you talked to yourself, you did not answer yourself. I am certain I heard two voices, and am resolved [Raising his voice) to find the other out. Mrs. II. [Itunning forward from behind.) O lud, he'll murder my poor boy, my darling. Here, good gentleman, whet your rage upon me. Take my money, my life, but spare that young gentleman, spare my child, if you have any mercy. Hard. My wife ! as I am a Christian? From whence can she cotne, or what does she mean ? Mrs. H. (Kneeling.) Take compassion on us, good Mr. Highwayman. 'J'ake our money, our watches, all we have, l)ut spare our lives. We will never bring you to justice, indeed we wont, good Mr. Highwayman. Hard. 1 believe the woman's out of her senses. What Dorothy don't you know me ? Mrs. II Mr. Hardcastle, as Fm alive ! My fears blinded me. liut wlio, my dear, could have expected to meet you hcrt-, in this frightful place, so far from home? W !i;it i as Wroimht you to follow us? Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost your wits. So tar Irom home, when you are within forty yards of your own door. {To Tony.) This is one of your old TO CONftUER. 63 tricks, you graceless rogue you. (To 3Irs. H.) Don't you know the gate and the mulberry-tree ; and don't you remember the horsepond, my dear ? Mrs. H. Yes, I shall remember the horsepond as long as I live; I have caught my death in it. {To Tony.) And is it to you, you graceless varlct, I owe all tliis. I'll teach you to abuse your mother, I will. Tony. Ecod, mother, all the parish say you have spoiled me, and so you may take tlie fruits on't. Mrs. H. I'll spoil you, I will. [Beats him o^' the Stage, l.h. Hard. Ha! ha! ha! [Exit, l.h. SCENE III. .^ Parlour. Enter Sir Ciiakles Marlow and Miss Hard- CASTLt:, L.H. Sir. C. Wliat a situation am I in ! If wliat vou say appears, I shall then find a guilty son. If what he says be true, I shall tlien lose one that, of all others, I most wished for a daughter. Miss. H. 1 am prouf] of your api)roljati()n, and to show I merit it, if you place yourselves as I directed, you sliall hear his explicit declaration. But he comes. Sir. C. I'll to your father, and keep him to t!ie ap- pointment. [Exit, R.H. Enter Marlow, l.ii. Mar. Tiiough prepared for setting fuit, I conic once more to ta!. I Door in Flat. K n.D Right Hand Door. ". D Left Hand Door. VENICE PRESERVED. ACT I. SCENE l.A Street in Venice. Enter Priuli ayid Jaffier l.h. Pri. No more ! I'll hear no more ! Be gone and leave me. Jaf. Not hear me ! By my sufferings but you shall ! My lord, my lord ! I'm not that abject wretch You think me. Patience! where's the distance throws Me back so far, but I may boldly speak In right, though proud oppression will not hear me ? Pri. Have you not wrong'd me ? Jaf. Could my nature e'er Have brook'd injustice, or the doing wrongs I need not now thus low have bent myself To gain a hearing from a cruel father. Wrong'd you ? Pri. Yes, wrong'd me ! In the nicest point, The honour of my hou!e, you've done me wrong. You may remember (for I now will speak, And urge its baseness) when you first came home From travel, with such hojjcs as made you Icjok'd on. By all men's eyes, a youth of cxpeclatioii ; Plcas'd witli your growing virtue, I receiv'd you; Courted, and sought to raise mui to your merits; My house, my table, nay, my fortune too, My very self was yours; you might have us'd me B 2 VENICE PRESERVED. To your best service ; like an open friend I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine : When, in requital of my best endeavours, You treacherously practis'd to undo me ; Seduc'd the weakness of my age's darling, My only child, and stole her from my bosom. Oh Belvidera ! Jaf. 'Tis to me you owe her : Childless you had been else, and in the grave Your name extinct ; no more Priuli heard of. You may remember, scarce five years are past. Since in your brigantiue you sail'd to see The Adiiaiic wedded by our duke ;* And 1 was with you: your unskilful pilot Dash'd us upon a rock; when to your boat You made for safety : entcr'd first yourself; Til' atlrighted Belvidera following next, As she stood trembling on the vessel's side. Was, by a wave, wasli'd off into the deep ; WHicn instantly 1 plung'd into the sea. And buffeting the billows to her rescue, Rcdccm'd her life with half the loss of mine. Like a rich conquest. In one hand I bore her. And with the other dash'd the saucy waves, 1'hat throng'd and press'd to rob me of my prize. I brought her, gave her to your despairing arms : Indeed you tjiank'd me ; but a nobler gratitude Ivose in her soul : for from that hour she lov'd m. Till for her life she paid me with herself. Pri. You stole her from me ; like a thief you stole lier. At dead of night ! that cursed hour you chose To riOe me of all my heart held dear. May all your joys in her prove false, like mine ; A sterile fortune, and a barren bed, * It was an annual custom amon^ the Venetians to form a navaj jirott-ssion, and the ])oge at their head, threw a ring into the Adiiiitii-, as a k iid oC marriage or agrteuieut, that the seas should Li,' obeaieul to his will. VENICE PRESERVED. O Attend you both ; continual discord make Your days and nights bitter and grievous ; still May the' hard hand of a vexatious need Oppress and grind you ; till at last you find The curse of disobedience all your portion. Jaf. Half of your curse you have bestow'd in vain : Heav'n has already crown'd our faithful loves With a young boy, sweet as his mother's beauty : May he live to prove more gentle than his grandsire. And happier than his father. Pri. Rather live To bait thee for his bread, and din your ears With hungry cries ; whilst his unhappy mother Sits down and weeps in bitterness of want. ,/(if. You talk as if 'twould please you. Pri. 'Twould, by heav'n ! .//. ^Vould 1 were in my grave ! Pri. And she too with thee : For, living here, you're but my curst remembrancers, I once was happy. '/of. You use me thus, because you know my soul Is foml of Belvidcra. You perceive My life feeds on lier, therefore thus you treat me. Oil 1 could my soul ever have known satiety ; Were I that thief, the doer of such v/rongs As you upbraid me witli, wliat liindcrs me But 1 might send lier back to you willi cor.'umcly, And court my fortune where she would be kinder ? Pri. You dare not du't. ./f//'. Indeed, my lord, I dare not. My heart, that awes me, is too nmch my mnsfer : Three years are past, since first our vows were j)liglite(l, I)urin;_r whicli time, the world must bear me witncifs, I've treated Belvidcra like your daughter, The (laughter of a senator of Venice : Distinction, ])l:ice, attendance, and observance, * Due to her ])iith, slic always lias eoiiittutiuled. Out of my little Ibrtune I've done tiiis ; Because (llKjugh hopeless e'er to win y';ur nature) n 2 4 VENICE PRESERVED. The world might see I lov'd her for herself; Not as the heiress of the great Priuli. Pri. No more. Jaf. Yes, all, and then adieu for ever. There's not a wretch, tliat lives on common charity, But's happier than me : for 1 have known The luscious sweets of plenty ; every night Have slept with soft content about my head, And never wak'd, but to a joyful morning; Yet now must fall, like a full ear of corn. Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the ripening. Pri. Home, and be liumble ; study to retrench 3 Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall, Those pageants of thy folly : Reduce the glitt'ring trappings of thy wife To humble weeds, fit for thy little state : Then, to some suburb cottage both retire ; Drudge to feed loathsome life ; get brats and starve Home, home, I say. [Exit, r.h. *Jaf. Yes, if my heart would let me Tliis proud, this swelling heart : home I would go. But that my doors are hateful to my eyes, Fill'd and dam'd up with gaping creditors. Watchful as fowlers when their game will spring. I've now not fifty ducats in the world, Yet still I am in love, and pleas'd with ruin. Oh ! Bch idera ! Oh ! she is my wife And we will bear our wayward fate together. But ne'er know comfort more. Ejiter Pierre, l.h. Pier. My friend, good morrow, How fares the hon.est partner of my heart? What, nudanchol}' ! not a word to spare me? Jnf. I'm tliinking, Pierre, how that dam n'd starving fjiiali'y, Call'd honcs;y, got footing in the world. Pier. Why, powerful villany first set it up. VENICE PRESERVED. 9 For its own ease and safety. Honest men Are the soft easy cushions on which knaves Repose and fatten. Were all mankind villains, 1'hey'd starve each other ; lawyers would want practice, Cut-throats rewards : each man would kill his brother Himself; none would be paid or hang'd for murder. Honesty! 'twas a cheat invented first To bind the hands of bold deserving rogues, That fools and cowards might sit safe in power. And lord it uncontrol'd above their betters. t/fl/. Then honesty is but a notion ? Pier. Nothing else; Like wit, much talk'd of, not to be defin'd: He that pretends to most, too, has least share in't. 'Tis a ragged virtue : Honesty ! no more on't. ./a/. Sure thou art honest ! Pier. So, indeed, men think me ; But they're mistaken, Jaffier: I'm a rogue As well as they ; A fine, gay, bold-fac'd villain as thou seest me. 'Tis true, I pay my debts, when they're contracted I steal from no man ; would not cut a throat To gain admission to a great man's purse, Or a whore's bed ; I'd not betray my friend To get his place or fortune; I scorn to flatter A blown-up fool above me, or crush the wretch be- neath me ; Yet, Jaffier, for all this I'm a villain. ./(ff. A villain ! Pier. Yes, a most notorious villain; To see the sufferings of my fellow creatures. And own myself a man : to see our senators Cheat the delufled people with a show Of liberty, which yet they ne'er must taste of. They say, by them our hands are free from fetters; Yet whom they please they lay in basest bonds; Bring whom they please to infimy ai^d sorrow; Drive us, like wrecks, down the rough tide of power. Whilst no hold's left to save us from destruction. All that bear tliis are villains, and I one, B 3 6 VENICE PRESERVED. Not to rouse up at the great call of nature, And check the growth of these domestic spoiler?, Timt make us slaves, and tell us, ^tis our charter. {Crossses to R.n.) J^af. I think no safety can be here for virtue, And grieve, my friend, as much as thou, to live In such a wretched state as this of Venice, VVliere all agree to spoil the public good; And villains fatten with the brave man's labours. Pier. We've neither safety, unity, nor peace. For the foundation's lost of common good ; .Tustice is lame, as well as blind, amongst us; The laws (corrupted to their ends that make 'em) Serve but for instruments of some new tyranny. That ev'ry day starts up, t'enslave us deeper. iVow could this glorious cause but find out friends. To do it right, oh, Jaflier! then might'st thou Not wear tiiese seals of woe upon thy face; The proud Priuli shoidd be taught humanity, -\nd learn to value such a son as thou art. i dare not speak, but my he;irt bleeds this moment. J^af. C'.irs'dbe the cause, though I thy friend be part ou't : L'A me p;irtake the troubles of thy bosom, \\)i' I am us'd to misery, and perhaps M:iy fine! a way to swecten't to thy spirit. J^icr. Too soon 'twill rcarli thy knowledge ./((/'. Then from tlice J.cl it proceed. There's virtue In thy frlcndsliij), Would make the saddest tale of ^^orrow pleasing, Stierigtlieii my constancy and welcome ruin. J^icr. Then thou art ruined ! f/(t/. Tiiat 1 long since knew; 1 iind ill fortune have been long acquainted. I'ier. I pass'd this very moment by thy doors, And found them guarded by a troop of villains ; 'i \.r s(;i,s (if piddle rapine v/ere destroying, 'i hey told nie, by the sentence of the law, 'i iicy bad eouiniission to seize all thy fortune: Xav more, i'liuli's truel hand had sicmcd it. VENICE PRESERVED. 7 Here stood a ruflian with a horrid face. Lording it o'er a pile of massy plate. Tumbled into a heap for public sale ; There was another, making vilhinous jests At thy undoing: he had ta'en possession Of all thy ancient, most domestic ornaments, Rich hangings intermix'd and wrought with gold; The very bed, which on thy wedding-night Rcceiv'd thee to the arms of Belvidera, The scene of all thy joys, was violated By the coarse hands of filthy dungeon villains^ And thrown amongst the common lumber. t/rt/'. Now thank heaven J^ier. Thank heaven ! for what ? ,/af. That I'm not worth a ducat. I'ier. Curse thy dull stars, and the worse fate of Venice, "Where brothers, friends, and fatliers, all are false; Where there's no truth, no trust ; where innocence Stoops under vile oppression, and vice lords it. Hadst thou but seen, as I did. how at last Tliy beauteous Belvidera, like a wretch That's duom'd to banishment, came weeping forth, Shilling through tears, like April suns in showers. That labour to o'ercome the cloud that loads 'em; Whilst two young virgins, on whose arms she leau'd. Kindly look'd up, and at her grief grew sad, As if they catch'd the sorrows that i'ell from her. Kv'n the lewd rabble, that vveregatlier'd round To see the sight, stood mute when they beheld her ; (jovern'd their roaring throats, and grumbled [jity. 1 could have hugg'd the greasy rogues : ihcy plcas'd me. {Crosses to l. n.) t/r//". 1 thank thee for this story, from my soul ; Since now 1 know the worst that can befal me. Ah, Pierre ! 1 have a heart that could have borne The roughest wrong my fortune could have done me; But when I think what Belvidera feels, The bitterness her tender spirit tastes of, I own myself a coward : bear my weakness: i\ 1 8 VENICE PRESERVED. If throwing thus my arms about thy neck, I play the boy, and blubber In thy bosom. Oh ! I shall drown thee with my sorrows. Pier. Burn, First, burn and level Venice to ihy ruin. What ! starve, like beggars' brats, in frosty weather. Under a hedge, and whine ourselves to death ! Thou or thy cause shall never want assistance, Whilst I have blood or fortune fit to serve thee: Command my heart, thou'rt every way its master. Jaf. No, there's a secret pride in bravely dying. Pier. Rats die in holes and corners, dogs run mad; Man knows a braver remedy for sorrow : Revenge, the attribute of gods ; they stamp'd it. With their great image, on our natures. Die ! Consider well the cause, that calls upon thee : And, if thou'rt base enough, die then. Remember, Thy Belvidera suffers ; Belvidera ! Die damn first What ! be decently interr'd In a church-yard, and mingle thy brave dust With stinkino" rocrnesj thnt. rot in windinir-sheets. Surfeit-slain fools, the common dung o'th' soil ! Jaf. Oh ! Pier. Well said, out with't, swear a little Jaf. Swear ! By sea and air ; by earth, by heav'n, and hell, I will revenge my Bclvidera's tears. Hark thee, my friend Priull is a senator. Pier. A dog. Jaf. Agreed. Pier. Shoot him. Jaf. With all my lieart. Tso more ; where shall we meet at night ? Pier. I'll tell thee ; On the Rialto, every night at twelve, 1 take my evening's walk of meditation ; There we two will meet, and talk of precious Mischief Jaf. Farewell. Pier. At twelve. VENICE PRESERVED. 9 Jaf. At any hour ; my plagues Will keep me waking. \Exit PierrCy R. H. Tell me why, good lieaven. Thou mad'st me, what I am, with all the spirit. Aspiring thoughts, and elegant desires, That fill the happiest man ? Ah, rather, why Didst thou not form me sordid as my fate, Rase-m'iided, dull, and fit to carry burthens ? Why have I sense to know the curse that's on me ? Is this just dealing, nature ? Belvidera ! Poor Belvidera ! Enter Belvidera, l.h. Bel. Lead me, lead me, my virgins, To that kind voice. My lord, my love, my refuge! Happy my eyes, when they behold thy face ! My heavy heart will leave its doleful beating At sight of thee, and bound with sprightly joys. Oh smile! as when our loves were in their spring. And cheer my fainting soul. Jaf. As when our loves W^ere in their spring! Has then our fortune chang'd? Art thou not Belvidera, still the same. Kind, good, and tender, as my arms first found thee ? If thou art altcr'd, wlierc shall I have harbour? Where ease my loaded heart? Oh ! where complain ? Bel. Does this appear like change, or love decaying. When thus I throw myself into thy bosom, With all the resolution of strong truth ! Beats not my heart, as 'twould alarum thine To a new charge of bliss? I joy more in thee. Than did thy mother, when she hugg'd thee first. And bless'd the gods for all her trav;iil past. Jaf. Can there in woman be such glorious faith ? Sure all ill stories of thy sex are false ! Oh woman ! lovely woman! nature made thee To temper man : we had been brutes without you ! Angels are painted fair to look like you : B 5 10 VENICE PRESERVED. There's in you all that we believe of heaven ; Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Kternul joy, and everlasting love. Bel. If love be treasure, we'll be wondrous rich; I have so much, my heart will surely break with't : Vows can't express it. When I would declare How great's my joy, I'm dumb with the big thought; I swell, and sigh, and labour with my longing. O ! lead me to some desert wide and wild, ]^arren as our misfortunes, where my soul May have its vent, where I may tell aloud 'J'o the high heavens, and ev'ry list'ning planet. With what a boundless stock my bosom's fraught; Where I may throw my eager arms about thee, (iive loose to love, with kisses kindling joy. And let off all the fire that's in my heart. Jaf. Oh, Belvidera ! doubly I'm a beggar: Undone by fortune, and in debt to thee. Want, worldly want, that hungry, meagre fiend, Is at my heels, and chases me in view. Canst thou bear cold and hunger ? Can these limbs, Fram'd for the tender offices of love, Endure the bitter gripes of smarting poverty? When banish'd !)y our miseries abroad (As suddenly Ave shall be) to i^eek out l{\ some far climate, where our names are strangers. For charitable succour ; wilt thou then. When in a bed of straw we shrink together. And the bleak winds shall whistle round our heads; Wilt thou then talk thus to me ? Wilt thou then liusli my cares thus, and shelter me w'ith love? lieL Oh ! I will love thee, even in madness love thee : Though my distracted senses should forsake me, I'd iind some intervals, when Uiy poor heart Slunild 'sW:;ge its'.df, and be let loose to thine. '! Iiou^'h the i;:ue earth Ix- :dl our resting-place, it-, root- o\ir fo'xl, some elift our habitation, I'ii liiakc liiis arm a pillow fur thine head; VENICE PRESERVED. 1 1 And, as thou sighing ly'st, and swell'd with sorrow. Creep to thy bosom, pour the b;t!m of love Into thy soul, and kiss thee to thy rest; Then praise our God, and watt h thee till the morning. Jaf. Hear this, you heav'ns ! and wonder how you made her : Reign, reign, ye monarch^ that divide the world, Busy reljt'llion ne'er will let you know Tranquillity and happiness like mine ! Like gaudy ships th' obsequious billows fall. And rise .igain to lift you in your pride ; They wait but for a storm, and then devour you ; {Crosses to l.h.) I, in my private bark already wreck'd, Like a poor merchant driven to unknown land, That had by chatice pack'd up his choicest treasure In one dear casket, and sav'd only that ; Since I must wander further on the shore, Thus hug my little, but my precious store, Kesolv'd to scorn, and trust my fate no more. [Kveiail, L.H. END OF ACT I. SCENE l. T/tc Itialto. Enter Javfikr, l.h. 'faf. I'm here ; and thus, the shades of night around me, I look as if all lu-ll were in my heart, And 1 in hell. N'ay surelv 'ti-- so with nie ! ["or evcrv step I freafj, niethink-- some fiend Knocks it niy breast, ;ind bid- in<' not be (luict. I've beard bow desperate wretches, like myself. Have wander'd out at thi'^ dead time of night, h 0" 12 VENICE PRESERVED. To meet the foe of mankind in his walk. Sure I'm so curs'd that, though of heaven forsaken. No niinisier of darkness cares to tempt me. Hell, hell ! why sleep'st thou ? Enter Pikrre, r.h.u.e. Pier. Sure I've staid too long : The clock has struck, and I may lose my proselyte. Speak, who goes tliere ? Jaf. A dog, that comes to howl At yonder moon. What's he that asks the question ? Pier. A friend to dogs, for they are honest creatures, And ne'er betiay their masters : never fawn On any that they love not. Well met, friend : Jaffier ! Jaf. The same. Pier. Where's Belvidera? Jaf. For a day or two I've lodg'd her privately, till I see further What fortune will do for me. Pr'ythee, friend. If thou W'nddjt have me fit to hear good counsel. Speak not of Belvidera Pier. Not of her ! Jaf. Oh, no ! Pier. Not name her ! May be I wish her well. Jaf. Whom well ? Pier. Thy wife ? thy lovely Belvidera. I hope a man may wish his friend's wife well. And no harm done ? Jaf. Y'are merry, Pierre. Pier. I am so : Thou shalt smile too, and Belvidera smile : We'll all rejoice. Here's something to buy pins; Marriage is chargeable. {Gives him a Purse.) ^^ Jaf. 1 but half wish'd To see the devil, and he's here already. Well ! What must this buy ? Rebellion, murder, treason ? Tell me, which way I must be daran'd for this. VENICE PRESERVED. 13 Pier. When last we parted, we'd no qualms like these, But entertain'd each other's thoughts like men Whose souls were well acquainted. Is the world Reform'd since our last meeting ? What new miracles Have happen'd ? Has Priuli's heart relented ? Can he be honest ? >Taf. Kind heav'n, let heavy curses Gall his old age ; cramps, aches, rack his bones. And bitterest disquiet ring his heart. Oh ! let him live, till life becomes his burden : Let him groan under't long, linger an age In the worst agonies and pangs of death. And find its cause but late. Pier. Nay, couldst thou not As well, my friend, have stretch'd the curse to all The senate round, as to one single villain ? >/(tf. But cur-es stick not : could I kill with cursing. By heaven I know not thirty heads in Venice Should not be blasted. Senators should rot Like dogs on dunghills. Oh ! for a curse To kill with ! {Crosses to r,h.) Pier. Daggers, daggers arc much better. Jaf. Ha! Pier. Daggers. ./r//". But where arc they? Pier. Oh ! a thousand May be dispos'd of, in honest hands, in Venice. ,//". Thou talk'st in clouds. Pier. But yet a heart, halfwrong'd As thine has been, would find the meaning, Jaffier. lA//". A thousand daggers, all in honest hands ! And have not I a friend will stick one Iutc! J*i('r. Yes, if I thougbt thou wcrt not cberish'd T' a nol)ler j)urpose, 1 would be thy friend ; But thou ha~t better friends ; friends whom thy wrongs Have made thy friends; friend-^ worthy to be call'd so. I'll trust thee with a sccri-t : There are s|)irits This hour at work. Hut ;is thou art a man, Wiiom I have piek'd and chosen from the world. 14 VENICE PRESERVED. Swear that thou wilt be true to what I utter ; And when I've toki thee that which only gods. And men like gods, are privy to, then swear No chance or ciiange shall wrest it from thy bosom. Jaf. When thou wouklst bind me, is there need of oaths ? For thou'rt so near my heart, that thou may'st see Its bottom, sound its strength and firmness to thee. Is coward, fool, or villain in my face? If I seem none of these, I dare believe Thou vvouldst not use me in a little cause. For I am fit for honour's ioughest task. Nor ever yet found fooling was my province j And for a villanous, inglorious enterprise, I know thy heart so well, I dare lay mine Before thee, set it to what point thou wilt. Tier. Nay, 'tis a cause thou wilt be fond of, Jaffierj For it is founded on the noblest basis ; Our liberties, our natural inlseritance. There's no religion, no hypocrisy in't; We'll do the l)usiness, and ne'er fast and pray for't ^ Openly act a deed the world shall gaze With wonde'- at, and envy when 'tis done. Jaf. For liberty ! Vier. For liberty, my friend. Thou shalt be freed from base Priuli's tyranny. And thy sequester'd fortune's healed again : I shall be free from those opprobrious wrongs That jiress me now, and bend my spiiit downward; All Venice free, and every growing merit Succeed to its just right : fools shall be pull'd From wisdom's seat: those baleful, tuuiean birds. Those hi/.\ owls, who, })erch'd near fortune's top. Sit on!' witehfiil with their h.eavy uings To culVdowi) new-{lt(lg'(i virtues, that would rise To noolei heights, and ;;; ke the grove harmonious. [Cr oases to h.h,) Jaf. What an I do? Juci'. Curibt tliL;u iioi ki'l a scPiator ? VENICE PRESERVED. 15 Jaf. Were there one wise or honest, I could kill him, For herding with tlmt nest of fools and knaves. By all my wrongs, tliou talk'st as if revenge Were to be had ; and the brave story warms me. Pier. Swear then ! Jaf. I do, by all those glittering stars, And yon great ruling planet of the night ; By all good pow'rs above, and ill below ; By love and friendship, dearer than my life, No pow'r or death shall make me false to thee. Pier. Here we embrace, and I'll unlock my heart. A council's held hard by, where the destruction Of this great empire's hatching : there I'll lead thee. But be a man ! for thou'rt to mix with men Fit to disturb the peace of all the world, And rule it when its wildest Jaf. I give thee thanks For this kind warning. Yes, I'll be a man ; And charge thee, Pierre, whene'r thou seest my fears Betray me less,, to rip this heart of mine Out of my breast, and show it for a coward's. Come, let's he trone, for from this hour I chase All little thouiziits, all tender human follies Out of my bt;som : Veugeauce shall have room : Revenge I Pier. And liberty ! Jaf. Revenge revenge [Exeunt, r.h. SCENE II. A(pdlina''s House. Killer Renault, l.fi. Ren. Whv wi'.s my clioiee a-nbi ion ? t!i,> wori^t ground A wretch '.-M l)'.i!l on ! ll's, irdccd, a; distance, A goodl . , )>{),;', trinptiii'; io 'li' w ; The height (li'ligiiti n>, au'l th-- nu-.nitain top Looks beautifal, because it's nijii to hcav'n. l6 VENICE PRESERVED. But we ne'er think how sandy's the foundation, What storm will batter, and what tempest shake us. Who's there? Entei- Spinosa, l.ii. Spin. Renault, good morrow, for by this time I think the scale of night has turn'd the balance, And weighs up morning ? Has the clock struck twelve ? Pen. Yes ! clocks will go as they are set ; but man. Irregular man's ne'er constant, never certain : I've spent at least three precious hours of darkness In waiting dull attendance : 'tis the curse Of diligent virtue to be mix'd, like mine, With giddy tempers, souls but half resolv'd. Spin. Hell seize that soul amongst us it can frighten. Rin. What's then the cause that I'm here alone? W hy are not we together ? Enter Elliott, l.h. O, sir, welcome ! You are an Englislmian ; when treason's hatching, One might have thought you'd not have been behind- hand. In what whore's lap liave vou been lolling ? (jive but an Englishman his whore and ease. Beef, and a sea-coal fne, he's yours for ever. Kll. Frenchman, you are saucy. Hen. How ! [Puts Ids hand to his sicord.) Enter Bi dam ar, Durand, Bramveil, Theo- DORK, tlie ylinhassddor ; Brabk, Rkvillido, MiczzANA, Tkknox, (Old Rktrosi, Conspircttors, L.iL Spinosa is endeuvnnrijig to pacify Elliot y Bedunmr goes behind Elliot and Spinosa. Bed. At difference, fie ! Is this a time for quarrels ? Tliieves and rogues Fall out and brawl : should men of your high calling, VENICE PRESERVED. 17 Men separated by the choice of Providence From the gross heap of mankind, and set here In this assembly as in one great jewel, T' adorn the bravest purpose it e'er sinil'd on j Should you, like boys, wrangle for trifles ? lien. Boys. Bed. Renault, thy hand. Ren. I thought I'd given my heart Long since to every man that mingles here ; But grieve to find it trusted with such tempers. That can't forgive my froward age its v/eakness. Bed. Elliott, thou once hadst virtue. I have seen Thy stubborn temper bent with godlike goodness. Not half thus courted. 'Tis thy nation's glory To hug the foe that oifers brave alliance. {They (ulvance in front of Bedumar, give their hands, and return to their former situations.) One more embrace, my friends we'll all embrace. ITnited thus, we are the mighty engine Must twist this rooted empire from its basis. Totters not it aln^iirjv } ICll. Would 'twere tumbling. Bed. Nay, it shall down; this night we seal its ruin. Enter Pierre, l.h. {All how to him.) Oh, Pierre, thou art welcome. (Crosses to Pierre.) Come to my breat, for by its hopes thou look'st Lovelily dreadful, and the fate of Venice Seems on thy sword already. Oh, my Mars ! 'ilie poets tiiat first tVign'd a god of war. Sure proplu'siL'd of thee. Pier. Friei'd, was not Brutus (I mean that Brutus, who in open senate Stabh'd the fir^t C;esar that usurp'd the world,) A gallant m:in ? Ren. Vc>i, and Catalinc too; Though story wrong his fame: for he conspir'd To proj) the reeling glory of his country : His cause was good. 18" VENICE PRESERVED. Bed. And ours as much above it, {Crosses to Renault.) As, Renault, thou'rt superior to Cethegus, Or Pierre to Cassius. Pier. Then to what we aim at. When do we start ? or must we talk for ever ? Bed. No, Pierre, the deed's near birth j fate seems to have set The business up, and given it to our care ; 1 hope there's not a heart or hand amongst us, But is firm and ready. All. All. We'll die with Bedaraar. Bed. O men, Matchless ! as will your glory be hereafter : The game is for a matchless prize, if won j If lost, disgraceful ruin. Pier, Ten thousand men are armed at your nod, Commanded all by leaders fit to guide A battle for the freedom of the world : This wretched state has starv'd them in its service j And, by your bounty quicken'd, they're resolved To serve your glory, and revenge their own : They've all their different quarters in this city. Watch for th' alarm, and grumble 'tis so tardy. Bed. I doubt not, friend, but thy unwearied dili- gence Has still kept waking, and it shall have ease j After this night it is resolv'd we meet No more, till Venice owns us for her lords. Pier. How lovelily the Adriatic whore, Dress'd in her flames, will shine ! Devouring flames 1 Such as shall burn her to the watery bottom. And hiss in her foundation. lied. Now if any Amongjt us, that owns this glorious cause. Have friends or interest he'd wish to save, Let it be told : the general doom is seal'd ; But I'd forego the hopes of a world's empire, Rather than wound the bowels of my friend. VENICE PRESERVED. 19 Pier, I must confess, you there have touch'd my weakness, I liavc a friend ; hear it ! such a friend, iVIy heart was ne'er shut to him. Nay, I'll tell you : He knows the very business of this hour j But he rejoices in the cause, and loves it; We've chang'd a vow to live and die together. And he's at hand to ratify it here. {All start, and look at each other.) lien. How ! all betray'd ! Pier. No I've nobly dealt with you ; I've brought my all into the public stock : I've but one friend, and him I'll share amongst you: Receive and cherish him ; or if, when seen And search'd, you find him Avorthless : as my tongue Has lodg'd this secret in his faithful breast, To case your fears, I wear a dagger liere Shall rip it out again, and give you rest. Come forth, tliou only good 1 e'er could boast of. Enter JsTViE'i, with a Dagger, l.ii.d. {All how to him.) Pcd. His presence bears the show of manly virtue. Jaf. I know you'll wonder all, that thus uneall'd, 1 dare I'.pproach this phice of fatal councils; But I'i. amongst you, and by hcav'n it glads me To s('e s many virtues ilius united T(j restiMC justice, and dethrone oppres.sicm. Conmiaiid this sword, if you v\oiild have it quiet, Into this breast; but, if you think it worthy {Renault, J-lllioft, and Spiiiosa, observe Jaffur narroieli/.) To cut the tliroats (/f leverend roi'ues in robes, Send uie into the curs'd assembled senate : It .shrinks not, thoUL''h I inert a fither there. Would } 11 behold this city flaming ? here's A hand shall hear a lighted torch at noon To til' aisetial, and set it-; gates on fire. Itcn, Vuu talk this ^\ell, sir. 20 VENICE PRESERVED. Jaf. Nay by heav'n I'll do this. Come, come, I read distrust in all your faces; You fear me villain, and, indeed, its odd To hear a stranger talk thus, at first meeting, Of matters that have been so well debated; But I come ripe with wrongs, as you with councils. I hate this senate, am a foe to Venice ; A friend to none, but men resolv'd like me To push on mischief. Oh ! did you but know me, I need not talk thus ! Bed. Pierre, I must embrace him. {Advances to Jaffier, embraces him, and returns to his former situation.) My heart beats to this man, as if it knew him. Men. I never lov'd these buggers. Jaf. Still I see The cause delights ye not. Your friends survey me As I were dangerous But I come arm'd Against all doubts, and to your trust will give A pledge, worth more than all the world can pay for. My Belvidera. Hoa; my Belvidera ! Bed. What wonder's next ? Jaf. Let me entreat you. As I have henceforth hopes to call you friends. That all but the ambassador, and this Grave guide of councils, with my friend that owns mc. Withdraw awhile to spare a woman's blushes. {Bedamar signs to them to retire.) [Exeunt all hut Bedamar, Renault, Jaffier, and Pierre, r.h. Bed. Pierre, whitlicr will this ceremony lead us ? Jaf. My Belvidera I Belvidera ! Bel. (within, l.h.) Who, Who calls so loud at this late peaceful hour ? That voice was wont to come in gentle whispers, And fill my ears with the soft breath of love. VENICE PRESERVED. 21 Enter Bklvidera, l.h.d. Thou hourly imaf^e of my thoughts, wliere art thou ? t/af. Indeed 'tis late. Sel. Alas ! where am I ? whither is't you lead me ? Methinks 1 read distraction in your face, Something less gentle than the fate you tell me. You shake and tremble too ! your blood runs cold ! Heav'ns guard my love, and bless his lieart with pa- tience. t/fl/. That I have patience, let our fate bear witness, Who has ordain'd it so, that thou and I (Thou, the divinest good man e'er possess'd. And I, the wretched'st of the race of man) This very hour, without one tear, must part. Bel. Part ! must we part ? Oh, am I then forsaken ? Why drag you from me ? {Jaffier crosses to Pierre.) Whither are you going ? My dear ! my life ! my love ! {Fallowing him, and falling on her knees.) Jaf. Oh, friends ! Hel. Speak to me. Jaf. Take her from my heart, She'll gain such hold else, I shall ne'er get loose. 1 charge thee take her, but witli tender'st care Relieve her troubles, and assuage her sorrows. Ren. Rise, madam, and con)mand amongst your servants. {Ren. at her k.h. ajid Bed. l.h. raise her up.) Jaf. To you, sirs, and your honours, I bequeath her ; And witii her tliis, when I prove unworthy (Gives a dagger to Renault.) You know tlie rest Then striltill ituTe;i-iii!r love, Sent that reward tor all her truth and sufferings. Bel. Nay, take my life, since he has sold it clicaply. 22 VENICE PRESERVED. Oh ! thou unkind one ; Never meet more ! have I deserv'd tliis from you ? Look on me, tell me, speak, thou fair deceiver Why am I separated from thy love ? If I am false, accuse me ; but if true, Don't, pr'ythee don't, in poverty forsake me : But pity the sad heart that's torn with parting. Yet hear me, yet recall me [Exeunt Retiaulty Bedamar, and Belvidera, l.h. *Tof. Oh ! my eyes. Look not that way, but turn yourselves awhile Into my heart, and be wean'd altogether. My friend, wliere art thou ? Pier. Here, my honour's brother. >7af. Is Belvidera, gone ? Pier. Renault lias led her Back to her own apartment ', but, by heav'n, Thou must not see her more, till our work's over. Jaf. No ! Pier. Not for your life. /of. Oh, Pierre ! wert thou but she. How I would pull thee down into my heart. Gaze on thee, till my eye-strings crack'd with love,; Then, swelling, sighing, raging to he blest. Conic like a panting turtle to thy breast; On thy soft bosom hovering, bill and play, (Confess the cause why last I fled away ; Own 'twas a fault, but swear to give it o'er, And never follow false ambition more. [Exeiaif, r.h. END or ACT II. VENICE PRESERVED. 23 ACT III. SCENE I. ^ Chamber. Enter Belvidera, l.h. Bel. I'm sacrific'd ! I'm sold ! betray'd to shame ! Inevitable ruin has enclos'd me ! He that should guard my virtue lias betray'd it ; Left me ! undone me ! Oh, that I could hate him ! Where shall I go ? Oh, whither, whither, wander ? Enter Jaffier, r.h. Jaf. Can Belvidera want a resting-place, When these poor arms are ready to receive her ? There was a time Bel. Yes, yes, there was a time. When Belvidera's tears, her cries, and sorrows. Were not despis'd ; when, if she chanc'd to sigh. Or look'd but sad there was indeed a time. When Jaffier would have ta'en her in his arms, Eas'd her declining head upon his breast. And never left her till he found the cause. Jaf. Oh, Portia, Portia ! What a soul was thine ! Bel. That Portia was a woman ; and when Brutus, Big with tiie fate of Rome, (heav'n guard thy safety !) Conceal'd from her the labours of liis mind; She let him see her blood was great as his, Flow'd from a spring as noble, and a heart Fit to partake his troubles as his love. Fetch, fetch that dagger back, the dreadful dower, 'J'hou gav'st labt night in parting with me ; strike it Here to my heart; and as the blood flows from it, .Judge If it run not pure, as Cato's daughter's. {Crosses to n.u.) Jaf. Oil ! Belvidera ! Bel. Why was 1 last niixht dcliver'd to a villain ? Jaf. Ha! a villain ? 24 VENICE PRESERVED. Bel. Yes, to a villain ! Why at such an hour Meets that assembly, all made up of wretches ? Why, I in this hand, and in that a dagger. Was I deliver'd with i-uch dreadful ceremonies ? 'J'o you, sirs, and to your honours, I bequeath her, And with her this : Whene'er 1 prove unworthy You know the rest then strike it to her heart. Oh ! why's that rest conceal'd from me ? Must I Jie made the hostage of a hellish trust ? For such I know I am ; that's all my value. But, by the love and loyalty I owe thee, I'll free thee from the bondage of the slaves; Straight to the senate, tell 'em all I know, All that I think, all that my fears inform me. Jaf. Is this the Roman virtue ; this the blood That boasts its purity with Cato's daughter ? Would she have e'er betray'd her Brutus ? Bel. No: For Brutus trusted her. Wert thou so kind. What would not Belvidera suffer for thee ? Jaf. I shall undo myself, and tell thee all. Yet think a little, ere thou tempt me further; Think Fve a tale to tell will shake thy nature. Melt all this boasted constancy thou talk'st of. Into vile tears and despicable sorrows : Then if thou shouldst betray me ! Bel. Shall 1 swear ! Jaf. No, do not swear : I would not violate Thy tender nature with so rude a bond : But as thou hop'st to see me live my days, And love thee long, lock this within thy breast : I've bound myself, by all the strictest sacraments. Divine and human^ Bel. Speak ! Jaf. To kill thy father Bel. My father'! Jaf. Nay, the throats of the whole senate Shall bleed, my Belvidera. He, amongst us. That spares his father, brother, or his friend. Is damn'd. VENICE PRESERVED. 25 Bel. Oh! Jaf. Have a care, and shrink not even in thought : For, if thou dost Bel. I know it ; thou wilt kill me. Do, strike thy sword into this bosom : lay me Dead on the earth, and then thou wilt be safe. Murder my father ! though his cruel nature Has persecuted me to my undoing ; Driven me to basest wants ; cai) 1 behold him, With smiles of vengeance, butcher'd in his age? The sacred fountain of my life destroy'd ? And canst thou shed the blood that ga\e me being? Nay, be a traitor too, and i^ell thy country ? Can thy great heart descend so vilely low, Mix with hir'd slaves, bravoes, and common stabbers? Join with such a crew, and lake a ruffian's wages, To cut the throats of wretches as they sleep ? Jaf. Thou wrong'st me, Bclvidera ! I've engaged With men of souls; fit to reform the ills Of all mankind : there's not a heart amongst them But's stout as death, yet honest as the nature Of man first made, ere fraud and vice were fashion. Bel. What's he, to whose curst hands last night thou gav'st me ? Was that well done? Oh ! I could tell a story, Would rouse tiiy lion heart out of its den, And make it rage with terrifying fury. ./r//. Speak on, 1 charge thee. Bel. O, my love ! If e'er Thy Belvidera's peace deserv'd thy care. Remove me from this place. Last niglit, last night ! Jaf. Distract me not, but give me all the truth. Bel. No sooner wert thou gone, and I alone, Ix'ft in the pow'r of that old son of niiscliicf ; No sooner was I laid on my sad bed, But that vile wretch a])proach'd me ! Tlicn mv heart Throbb'd with its fears: Oli, how I wept and sigh'd ! And shrunk and trend)led ! wish'd in \;\\n for him That should protect me ! I'hou, alas ! wer't gone. c 26 VENICE PRESERVED. t/af. Patience, sweet heav'n, 'till I make vengeance sure. Bel. He drew the hideous dagger forth, thou gav'st him, And with upbraiding smiles, he said, Behold it : This is the pledge of a false husband's love: And in my arms then press'd, and would have clasp'd me ; But with my cries, I scar'd his coward heart. Till he withdrew, and mutter'd vows to hell. These are thy friends ! with these thy life, thy honour. Thy love, all stak'd, and all will go to ruin. j^qf. No more : I charge thee keep this secret close. Clear up thy soitows ; look as if thy wrongs "Were all forgot, and treat him like a friend. As no complaint were made. No more; retire. Retire, my life, {Bel. crosses to l.h.) and doubt not of my honour; I'll heal its failings, and deserve thy love. Bel. Oh ! should I part with thee, I i^ar thou wilt In anger leave me, and return no more. t/qf. Return no more ! Iwould not live without thee Another night, to purchase the creation. Bel. When shall we meet again ? >/uf. Anon, at twelve, I'll steal myself to thy expecting arms : Come like a ttavell'd dove, and bring thee peace. Bel. Indeed ! ./c//. By all our loves. Bel. 'Tis hard to part: But sure no falsehood ever look'd so fairly. Farewell ; remember twelve. [Exit L.H.Dt /(if. Let heav'n forget me, \\'hcn I remember not tliy truth, thy love. VENICE PRESERVED. 2f Enter Pierre, r.h. Pier. Jaffier. Jnf, Who calls ? Pier. A friend, that could have wish'd 1" have found thee otherwise employed. What, hunt A wife, on the dull soil ! Sure a staunch husband Of all hounds is the dullest. Wilt thou never. Never be wean'd from caudles and confections ? What feminine tales hast thou been llst'ning to. Of unair'd shirts, catarrhs, and toothach, got By thin-sol'd shoes ? Damnation ! that a fellow. Chosen to be a sharer in the destruction Of a whole people, should sneak thus into corners To ease his fulsome lusts, and fool his mind. >/(if. May not a man then trifle out an hour With a kind woman, and not wrong his calling? Pier. Not in a cause like ours. t/q/". Then, friend, our cause Is in a damn'd condition: for I'll tell thee, That cankerworm, call'd lechery, lias toucli'd it; 'Tis tainted vilely. Wouldst thou think it ? Renault (That mortify'd, old, wither'd, winter rogue) He visited her last night, like a kind guardian: Faith ! she has some temptation, that's the truth on't. Pier. He durst not wrong his trust, t/af. 'Twas something late, though, To take the freedom of a lady's chamber. Pier. Was she in bed? ,/({f. Yes, faith, in virgin sh.eets, White as her bosom, Pierre, dish'd neatly up, Might tempt a weaker appetite to taste. Oh ! how ilie old t'ox stunk, I warrant thee. When t!u' rank fit was on him ! I'ler. I'jjtiencc guide me ! 1 le lis (J no violence r ,/taire of your faitli, my beauteous charge, is very well. Jaf. Sir, are you sure of that ? Stands she in perfect health ? Beats her pulse even; Neither too hot nor cold? Ren. What means that question ? VENICE PRESERVED. 29 Jaf, Oh ! women have fantastic constitutions, Incpnstant in their wishes, always wavering. And never fix'd. Was it not boldly done, Even at first sight, to trust the thing I lov'd ^A tempting treasure too) with youth so fierce And vigorous as thine ? but thou art honest. Hen. Who dares accuse me ? Jaf. Curs'd be he that doubts Thy virtue ! I have try'd it, and declare. Were I to choose a guardian of my honour, I'd put it in thy keeping : for I know thee. Ren. Know me 1 Jaf. Ay, know thee. There's no falsehood in thee : Thou look'st just as thou art. Let us embrace. Now would'st thou cut my throat, or I cut thine ? lien. Vou dare not do't. Jaf. You lie, sir. {A noi&e without ,) lien. How! Jaf. No more, 'Tis a base world, and must reform, that's all. Enter Spinosa, Elliott, Theodore, Durand, Rkvillido, Bromvell, and the rest of the Con- spirators. Ren. Spinosa ! Theodore ! iSpin. The same. Ren. You are welcome. Spin. You are trembling, sir. Re)i. 'Tis a cold night, indeed, and I am aged ; Full of decay and natural infirmities : {They retire.) Re-enter Pierre, r.h. Wc shall be warm, my friends, I hope, to-morrow. Pier. 'Twas not well done; thou shouldst have stroak'd him. And not liave gall'd him. Jnf. Damn him, let him chew on't. {Crosses to l.h.) ( 3 .30 VENICE PRESERVED. Heav'n ! where am I? beset with cursed fiends. That wait to damn me! What a devil's man. When he forgets his nature {Conspirators advance l.h.) ^husli, my heart. Ren. My friends, 'tis late ; are we assembled all ? To-morrow's rising sun must see you all Deck'd in your honours. Are the soldiers ready ? Fier. (b.h.) All, all. Iten. You, Durand, with your thousand, must pos- sess St. Mark's; you, captain, know your charge already; 'Tis to secure the ducal palace : Be all this done with the least tumult possible, 'Till in each place you post sufficient guards ; Tlien sheathe your swords in every breast you meet. J^qf. Oh ! reverend cruelty 1 damn'd bloody villain ! {.hide.) Ren. During this execution, Durand, you Must in the roidst keep your battalia fast ; And, Tiieodore, be sure to plant the cannon That may command the streets ; This done, we'll give the general alarm. Apply petards, and force the ars'nal gates; Then fire the city round in several places, Or witii our cannon (if it dare resist) J^atter to ruin. But above all I charge you, wSlu'd blood enough ; spare neither sex nor age. Name nor condition : if there live a senator .After to-morrow, though the dullest rogue Tiiat e'er said nothing, we have lost our ends. If possible, let's kill the very name Of senator, and bury it in blood. ./(if. Merciless, horrid slave Ay, blood enou?:h ? Shed blood enough, old Renault ! how thou charm'st me! {Aside.) Ren. But one thing more, and then farewell, till fate .luin us again, or sep'rate us for ever. Let's all remember, We wear no conmion cause upon our swords : Let eacli man third< that on his single virtue VENICE PRESERVED. 31 Dopends the good and fame of all the rest ; Eternal honour, or perpetual infamy. {Advancing from the circle.) You droop, sir. {To Jaffier.) Jaf. No ; with most profound attention , . I've heard It all, and wonder at thy virtue. Oh, Belvidera! take me to thy arms, And show me where's my peace, for I have lost it, {Aside.) [Exit l.h.d. lien. Without the least remorse then, let's resolve With fire and sword t' exterminate these tyrants j Under whose weight this wretched country labours. The means are only in our hands to crown them. Pier. And may those povv'rs above that are pro- pitious To gallant minds, record tliis cause and ble?s it. /len. Thus happy, thus secure of all we wish for. Should there, my friends, be found among us one J'^;ilsc to this glorious enterj)ri>e, what fate. What vengeance, were enough for such a villain ? IC/l. Death here without repentance, hell hereafter. Iten. Let that be my lot, if, as here 1 stand, Listed by fate among her darling sons. Though 1 had one only brother, dear by all The strictest ties of nature ; could I have such a friend Join'd in this cause, and had but ground to fear He meant foul play ^ may this right hand drop from me, If I'd not hazard all my future peace. And stab him to the heart before you. Who, Who would do less? Wouldst thou not, Pierre, the same ? Pier. You've singled me, sir, out for this hard ques- tion. As if it were started only for my sake ! Am I the thing you fear r IJere, here's my bosom, Search it with all your swords. Am I a traitor? Ite)i. No : but 1 fear your late commended friend Is little less. Come, sirs, 'tis now no time To trifle with our safety. Where's tin's Jaflier ? c 4 32 VENICE PRESERVED. Spin. He left the room just now, In strange dis- order. Iie7i. Nay, there is danger in him: I observ'd him; During the time I took for explanation, He was transported from m.ost deep attention To a confusion which he could not smother; His looks grew full of sadness and surprise. All which betray 'd a wavering spirit in him. That labour'd witli reluctancy and sorrow. ^^'hat*s requisite for safety, must be done With speedy execution : he remains Yet in our power : I, for my owji part, wear A dagger {Taking out the dagger Jaf. gave hi?n.) Pier. Well. Jie7i. And I could wish it Pier, Where ? Jien. Buried in his heart. Pier. Away; {Takes the dagger from him, a7id puts it in his pocket, and crosses to l.h.) we're yet all friends. No more of this, 't ill breed ill blood among us. Spin. Let us all draw our swords, and search the house, Pnll him from the dark hole where he sits brooding O'er his cold fears, and each man kill his share of him. Pier. Who talks of killing? {Crosses to Spin, tcho is R.H. then turns to Ell. then to Theo. then to Pen.) Who's he'll shed the blood That's dear to me ? Is't you, or you, or you, sir ? What, not one speak! how you stand gaping all On your grave onicle, your wooden god there ! Yet not a word ! Then, sir, I'll tell you a secret; Suspicion's but at best a coward's viriue. {To Renault.) Ren. A coward ! {Handles his sword.) Pier. Put up thy sword, old man ; 'lliy hand shakes at it. Come, let's heal this breach ; {Crosses to l.h.) 1 am too hot, we yet may all live friends. Spin. Till wc are safe, our friendship cannot be so. Pier. Again 1 Who's that ? VENICE PRESERVED. 33 Spin. 'Twas I. Theo. And I. Ren. And I. Omyies. And all. Ite)i. Who are on my side ? Spiji. Every honest sword. Let's die like men, and not be sold like slaves. Pier. One such word more, by lieav'n, I'll to the senate, And hang ye all, like dogs, in clusters. {They half draw their sivords.) Why peep your coward swords half out their shells ? Why do you not all brandish them like mine ? You fear to die, and yet dare talk of killing. Ren. Go to the senate, and betray us ! haste ! Secure thy wretched life ; we fear to die Less than thou dar'st be honest. {Going, r.h.) Pier. That's rank falsehood. {Crosses to Renault, and seizes his left arm.) Fear'st thou not dcatli ! Fie, there's a knavish itch In that salt blood, an utter foe to smarting. Had .Jafficr's wife proved kind, he'd still been true. Faugh, how that stinks ! thou die, thou kill my friend ! Or thou ! or thou ! with that lean wither 'd face. Awav, {Crosses to L.n.) disperse all to your several charges, Anfl meet to-morrow where your honour calls you. I'll bring that man whose blood you so much thirst for. And you shall see him venture for you fairly Hence ! hence, I say ! [PJxit Renault, angrily, r.h. Spin. I fear we've been to blame. And done too much. Thro. 'Twas too far urg'd against the man you iov'd. Rci'. Here, take our swords and crush them with your feet. Spill. Forgi\c us, gallant fiicnd. Pier. Nay, now you've found The way to melt, and cast me as you will. Whence arose all ihis discord ? c 5 .1-4 VENICE PRESERVED. Oh, what a dangerous precipice have we 'scap'd ! How near a fall was all we'd long been building ! What an eternal blot had stain'd our glories, If one, the bravest and the best of men, Had fall'n a sacrifice to rash suspicion, Butcher'd by those whose cause he came to cherish ! Come but to-morrow, all your doubts shall end. And to your loves me better recommend, That I've preserv'd your fame, and sav'd my friend. {^Exeunt Pierre, l.h the rest, r.h, END OF ACT HI. ACT IV. SCENE LThe Ilialto. Enter Jaffikr and Belvidera, l.h. Juf. Where dost thou lead me? Every step I move. MetliHiks I tread upon some mangled limb Of a rack'd friend. Oh, my charming ruin ! Where are we wandering ? Bel. To eternal honour. To do a deed shall chronicle thy name Among the glorious legends of those few That JKive sav'd sinking nations. Thy renown Shall be the future song of all the virgins. Who by thy piety have been preserv'd From liorrid violation. Every street Shall t}c adoru'd with statues to thy honour; And at thy feet this great inscription written, " llenieniber him that |-)ropp'd the fall of Venice." Jaf. Ruther, rcmemljer him, who, after all The saer(;d bonds of r)atlis, and holier friendship, In fond compassion to a woman's tears. VENICE PRESERVED* 35 Forgot his manhood, virtue, truth, and honour^ To sacrifice the bosom that reliev'd him. Why wilt thou damn me ? Bel. Oh, inconstant man ! How will you promise; how will you deceive ! Do, return back, ref)lace me in my bondage, Tell all thy friends how dangerously tliou lov'st me, And let thy dagger do its bluody office. Or if thou think'st it nobler, let me live. Till I'm a victim to the hateful lust Of that infernal devil. Last night, my love ! Jaf. Name, name, it not again : It shows a beastly image to my fancy,. Will wake me into madness. Destruction, swift destruction Fall on my coward lieaii il I forgive him ! Bel. Delay no longer then, but to the senate. And tell the di-mal'st story ever ut er'd : 'JY'Il 'eru what blood-hcd, rapines, desolations, Have been prepar'd : how near's thu fatal hour. Save thy poor country, save the reverend blood Of all its nobles, which to-morrow's dawn Alust else see shed. J(if. Oh ! think what tlien may prove my lot : By all hcav'n's powers, j)rophetic truth dwells in thee ; P'or every word thou speak'st strikes through my iieart ; Just what thou'st made me, take me, Belvidcra, And lead me 'o tiie place where I'm to say This bitter lesson; where I must betr;ty Afy truth, my virtue, eoiisia:.cv, and fiiends. Must I betray tny Friend? Ah ! take me quickly: Secure nie well hetore ihat thought's renew'd; If I rela;)-e once UK-re, all's lost for ever. Jicl. Hast ihou a Irietul more dear than l.elvidera ? Jof. No; thou'rt my soul itself; wealth, friendshi]). honour, All [)resent joys, and earnest o{ all future, Are summ'd in thee. c G 36 VENICE PRESERVED. Come, lead me forward, now, like a tame lamb To sacrifice. Thus, in his fatal garlands Dcck'd fine and pkas'd, the wanton skips and plays, Trots by tb' enticing, flutt'ring priestess' side. And inuci) transported with its little pride, Forgets l\is dear companions of the plain : Till, by her bound, he's on the altar lain. Yet then too hardly bleats, such pleasure's in the pain. Enter Officer, and six Guards, r.h. Offi. Stand ! who goes there ? Bel. Friends. Offi. i^ut what friends are you ? iiel. Friends to the sei\ate, and the state of Venice. Offi. My orders arc to seize on all I find At this late hour, and bring 'em to the council. Who are now sitting. " Jaf. Sir, you shall be obey'd. {Crosses to centre.) Now the lot's cast, and fate, do what thou wilt. [Exeunt, guarded, r.h. SCENE II. The Senate-house, where appear sit- tijig the DuKK OF Vknick, Prium, and other Senators. Duke. Antony, Priuli, senators of Venice, Speak, why are we assembled here this night ? What have you to infc^rm us of, concerns The state of Venice's honour, or its safety ? Pri. (r.h.) Codd words express the story I've to tell you. Fathers, these tears were useless, these sad tears That fall from uiy old eyes ; but there is cause We all should weep, tear of these purple robes, And wrap ourselves in sackcloth, sitting down On the sad earth, and cry aloud to heav'n : Heav'n knows, if yet there be an hour to come Ere Venice be no mure, ^It Sen. How ! VENICE PRESERVED. 3^ Pri, Nay, we stand Upon the very brink of gapinirriiin. Within this city's formed a dark conspiracy, To massacre us all, our wives and children, Kindred and friends, our palaces and temples To lay in ashes : nav, the hour too fix'd ; The swords, for ought 1 know, drawn e'en this moment. And the wild waste begun. From unknown hands I had this warning; but, if we are men, Let's not he tamely butcher'd, but do something That may inform the world, in after ages, Our virtue was not ruin'd, though we were. {A noise unthout.) Capt. Room, room, make room for some prisoners {Hltldtl, L.H.) Enter Okfickr coid Guards, l.h.d, Duke. Speak, tliere. What disturbance ? OJfi. Two prisoners Imve the guards sei/'d in the street, Wlio say, they come t' inform this reverend council About the present danger. All Sen, Give ein entrance {Officer goes to l.h.d. theyi enter Jciffier, Captain, and Guards.) Well, who are ycm ? (77*6' Captain and Guards proceed hehind the Duke's chair round to r.h. where they remain the Officer waits l.h. between Jajffier and the Duke.) Jaf. A villain, Would every man, that lienrs me. Would (leal so honcstlv, and own his title. Duke. 'Tis rumour'd, tiiut a plot has been cou- triv'd Against this state ; and you've a share in't too. If you are a villain, to redeem your honour Unfold the truth, atid be rcstor'd with mercy. 38 VENICE PRESERVED. Jaf. Tliink not, that I to save my life came hither \ I know its value better ; but i pi'.v To all those wretches wli ise u. happy dooms Are fix'd and seal'd. You see me here before you. The sworn and covenanted foe of Venice : But use me as my dealings may deserve. And I may prove a friend. Duke. The slave capitulates. Give him the tortures. Jaf. That you dare not do ; Your fear won't let you, not the longing itch To hear a story which you dread the truth of: Truth, wliich the fear of smart shall ne'er get from me. Cowards are scar'd with threat'nings; boys are whipt Into confessions ; but a steady mind Acts of itself, ne'er asks the body's counsel. Give him the tortures ! Name but such a thing Again, by heav'n I'll shut these lips lor ever. Not all your racks, your engines, or yonr wheels, Shall force a groan away, that you may guess at. Duke. Name your conditions. Jaf. For myself full pardon. Besides tlie lives of two-and-twrnty friends, Whose nauies are here enroU'd Nay, let their crimes, Be ne'er so monstrous, I must jiave the oaths And sacred promises of this reverend council. That, in a full assembly of the senate The thing i a-k be r.tiified. Swear this, And I'll unfold the secret of your danger. Duke. l^r. ipose the oath. Jaf. liy i 1 the hopes Ye have of peace and happiness hereafter, Swear. Ve swear? All SrM. We swear. {A/l (he council how.) Jaf. And, as ve keep thi- oath, May y(ju and your p'osterlty be hles'd, Or cius'd r,r ( \er. All S(',i. 1-^lse be curs'd for ever. (They how again.) Jaf. Then here's tlie list, and wilh't the full dis- close VENICE PRESERVED. 39 Of all that threatens you, {Delivers a paper to the Officer who gives it to the Duke.) Now, fate, thou hast caught me. Duke. Give order that all diligent search be made To seize these men, their characters are public ; {The Duke gives the first paper to the Officer.) The paper intimates their rendezvous To be at the house of a fam'd Grecian courtezan, Call'd Aquilina ; see that place secur'd. You, Jaffier, must with patience bear till morning To be our prisoner. Jaf. Would the chains of death Had bound me safe, ere I had known this minute. Duke. Captain, withdraw your prisoner. Jaf. Sir, if possible, {Crosses to Capt. r.h.) Lead me where my own thoughts themselves may lose me ; Where I may doze out what I've left of life, Forget myself, and this days guilt and falsehood. Cruel remembrance, how shall 1 appease thee? [ Exit guarded, r.u.d. OJfi. {Without) More traitors ; room, room, make room, there. Duke. How's this ? guards ! Where are your guards ? Shut up the gates, the trea- son's Already at our doors. Enter OFFicKn, l.h. Offf. My lords, more traitors, Sciz'd in 'he very act of consultation ; Furnish'd with arms and instruments of niiscliicf. Bring in the prisoners. 40 VENICE PRESERVED. Enter Elliott, Theodore, Rrnault, Revillido, PiERRK, and other Conspirators, in fetter s^ L.n.D, Pier, (l.h.) You, my lords, and fathers (As you are pleas'd to call yourselves) of Venice ; If you sit here to guide the course of justice, Why these disgraceful chains upon the limbs That have so often labour'd in your service ? Are these the wreaths of triumph ye bestow On those that bring you conquest home, and honours? Duke. Go on ; you shall be heard, sir. j4nt. And be hang'd too, I hope. Pier. Are these the trophies I've deserv'd for fighting Your battles with confederated powers ? When winds and seas conspir'd to overthrow you ; And brought the fleets of Spain to your own harbours; When you, great Duke, shrunk trembling in your palace, And saw your wife, the Adriatic, plough'd, Like a lewd whore, by bolder prows than yours ; Stepj)'d not I forth, and taught your loose Venetians 'J'he task of honour, and the way to greatness ? Rais'd you from your capitulating fears I'o stipulate the terms of sued -for peace ? And this my recompense ! If I'm a traitor, Produce my charge ; or show the wretch that's base And brave enough to tell me I'm a traitor. Duke. Know you one Jaflier ? ( Conspirators murmur.) Pier. Yes, and know his virtue. His justice, truth, his general worth, and suffierings. From a hard father taught me first to love him. Enter Jaffikr guarded, r.h.d. Duke. See him brought forth. Pier, My friend too bound ! nay then VENICE PRESERVED. 41 Our fate has conquer'd us, and we must fall. Why droops the man whose welfare's so much mine, They're but one thing ? These reverend tyrants, Jaiher, Call us traitors, art thou one, my brother ? Jaf. To thee I am the falsest, veriest slave. That e'er betray'd a generous, trusting friend. And gave up honour to be sure of ruin. All our fair liopes which morning was t' have crown'd. Has this curst tongue o'erthrown. Pier. So, then all's over : Venice has lost her freedom, I my life. No more ! Farewell ! Duke. Say ; will you make confession Of your vile deeds, and trust the senate's mercy ? Pier. Curs'd be your senate ! curs'd your consti- tution : Tiie curse of growing factions and divisions. Still vex your councils, shake your public safety, And make the robes of governuient you wear Hateful to you, as these base chains to me. Duke. Pardon, or death ? Pier. Death ! honourable death ! Ren. Death's the best thing we ask, or you can give, N(j shameful bonds, but honourable death. Duke. Break up the council. Captain, guard your prisoners. Jaffier, you're free, but these must wait for judgment. (The Captain takes off^ Jaffier s cltaitis. Tfic Duke and Council i^o atrai/ //irouiih the arch. The Conspirators, all hut Jajficr and Pierre, go off i^uarded, l.ii.o. Pier. Come, where's my dungton ? Lead me to my straw : It will ncjt be the Hr.st time I've lodg'd hard To do the senate service. Jw my passion dealt thee ; I'm now preparing for the land of peace, And fain would have the charitable wishes Of all good men, like thee, to bless ray journey. Jaf. Good ! I am the vilest creature, worse than e'er SufFef'd the shameful fate thou'rt going to taste of. O^. (r.h.) The time grows short, your friends txre dead already. Jaf. Dead ! Pier. Yes, dead, Jaffier ; they've all died like men too, Worthy their character. Jaf. And what must I do ? Pier. Oh, Jaffier ! " Jaf. Speak aloud thy burthen'd soul. And tell thy troubles to thy tortur'd friend. Pier. Friend ! Couldst thou yet be a friend, a gene- rous friend, I might hope comfort from thy noble sorrows. Heav'n knows, I want a friend. Jaf. And I a kind one, That would not thus scorn my repenting virtue. Or think, when he's to die, my thoughts are idle. Pier. No ! live, I charge thee, Jaffier. Jaf. Yes, 1 will live : But it shall be to see thy fall reveng'd At such a rate, as Venice long shall groan for. Pier. Wilt thou? Jaf. I w^ill, by heav'n. Pier. Then still thou'rt noble. And 1 forgive thee. Oh yet shall I trust thee ? Jaf. No ; Fve been false already. Pier. Dost thou love me ? Jaf. Rip up my heart, and satisfy thy doubtings. Pier. Curse on this weakness. {fFeeps.) Jaf, Tears! Amazement! Tears! VENICE PRESERVED. 55 I never saw thee melted thus before ; And know there's something lab'rlng in thy bosom. That must have vent : Though I'm a villain, tell me. Pier. See'st thou that engine ? {Pointing to the wheel.) Jaf, Why? Pier. Is't fit a soldier, who has liv'd with honour. Fought nation's quarrels, and been crown'd with con- quest, Be expos'd a common carcase on a wheel ? Jaf. Hah! Pier. Speak! is't fitting? Jaf. Fitting? Pier. Yes; is't fitting ? Jaf. What's to be done ? Pier. I'd have thee undertake Something that's noble, to preserve my memory From the disgrace that's ready to attaint it. Off. The day grows late, sir. Pier. I'll make haste. Oh, Jafher ! Though thou'st betray'd me, do me some way justice. Jaf. No more of that: thy wishes shall be satisfied; I have a wife, and she shall bleed : my child too, Yield up his little throat, and all T' appease thee (Gui/ig awai/, Pierre holds him.) Pier. No this no more. {IVhisiiers Jaf.) Jaf. Hah ! is't then so ? Pier. Most certainly. Jaf. I'll do it. Pier. Remember. Of. Sir. Pier. Come, now I'm ready. {IJe and Jaf . ascend the scaffold, r.h.) Captain, you should be a gentleman of honour; Keep offtlie rabble, that I may have room To entertain my fate, and die with deeeney. Come. {Takes off his gowity executioner j)repares to hind him.) You'll think on't. {To Jaf.) Jaf. 'Twou't grow stale before to-morrow. 56 VENICE PRESERVED. Pier. Now, Jaffier ! now I'm going. Now {Executioner having bound him.) Jaf. Have at thee, Thou honest heart, then here {Stabs him.) And this is well too. {Stabs himself.) Pier. Now thou hast indeed been faithful. This was done nobly We have deceiv'd the senate. Jaf. Bravely. Pier. Ha, ha, ha oh ! oh ! {Dies.) Jaf. Now, ye curs'd rulers, Thus of the blood y'ave shed, I make libation, And sprinkle it mingling. May it rest upon you, And all your race. Be henceforth peace a stranger Within your walls; let plagues and famine waste Your generation Oh, poor Belvidera ! Sir, 1 have a wife, bear this in safety to her, A token that with my dying breath I bless'd her, And the dear little infant left behind me. I'm sick I'm quiet. {Dies, Scene shuts upon them.) SCENE IV. An Apartment at Puiuli's. Soft 3Iusic. Enter Belvidera, distracted, led by tivo of her IVomen ; Priuli and Servants, r.h. Pri. (l.h.) Strengthen her heart with patience, pitying heav'n ! Bel. {In centre.) Come, come, come, come, come, nay, come to bed, Pr'ythee, my love. The winds I hark how they whistle; And the rain beats: Oh 1 how the weather shrinks me! You arc angry now, who cares ? Pish ! no indeed. Choose then; J say you sliall not go, you shall not; Whip your ill nature ; get you gone then. Oh ! Are you ictum'dr See, fatlier, 1-ere he':- come again: Am I t' !-laine to love him ? Oh, thou dc;ir one ! Why do y(ni fly me ? Aie you angry >till tlieti ? Jaflier, where art thou? Father, why do you do thus? Stand oil", don't hide him from me. He's here some^^ where. VENICE PRESERVED. 5/ Stand off, I say : What gone ? Remember't, tyrant : I may revenge myself for this tricky one day. I'll do'tril do't. Enter Officer, l.h. Pri. News; what news? (O^. ivhispers Priuli.) Off'. Most sad, sir ; Jaffier, upon the scaffold, to prevent A shameful deatii, stabb'd Pierre, and next himself; Both fell together. Pri. Daughter ! Bel. Ha ! look there ! My husband bloody, and his friend too ! Murder ! Who has done this ? Speak to me, thou sad vision : On these poor trembling knees I beg it. Vanish'd Here they went down Oh, I'll dig, dig, the den up ! You sha'n't, delude me thus. Hoa, Jaffier, Jaffier, Peep up, and give me but a look. 1 have him ! I've got him, father : Oh ! My love ; my Hear ! my blessing ! help me ! help me ! They have hold on me, and drag ine to the bottom. Nay now they pull so hard farewell. {Dies.) {The Curtain falls to slow Music.) Disposition of the Characters ichen the Curtain falls. f I' 11 IAIN. L.H. EPILOGUE. The text is done, and now for application, And when that's ended, pass your approbation. Though the conspiracy's prevented here, Methinks I see another hatching there ; And there's a certain faction fain would sway. If they had strength enough, and damn this play ; But this the Author hade me boldly say ; If any take this plainness in ill part. He's glad on't from the bottom of his heart : Poets in honour of the truth should write, With the same spirt brave men for it fight. And though against liim causeless hatreds rise. And daily where he goes of late, he spies The scowls of sullen and revengeful eyes ; 'Tis what he knows, with much contempt to bear. And serves a cause too good to let him fear : He fears no poison from an incens'd drab, No ruffian's five-foot sword, nor rascal's stab ; Nor any otliersnaresof mischief laid. Not a Rose-alley cudgel-ambuscade. From any private cause where malice reigns, Or general pique all blockheads have to brains : Nothing shall daunt his pen when truth does call ; No, not the picture-mangier* at Guild-hall. The rebel tribe, of which that vermin's one, Have now set forward, and their course begun ; The rascal that cut the duke of York's picture. EPILOGUE. And while that prince's figure they deface, As they before bad massacred bis name. Durst their base fears but look him in the face, They'd use his person as they've us'd his fame : A face in which such lineaments they read Of that great martyr's, whose rich blood they shed, That their rebellious hate they still retain. And in bis son would murder him again. With indignation then let each brave heart Rouze, and unite, to take his injur'd part; Till royal love and goodness call him home. And songs of triumph meet him as he come; 'Till heav'nhis honour, and our peace restore; And villains never wrong his virtue more. W. OXBERRY AND CO. PRINTERS, 8, WHITE-HART-YARD. a^fbttv^'si CDttion, THE WONDER, A COMEDY^ BY iHtji* ^usianna Cnttlibre. THE ONLY EDITION EXISTING WHICH IS FAITHFULtV MARKED WITH TIJE STAGE BUSINESS AND STAGE DIRECTIONS, AS JT IS PERFORMED AT THE 2Dt)fatrc0 3^^aL LONDOIV: PUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETORS ny W. SIMPKIN AND n. MARSHALL, STATIONERS' COURT, LUDGATE-STREET ; C. ClIAPPLE, 66, PALL-MALL ; AND SOLD BY W. AND J. LOWNULSjQj BRYDES-STREET, CO VENT-GARDEN. ISIR. W. OXBEHRY AND CO, PRINTEUi, 8, WHITE HART YARD. Jlemarfi^. Nothing so strongly proves the richness and variety of the Eng- lish comedy as the utter impossibility of dividing it into classes ; it seems like the grass of the fields, to defy any regular classification ; do what you will, exceptions and anomalies will occur to break down the unity of the system, and after all, the varieties, will be as numerous as the rules. When therefore we divide comedy into four sorts, or kinds, we have no doubt, but that many, very many dramas may be brought, too stubborn to enter into any of our ar- rangements ; but even this imperfect division will be found useful iS we proceed. The first class is that of Shakspeare's school, in which poetry was united with humour, and character was pourlraycd with uncom- mon vif;our; it exliihited the ridiculous oi nature, not o^ habit, and IS as well understdod now as in the day when it first was written. The second is that of ]?cn Jonson's school, the exact reverse of the former ; it jmintcd liabits, and is now, with very few exceptions ".itterly unintelligible. Tliis sch(X)l, considerably exaggerated, and with eucreasing bustle of plot is the farcical comedy of many mo- dern writers. The third is that of (Jongreve's time, which may not improperly be called the epigrainniatic, for the wholt; purpose of every charac- ter, ubetlier wise or foolish, high or low, i-, to say smart things; ^:very s|ieceh is an ej)igram, keen, and |)(dislied to a remarkable de- gree ; it is one constant scene of glitter from the beginning to the end, liut as the attention is not always to be kept awake by the plav of words, wearine-is at last succeeds to admiration; thi^ i. IV also the school of SheriJan, but though he hai not so much bril- liancy of wit, or >o much originality as Congreve, he has more taste, propriety, and character, and has produced one comedy, which in its kind is unexceptionable. The last species is the sentimental, which is all tears, lamenta- tions, and virtue ; with Cumberland it is innocent, for it only draws ficticious portraits of more virtue than this virtuous world affords ; with Kot2ebue, it is disgusting, for it decks out vice in the robes of innocence, and is always calling on our pity, where pity ought most to be withheld. He is th very knight-errant and champion of iniquity and prostitution ; his great delight is to whine and moralize over what he is pleased to consider as fallen innocence, and all this in language below contempt; throughout the whole of his dramatic works, which, as near as we can re- collect, form twenty-five volumes 12mo., not including his alma- nac of farces, there is not oiue line worthy to be remembered. The " Wonder," we are inclined to rank in the second class; if it have any humour, it is that of Jiabit not of nature; but we are not much disjwsed to allow even this, and rather attribute its effect to farcical incidents, than to any power in the language or the characters. It is in fact, a novel dramatized, full of improba- bility, but there is so much unceasing bustle in the plot, the incidents follow each other so rapidly, and the situations are so laughable, that it always pleases. Its motion is so quick, that the spectator has no time to discover its defects, and we have not the least hesilatiou in saying, that a comedy might have more humour and more character, without giving half so much satis- faction to the general mind. The language of this piece is neither very brilliant nor very elegant, but, it flows " trippingly on the tongue," and never offends by any gross improprieties ; it is moreover arch, livelj-, and seldom, loaded with superfluities. The dialect of Gibby is a strange medley; it is neither Scotch nor English, but it always passci muster well enough upon the stage, for it sounds strange to an English ear, and as the audience know it is not their own language, they are always good naturcd enough to believe it Scotch; Lesidcj it has the merit of hciii^ perfectly intelligible. \yhich certainljr would not be the case with the genuine Scotch dialect. The jealousy of Don Felix is not very powerfully drawn, and is, we believe of Italian origin ; in reading, it instructs very little, but as the situation is striking, it becomes very laughable on the stage, when in the hands of a good actor ; there is much more comedy in the parts of Flora and lAssardo, yet, even they are not the creatures of any extraordinary talent. Upon the whole, Mrs. Centlivre wrote but for the day, and time which has crumbled into dust more solid and better erected monu- ments, must inevitably destroy her slight and perishable fabrics. Mrs. Susanna Centlivre, the authoress of this comedy was tlic daughter of Mr. Freeman, of Holbeach, in Lincolnshire. At the time of the restoration, her father was compelled to fly to Ire- land, and there, about the year 1680, she was born. She wjis married at sixteen to the son of Sir Stephen Fox ; but that gen- tleman did not live with her above twelve-months. Hit second husband, was a Mr. Carrol, who had the misfortune to be killed in a duel, within about a year and a half after their marriage. She then became a votary of the muses, and under the name of Carrol, she published some of her eailier pieces. Her first was the tragedy of '* The Perjured Wife." In 1706", performing the part of /llexander the Great, at Windsor, Mr. Joseph Centlivre, principal cook to her Majesty, became enamoured of her; and they were soon after married, and li\ed very hajjpily together. She died at his house in Spring Gardens, Charing Cross, on the first of December, 1723, and was buried in the parish churcli of St. Martin's- in- the- Fields. Mrs. (X-nllivres productions arc as follow : The Perjured Hn-iband, T. Love's Contrivance, C. FJeau's Duel, C. Stcden Heiress, C. Gamester, (-. Hassi-t Table, (I. Love at a Vi:iiturc, C. Plaionie Lady, V,. I5n^y Body, C. Man's Ik'witch'd, C. A Hiekerslalf 's Hurving, F. Marjilot, C. Perplex'd Lovers, C. \Vonder, (J. (iotliani Election, F. Wife; Well Managed, F. Cniel Gift, T. Bold -stroke for a Wile, C Artifice, C. THE PROLOGUE, Our author fears the critics of (he stage. Who, like barbarians, s]iare nor sex, "nor age ; She trembles at those censors in the pit, Who think good-nature shews a want of wit : Such malice, oh ! what muse can undergo it ? To save themselves, they alwaxsdamn the poet. Our author flies from such a partial jury, As wary lovers from the nymphs of Drury ; To the few candid judges, for a smile. She huml)ly sues, to recompense her toil. To the bright circle of the fair, she next Commits her cause, with anxious doubts perplex'd. Where can she with such hopes of favour kneel, As to those judges who her frailties feel ? A few mistakes her sex may well excuse. And such a plea no woman should refuse : Jf she succeeds, a woman gains applause ; What female but must favour such a cause ? Her faulfs, whate'cr they are, e'en pass them by, And only on her beauties fix your eye. In plays, like vessels floating on the sea, Tliere's none so wise to know their destiny. In this, howe'cr, tiie pilot's skill ajipcars. While by the stars his constant course he steers; Iti.^htly our author does her judgment show, 'J'liat for Ik.t safety she relies on you. ^our approbation, fair ones, can't but move I liose stubborn liearts, which first you tauglit to love i \\- iiK'ii must all applaud this play of ours'; 1 or li') dare see with other eyes than your? ? Cositume, DON LOPEZ, Green doublet, buff vest, green pantaloons, and russet boots. DON FELIX Green velvet Spanish coat, white vest, white silk pantaloons, auJ white shoes, hat and feathers. FREDERIC. Crimson Spanish coat, white vest, and pantaloons, russet boots, Lat and feathers. COLONEL BRITON. Blue regimental coat, white waistcoat, and pantaloons, military boots. DON PEDRO. Plumb coloured cloak, vest, breeches, and russet boots. LISSARDO. Brown and grey Spanish dress. GIBBY. A Highland dress. VIOLANTE. White satin dress, spangled points, and hanging sleeves. ISABELLA. White leno dress, coloured satin body, hanging sleeves, and points, trimmed with silver, and black veil. FLORA. Black velvet body, and hanging sleeves, blue sarsnet petticoat, trimmed with black points, black gauze apron, trimmed with blue. INIS. White petticoat, point calico body, aud apron, PERSONS REPRESENTED. Drury-lane. Don Lopez Mr. Hughes. Don Felix Mr. EUiston. Frederic Mr. Barnard. Colonel Briton Mr, Holland, Don Pedro Mr. Gattie, (jibby Mr. Palmer. Lissardo Mr. Harley. j4lgiiazil Mr. Maddocks. Fasquez Mr, Evans. Soldier Mr, Cooke. Servant Mr. Minton. 3 Alguazil Attendants . , 3 Se7'i'a7iis J Donna Fiolante Mrs. Glover. Donna Isabella Mrs. Orger. Jnis Mrs, Scott. Flora Miss Kelly. Covent-gardtn . Mr. Blanchard. Mr, C, Kerable, Mr. Clermont. Mr, Abbot. Mr, Simmons, Mr. Emery. Mr. Fawcett. Mr. Atkint. Mr, Menage. Miss Brunton. Miss Foote. Miss Logan. Mrs. Gibbs, The time this piece takes in representation is about two hours and forty-two minutes. The first act occupies the space of fifty- seven minutes the second, sixty the third, forty-five. The half-price commences, generally, at a quarter after nine o'clock. Stage Directions. By R. H is meant Right Hand. L. H Left Hand. 8. E Second Entrance. v.B Upper Entrance. M. D Middle Door. o. F. . . . , Door in Flat. R- H- D Right Hand Door. L.Hu Left Hand Door. THE WONDER. ACT I. SCENE I. ^ Street. Enter'Do'S Lopez, l.h. ineeting, Frederic, r.h. Fred. My lord, doii Lopez. Lop. How d'ye, Frederic ? Fred. At your lordship's service. I am glad to see you look so well, my lord; I hope Antonio's out o^ danger ? I^]), Quite the conlrnry ; his fever increases, they lell me; and tlic surgeons r.re of opinion his wound is mortal. Fred. Your son, don Felix, is safe, I hope ? Lop. I hojK' so loo ; but they oiler large rewards to apprelund him. Fred. WMien lieard your Lordsiiip from lirm ? Lo]). Not since he v/cnt. I forbad him writing till the public news gave him an account of Antonio's liealih. Letters miglit be intercepted, and the place of his aI)ode discovered; iiowevcr, if Antonir 1 el using Don Antonio's sister, from whence sprung THE WONDER. 1 1 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 ? Flora. But you know, madam, your father, don Pe- dro, designs you for a nun to be sure, you look very like a nun 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, how- ever, I shall run the risk of that. Go, call in Lis- sardo. Flora. Yes, madam. Now for a thousand verbal questions. [^Aside, andFxit, l.h.d. Re-enter Flora, ivith Lissardo, l.h.d. Vio. Well, and how do you do, Lissardo ? Lis. Ah, very weary, madam Faith, thou look'st wondrous pretty, Flora. {Apart to Flora.) Vio. How came you ? Lis. En chevalier, madam, upon a hackney jade, which, they told me, formerly belonged to an English colonel. But I should have rather thought she had been bred a good Roman Catholic all her life-time ; for she down'd on her knees to every stock and stone we came along by. My chops water for a kiss, they do, Flora. {Apart to Flora.) Flora. You'd make one believe you are wondrous fond now. {Apart to Lissardo.) Vio. Where did you leave your master ? Lis. Odd, if I had you alone, housewife, I'd show you how fond I could be ! {Aj)art to Flora.) Vio. Where did you leave your niastcr? Lis. At a little farm-house, madam, about five miles oft'. He'll be at don Frederic's in the evening Odd, I will so revenge myself of those lips of thine. {Apart to Flora.) Vio, Is he in health ? 12 THE WONDER. Flora. O, you counterfeit wondrous well, {^^part to Ussardo.) Lis. No, every body knows I counterfeit very ill. {Apart to Flora.) Vio. How say you? Is Felix ill? What's his dis- temper ? Ha ! Lis. A pies on't, I hate to be interrupted. {Aside.) Love, madam, love. In short, madam, I believe he has tiiought of nothing but your ladyship ever since he left Lisbon. I am sure he could not, if I may judge of liis heart by my own. {Looks lovingly upon Flora.) Fio. How came you so well-acquainted with your master's thoughts, Lissardo ? Lis. By an infallible rule, madam, words are the pictures of the mind, you know ; now, to prove he thinks of nothing but you, he talks of nothing but vou 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" 1 fk-w into the kitchen, ""uU of thoughts of thee, and cried, "Here, cook, roast me these Florellas." {To Flora.) Flora. Ha, ha ! excellent You mimic your mas- ter, then, it seems. {To Lissardo.) Lis. I can do every thing as well as my master, you little rogue {To Flora.) 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, 1 heard it so often, that it became as familiar to me as my prayers. Fio. You live very merrily, then, it seems. Lis. ('"i, exceeding merry, madam. {Kisses Flora's hunil.) Lio. Ha! exceeding merry? Had vou treats and balls ? Lis. Oh, yes, yes, madam, several. Flnra. Vou are mad, Lissardo; you don't mind wliat n)y lady says to you. {Apart to Lissardo.) THE WONDER. 13 Ilo. Ha ! balls ? Is he so merry in my absence ? l^Jside.) And did your master dance, Lissardo ? Lis. Dance, madam ! where, madam ? f^io. Why, at those balls you speak of. lyis. Balls ! what balls, madam ? T^io. Why, sure you are in love, Lissardo ; did not you say, but now, you had balls where you have been ? Lis. Balls, madam ! what balls, ma'am ? Odslife, I ask your pardon, madam ! I I I had mislaid some wash-balls of my master's, t'other dayj 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, madam ! No, no, poor gentleman, he is as melancholy as an unbraced drum. I'^io. Poor Felix ! There, wear that ring for your inaster's sake j and let him know I shall be ready to re- ceive him. [Exit, r.h. Lis. I shall, madam. (Puts on the ring.) Me- thinks a diamond ring is a vast addition to the little finger of a gentleman. {Af mires his hand.) Flora. That ring must be mine. {Aside.) Well, Lissardo what haste you make to pay off arrears now. Look how the fellow stands ! Lis. 'Egad, methinks I have a very pretty ham!;; and very white and the shape ! Faith, I never mind- ed it so mucii 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. Flora. The man's transported ! Is this your love ? This your impatience ? Lis. {TdJces snuff'.) Now, in my mind, I take snuff with a very jantce air Well, 1 am j)ersiia(led I want {Crosses to L.\i.) nothing but a coach and a title to make me a very fine gentleman. {Crosses to r.h.) Flora. Sweet Mr. Lissardo {Cnrtsci/x) if I may presume to speak to you, without allVonting your little finger Lis. Odso, madam, I ask your pardon Is it to nic or to tiie ring, you direct your discourse, madam ? c 14 THE WONDER. Flora. Madam, good lack ! How much a diamond ring improves one ! Lis. Wliy, though I say it I can carry myself as well as any body But what wcrt thou going to say, child? Flora. Wiiy, 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 sha'n't niarry yet awhile. Flora. You sha'n't, you say? Very well! I sup- pose you design that ring for Inis ? Lis. No, no; I never bribe an old acquaintance Perhaps f might let it sparkle in the eyes of a stranger a little, till we come to a right understanding but, then, like all other mortal things, it would return from whence it came. Flora. Insolent ! Is tliat your manner of dealing ? Lis. With all but thee Kiss me, you little rogue you. {I Fags her.) Flora. Little rogue ! Pr'ythee, fellow, don't be so familiar ; {Pushes him away) if I mayn't keep your ring, I can keep my kisses. Lis. You can, you say ? Spoke with the air of a chambermaid. Flora. Replied with the spirit of a serving-man. Lis. Pr'ythee, Flora, don't let you and I fall out ; I am in a merry humour, and shall certainly fall in some- where. Flora, What care I where you fall in. lie-enter VroLANTE, r.h. Vio. Wiiy do you keep Lissardo so long. Flora, when you don't know how soon my father may awake ? His afternoon naps arc never long. Flora. Had dou Felix been with her, she would not have thought the time long. These ladies consider noljody's wants but their own. {Aside.) I'lo. Go, go, let him out. THE WONDER. 15 Flora. Yes, madam. Lis. I fly, mudam. \ Exeunt Lissardo and Flora. Via. The day draws in, and niglit, the lover's friend, advances Night, more welcome than the sun to me, because it brings my love. Flora. (IVithin.) Ah, thieves, thieves ! murder, murder ! Fio. (Shrieks.) Ah, defend me, lieaven ! what do I hear ? Felix is certainly pursued, and will be taken. He-enter Flora, running, l.h. How now ! Why do^t stare so? Answer me quickly; what's the matter ? Flora. Oh, madam ! as I was letting out Lissardo, a gentleman rushed between him and I, .struck down my candle, and is bringing a dead person in his arms into our house. Plo. Ha I a dead person I heaven grant It does not prove my Felix. Flora. Here they are, madam, fio. ril retire, till you discover the meaning of this accident. \_Exif, w.n. Fnter Coi-oM'.r. I'lirroN, \..u. with J^ \nKr.i,.\ /// his ar!ir<, iilioiu lie sets do/r/i in a chair, /'<] 1 coiunut her, madam, to \our cue, aial )!v t(; i;i;!':e her r-treat se- cure ; if the street be cleai. pi inni \\\j 1 > return, and learn troni her own mouth ii 1 vww \ic lai ;'.;er service aide. l*rav, madam, what is rlie la.K- of tiiis hou'-e called? f 2 lb* THE WONDER. Flora. Violante, seignior. Col. B. Are you she, madam ? Flora. Only her woman, seignior. Col. B. Your humble servant, mistress. Pray lie careful of the lady. {Gives her tivo moidores and Fxit, l.h. Flora. Two moidores ! Well, he is a generous fel- low. Tills is the only way to make one careful. Re-enter Violante, u.h. Vio. Was you distracted. Flora, to tell my name to a man you never saw ? Unthinking wench ! Who knows what this may turn to? What, is the lady dead? Ah, defend mc, heaven ! 'tis Isabella, sister to my Falix. What has befallen her ? Pray heaven he's safe. Run and fetch some cold water. Stay, stay, Flora Isabella, friend, speak to me oh, speak to me, or I shall die with apprehension. Isa. Oh hold, my dearest father, do not force me ; indeed I cannot love him. Vio. How wild she talks ! Isa. Ha ! Where am I ? Vio. With one as sensible of thy pain as thou thy- self canst be. Isa. Violante ! what kind star preserved and lodged me here? Flora. It was a terrestrial star, called a man, madam j pray Jupiter he proves a lucky one. Isa. Oh ! I remember now. Forgive me, dear Vio- lante ; my thoughts ran so much upon the danger I escaped, I forgot. Vio. May 1 not know your story ? Isa. Thou art no stranger to one ])art of it. I have often told thee that my father designed to sacrifice me to don Guzman, who, it seems, is just returned from Holland, and expected ashore to-morrow, the day that he has set to celi-brate our rm})tials. Upon my refus- ing to c)bey him, he lockcnl me into my chamber, vow- ing to keep me there till he arrived, and force me to THE WONDER. 17 consent. I know my father to be positive, never to be won from his (icsign ; and having no hope left me to escape the marriage, 1 leap'd from the window into the street. Via. You have not liiirt yourself, f hope ? Isa. No ; a gentleman passing by, by accident, caught me in his arms : at first, my fright made me apprehend it was my father, till he assured me to the contrary. Flora. He is a very fine gentleman, I promise you, madam ; and a well-bred man, 1 warrant him. I think I never saw a grandee put his hand into his pocket witli a better air in my whole life-time ; then he open'd his purse with such a grace, that nothing but his manner of presenting me with tlie gold could equal. f 7o. There is but one common road to the heart of a servant, and 'tis impossible for a generous person to mistake it. (io leave us. Flora. {Exit Flora, R.n.) But how came you hither, Isabella r Isa. 1 know not ; I desired the stranger to convey me to the next monastry ; but ere I reach'd the door, I saw, or fancied that 1 saw, Lissardo, my brother's man ; and the thought that his master might not l)e far off, flung me into a swoon, which is all that J can re- member. Hal what's here? [Takes vp a Letter.) For i olonel lirit^ji. To he left at tlie jtost-hoiise in Lishon. 'I'his must be drupp'd by the stranger wlilch brought me hither. Vio. Thou art fallen inio the hands of a soldier; take care he does not lay tlue under coiilributioii, girl. Isa. J find he is a genllcinan ; and if lir is but un- married, I could bt- c-onlenl to foilorv him all the world over. Hut I shall nc.er see liini more, 1 i". ar. 'Siji^hs and jiauses.) f'io. What ma'>(s vou sigh, Isaliclla ? /vr/. 'J'he fear of I'aliiiig inlo i:',y father's elulches a .rail I. f io. (an I ]<.v s; r\ ieealtle to \oii - Jsa, \ cs, ii you conceal mc two or three davs, c .i 18 THE WONDER. P^o. You command my house and secresy. Isa. I thank you, Violante. I wish you would oblige me with Mrs. Flora, awhile. Tlo. I'll send her to you. I must watch if dad be still asleep, or here will be no room for Felix. [Exit, R.H. Isa. Well, I don't know what ails me ; methinks I wish I could find this stranger out. He-enter Flora, r.h. Flora. Does your ladyship want me, madam ? Isa. Ay, Mrs. Flora, I resolve to make you my confidant. Flora. I shall endeavour to discharge my duty, madam. Isa. I doubt it not ; and desire you to accept this as a token of my gratitude. Flora. O dear signora, I should have been your hum- ble servant without a fee. Isa. I believe it. But to the purpose do you think if you saw the gentleman which brought me hither, you should know him again? Flora. From a thousand, madam : I have an excel- lent memory where a handsome man is concerned. When he went away, he said he would return again immediately. I admire he comes not, Isa. Here, did you say? You rejoice me though I'll not see him, if he eomes. Could not you contrive to give him a letter? Flora. With the air of a dueima. Isa. Not in this house you must veil and follow lilm. lie must not know it eomes from me. Flora. What, do you take nie for a novice in love affairs ? Thougli I have not practised the art since 1 have been in doima Violante's service, yet I have not lost tlie theory of a chambermaid. Do you write the letter, and leave the rest to me here, here, here's pen, ink, and paper. Isa. I'll do it in a minute. {'Sits down to write.) THE WONDER. 19 Flora. So ! this is a business after my own heart : love always takes care to reward his labourers, and Great Britain seems to be his favourite country Oh, I long to see the other two nioidores with a British air. Methinks there's a grace peculiar to that nation, in making a present. Isa. So, 1 have done now if he does but find this house again. Flor. If he sliould not, I warrant I'll find him, if he's in Lisbon ; for I have a strong possession that he has two more moidores as good as ever were told. {Puts the Letter into her bosom.) I{e-cnferVioL\siB, r.h. /^?o. Flora, watch my papa; he's fast asleep in his study : if you find him stir, give me notice. {Felixtups at the window, L.H.) Hark, I hear Felix at the window, admit him instantly, and then to your post. [Exit Flora, l.h. Jsa. What say you, Violante? Is my brother come? - Vio. It is his signal at the window. Isa. (Kneels.) Oh, Violante ! I conjure tiiee by all the love thou bear'st to Felix, by thy own generous nature, nav more, by that unspotted virtue thou art mistress of, do not discover to my brother I am here! Fio. Contraiy To your desire, be assured I never shall. But w here's the danger? Isa. Art thou born in Lisbon, and ask tliat question ? He'll think his honour blemish(>(l by my disobedieiu-e ; and would restore me to my father, dr kill me : tiierc- fore, dear, dear girl Fio. Depend uj)on my friendship ; nolhing sli;;!l (haw the secret from these lips ; not even Ftlix, though at the hazard of his love, i hear him coming j retire into that closet. Isa. Remember, Violante, upon thy promise my very life depends. [Exit, k.u.d. Fio. When 1 betray thee, may 1 share thy fate ! 20 THE WONDER. Enter Fklix, t.h.d. My Felix ! my everlasting- love ! {Rims into his Arms.) Fel. Mv life ! my soul ! Violante! flo. What hazards dost thou run for me ? Oh, how shall I re(jiiite thee ? Fel. if, durliiii- tills tedious, painful exile, thy thoughts liave ne\ er wandered from thy Felix, thou hast made me more than satisfaetion. Fio. Can there he room within this heart for any but tliyself? A"o, if the god of love were lost to all the rest of humankind, thy image would secure him in my breast ; I am all trutli, all love, all faith, and know no jealous fcur,^. Fel. ?Jy heart's tlie proper sphere where love resides : eould lie q uit that, he would be no where found; ;ind yet, Violante, I'm in doubt. Fio. Did I ever give thee cause to doubt, my Felix ? 7V'/. 'i'rue love lias many fears, and fears as many _>es as finr.e; yet sure I think they see no fault in tJHc. S'>''''<-"1 Ih'iton taps at the ivitidoiv, l.h.) What's tliat ? {Taps again.) Fio. What? I hear nothing. {Agai7i.) Fel. Ha ! What means this signal at your window ? Fio. Somewhat, perhaps, in passing by, might ac- cidentally hit it; it can be notliing else. Col. Ji. {JVitldn.) Hist, iiist ! Donna Violante ! Donna Violante ! Fel. Tliey use your name by accident too, do they, miidam ? {Crosses to k.h.) Re-enter Fi.or.a, i,,H.n. Flora. There isagcnllemr.nat the window, madam, inch I faiicy to be the same who brought Isal)ella hither. Shall I admit him ? {Aside to Fiolanfe.) ^ /'io. .\(bnit distraction rather! Thou art the caube of thii, unthinking wretch ! (Aside.) THE WONDER. 21 Fel. What, has Mrs. Scout brought you fresh intel- ligence ? Death, I'll know the bottom of this imme- diately. {Offers to go.) Flora. Scout ! I scorn your words, seignior. Vio. Nay, nay, nay, you must not leave me. {Runs and catches hold of him.) FeL Oh ! 'tis not fair not to answer the gentleman, madam. It is none of his fault that his visit proves unseasonable. Pray let me go ; my presence is but a restraint upon you. (Struggles to get from her.) Flora. It must be the colonel now to deliver my letter to him. [^Aside and exit, l.h. The Colonel taps louder. Fel. Hark, he grows impatient at your delay. Why do you hold the man whose absence would oblige you ? Pray let me go, madam. Consider, the gentleman wants you at the window. Confusion ! (Struggles.) Vio. It is not mc he wants. Fel. Death ! not you ? Is there another of your name in the house? But come on, convince me of the truth of what you say ; open tlic window. If his business does not lie with yon, yuur conversation may be heard. Tiiis, and only this, can take off my suspicion. What, do you pause r Oh, guilt ! guilt ! Have I caught you ? Nay, then I'll leap the ])alc(>ny. If I remember, this way leads to it. {lireaks from her, and goes to u.h.d.) Vio. Hold, hold, lioki, hold ! not for the world you enter there ! Whicii way shall I preserve his sister from his knowledge? {Aside.) Fel. What, have I touch'd you? Do you fear your lover's life ? Via. I fear for none but you. For goodness' sake, do not speak so loud, my Felix. If my father hears you, lam lost for ever. Felix! Felix! your curio- sity shall be satisfied. {Goes to the irindoi'\ throws up the sash.) Whoe'er you are, that with such inso- lence dare use my name, and give the neighbourhood pretence to reflect upon my conduct, I eharge you in- stantly to be gone, or ex[cct the treatment you deserve. 22 THE WONDER. Col. B. T ask pardon, madam, and will obey ; but, when I left tiiis house to-night Fel. Good. llo. You are mistaken in the house I suppose, sir. Fel. No, no, he's not mistaken Pray, iriadam, let the gentleman go on. f'io. Pray be gone, sir, I know of no business you have here. Col. li. I wish 1 did not know it either But this house contains my soid ; then can you blame my body for hovering about it. Fel. Excellent. f'io. 1 tell you again you are mistaken ; however for your own satisfaction, call to-morrow. Fel. Mateliless impudence ! an assignation before my face No, he shall not live to meet your wishes. (Takes out a Pistol, tnul goes towards the fFindow; she catches hold of him.) Vio. Ah ! [Shrieks.) hold, I conjure you. Col. B. To-morrow's an age, madam ! May I not be admitted to-night? f^io. If you be a gentleman, I command your absence. Unfortunate, what will my stars do with me ? [Aside.) Col. B. I have done Only this Be careful of my life, for it is in your keeping. [Exit front the witidmv. Fel. Pray observe the gentlemaii's request, madam. [IFalksfrom her.) T'io. I um all confusion. Fel. You are all truth, all love, all faith: oh, thou all woiiicu I How have 1 been deceived. 'Sdcath, coidd you not have imposed upon me for this one night? Could neither my faithful love, nor the hazard I ha\c niti to see you, make me Avortliy to Ije cheated on. Oh, thou I'll). Cm 1 iK'ar this from you? [U^eeps.) Fel. (licpeafs.) " Wheni left this house to night" To-niuht, tlic devil ! returned so soosi 1 / KJ. Oh, Isabella! what ha;t thou involved me in? [Aside.) THE WONDER. 23 Fel. (Repeats). *' This house contains my soul." Oh, sweet soul ! Pio, Yet I resolve to keep the secret. {Aside.) Fel. (Repeats.) " Be careful of my life, for 'tis in your keeping" Damnation! How ugly she appears! [Looks at her.) J^lo. Do not look so sternly on me, but believe me, Felix, I have not injured you, nor am I false. FeL Not false, not injured me? Oh, Violante, lost and abandoned to thy vice! Not false ! Oh, monstrous! Fio. Indeed I am not There is a cause which I must not reveal Oh, tliink how far honour can oblige your sex Then allow a woman may be bound by the same rule to keep a secret. Fel. Honour ! VViiat iiast thou to do with honour, thou that canst admit plurality of lovers? A secret! ha, ha, ha I his affairs are wondrous safe, who trusts his secrets to a woman's keeping: but you need give yourself no trouble about clearing this point, madam, for you are become so indifferent to me, that your truth and falsehood are the same rio. My lo\e. Fel. My Torment ! Re-enter Flora, i-.h.d. Flora. So I ha\e delivered my letter to the colonel, and received my fee. Madam, your father bade me see what noise that was For goodness' sake, sir, why do you speak so loud? Fel. 1 understand my cue, mistress; my absence Is necessary, I'll oblige you. {Going, she takes ludd of hitn.) rio. Oh, let me undeceive you lir-t. Fel. Impossible. f'io. "J'is very [jossible, if 1 durst. Fel. Durst! ha, ha, ha! durst, (piotha ! rio. But another time Fll tell thee all. FeL Nay, now or nevrr. rif). Now it cannot Ijc. 24 THE WONDER. Fel. Then it shall never be. Thou most ungrateful of thy sex, farewell. [Breaks from Iter, and exit, l.h.d. Vio. Oh, exquisite trial of my friendship ! Yet not even this shall draw the secret from me. That I'll preserve, let fortune frown or smile 5 And trust to love, my love to reconcile. [Exit, R.H. B\n OF ACT II. ACT III. SCENE LA Street. Enter Don Lopez, l.h. Lo]). Was ever man thus plagued ! Odsheart ! I could swallow my dagger for madness ; I know not what to think; sure Frederic had no hand in her es- cape She must get out of the window ; and she could not do that without a ladder: and who could bring it her but him ? Aye, it must be so. This graceless bag- gage But I'll to Frederic immediately ; I'll take the alguazil willi me, and search his house; and if I find her, I'll use her by St. Anthony, I don't know how I'll use her. [Exit, r.h. E/iter Colonel Briton, with Isabf.lla's Letter i7i his /nnui; Gmny folloivi.-ii^, l.h. Col. B. Well, though I could not see my fair incog- nita, f(jrtunc', to make me amends, luis flung another intrigue in my way. Oh ! how I love these pretty, kind, coming females, that wont give a man the trouble on THE WONDER. 25 lacking his Invention to deceive them. This letter I received from a lady In a veil Some duenna : some necessary Implement of Cupid. I suppose the style is frank and easy, I hope like her that writ it. (Reads.) Sir, I have seen j/unr perso7i and like it very con- cise And if you'll mee^me at four o'clock in the morning upon the Terriero de Passa, half an hour's conversation will let me into your mind Ha, ha, ha ! a philosophical wench; this Is the first time I ever knew a woman liad any business with the mind of a man if your intellects answer your outtuard appearance, the adventure may not displease you. I expect you'll not attempt to see my face, nor offer any thing unhecom- i)ig the goitleman I take you for. Humph, the rentleman she takes me for! I hope she takes me to be flesh and blood, and then I'm sure I shall do nothing unbecoming a gentleman. Well, if I must not see her face, it shall go hard if 1 don't know where she lives. Gibby. Gihhy. Here and lik yer honour. Vol. B. Follow mc at a good distance, do vou hear, Gibby ? (iihhy. In troth dec T, weel eneugh, sir. Col. li. I am to meet a lady on the Terriero dc Passa. (Itihhy. The dccl an mine eyn gin I ken her, sir. V.ol. B. But you will when you come there, sirrah. Gihhy. Like eneugh, sir ; 1 have as sharp an eyn tul a bonny lass as ere a lad In aw Scotland: and what mun 1 dee wi' her, sir ? Col. B. Why, if she and I part, you nuist watch hor home, and bring nic word where she lives. (iihhy. In trolli, sail I, sir, gin the (k-el tak her not. ( ol. li. CoM)e along, then ; 'tis pretty n 'ar the time 1 like a woman tiiat rises early to j)ursue her incli- nation. Tims we improve the pleasures of the day, W iiile tasteless mortals sleep their time away. [Kvcunt, II. u. 26 THE WONDER. SCENE II. Frederic's House. Enter Inis and Lissardo, r.h. Lis. Your lady run away, and you know not whi- ther, say you ? Inis. She never greatly cared for me after finding you and I together : but you are very grave, methinks, Lissardo. Lis. {Looking on the Ring.) Not at all I have some thoughts, indeed, of altering my course of living ; there is a critical minute in every man's life, which, if he can but lay liold of, he may make his fortune. Inis. Ha! what do I see? a diamond ring! where the deuce had he that ring ? {Aside.) You have got a very pretty ring there, Lissardo. Lis. Ay, the trifle is pretty enough ; but the lady which gave it to me is a bona roba, in beauty, I assure you. {Cocks Ids hat, and struts.) Inis. I can't bear this the lady ! (Aside.) What lady, pray ? Lis. O fie ! There's a question to ask a gentleman. Inis. A gentleman ! Why the fellow's spoil'd ! Is this your love for me ? Ungrateful man, you'll break my heart, so you will. {Bursts into Tears.) Lis. Poor tender-hearted fool {Aside.) Inis. If I knew who gave you that ring, I'd tear her eyes out, so I would. {Sobs.) Lis. So, now the jade wants a little coaxing. {Aside.) Why, what dost weep for now my dear, ha ? Inis. I suppose Flora gave you that ring ; but I'll Lis. No, the devil take me if she did ; you make me swear now So, they are all for the ring; but I shall bob 'em. {Aside.) I did but joke ; the ring is none of mine, it is my master's ; I am to give it to be new set, that's all; therefore pr'ythee dry thy eyes, and kiss me, come. D 2 THE WONDER. 2? Enter Flora, unobserved, l.h. Inis. And do you really speak truth now ? Lis. Why do you doubt it ? Flwa. So, so, very well ! I thought there was an intrigue between him and Inis, for all he has for- sworn it so often. (Aside.) Jnis. Nor ha'n't you seen Flora, since you came to town? Flora. Ha ! how dares she mention my name ? {Aside.) Lis. No, by this kiss, I ha'n't. (Kisses her.) Flora. Here's a dissembling varlet. [Aside.) Inis. Nor don't you love her at all ? Lis. Love the devil ! why did I not always tell thee she was my aversion? Flora. Did you so, villain ? {Gives him a hox on the Ear.) Lis. Zounds, she's here ! I liave made a fine piece of work on't, {Aside.) Inis. What's that for, ha? {Goes up to her.) Flora. I sliall tell you ])y-and-by, Mrs. Fri})pcry, if you don't act about your business. Inis. VVbo do you call Frippery, Mrs Trollop? Pray get al)out your business, if you iro to that; I hope you pietendto no rigbt and title lure. Lis. Wbat the devil do tliey take me for an acre of land, that tliey quarrel about right and title to me ? {Aside.) Flora. Pray what right have you, mistress, to ask that que-'lion ? Inis. No matter for that, I can show a better title to him than you, I believe. Flora. W hat has he given thee nine montlis' earnest for a living title - ha, ha ! Inis Uon't fling your flaunting jests at me, Mrs. Boldface, for I wont take 'em, 1 assure you. D 2 28 THE WONDER. Lis. So, now I am as threat as tlie famed Alexander. But my dear Statira and Roxana, don't exert yourselves so much about me: now I fancy if you would agree lovingly together, I might, in a modest way, satisfy both your demands upon me. Flora. You satisfy ! No sirrah, I am not to be satis- fied so soon as you think, perhaps. Inis. No, nor I neither. What, do you make no difference between us ? Flora. You pitiful fellow, you ! What you fancy, I warrant, that I gave myself the trouble of dogging you out of love to your filthy person; but you are mis- taken, sirrah It was to detect your treachery How often have you sworn to me that you hated Inis, and only carried fair for the good cheer she gave you ; but that you could never like a woman with crooked legs, you said. Inis. How, how, sirrah, crooked legs ! Odds, I could find in my heart {Snatches up her petticoat a little.) Lis, Here's a lying young jade, now ! Pr'ythee, my dear, moderate thy passion. {Coaxingly.) Inis. I'd have you to know, sirrah, my legs were never Your master, 1 hope, understands legs better than you do, sirrah. {Passionately.) Lis, My master, so. {Shakes his Head, and winks.) Flora. I am glad I liave done some mischief, how- ever. {Aside.) Lis. {To Inis.) Art thou really so foolish to mind what an enraged woman says ? Don't you see she does it on jjurpose to part you and I? {Runs to Flora.) Could not you find the joke without putting yourself in a passion ? you silly girl, you. Why I saw you follow us plain enough, and said all tliis that you might not go back with only your labour for your pains liut you are a revengeful young slut tliough, I tell you that; but come, kiss and be friends. Flora. D'^)M't think to coax me hang your kisses. Fel. {Jllfhout, L.H.) Lissardo. Lis. Odshcarl, here's my master: the devil take both THE WONDER. 29 these jades for me, what shall I do with them ? Inis. Ha ! 'tis don Felix's voice ; I would not have him find me here with his footman for the world. (Aside.) Fel. {fFithoitt, L.u.) Why, Lissardo, LIssardo ! Lis. Coming, sir. What a plague will you do ? Flora. Bless me, which way shall I get out ? Lis. Nay, nay, you must e'en set your quarrel aside, and be content to be mew'd up in this clothes-press together, or stay where you are, and face it out there is no help for it. Flora. Put me anywhere, rather than that : come come, let me in. {He opens the Press, and she goes iu.) Inis. I'll see her hang'd before I'll go into the place where she is. I'll trust fortune with my deliverance. Here used to be a pair of back stairs : I'll try to find them out. [Exit, r.h.s.k. Enter Don Fklix and Frederic, l.h Fel. Was you asleep, sirrah, that you did not hear me call ? Lis. 1 did hear you, and answered you I was coming, sir. Fel. Go, get tlie horses ready ; I'll leave Lisbon to- night, never to see it more. Lis. Hey-day ! what's the matter now ? [Exit, L.n.u. Fred. Pray tell me, don Felix, what has ruffled your temper thus ? Fel, A woman Oh, friend, who can name woman, and forget iiic-onstaiicy ? Fred. This Iroin a person of mean education were excusable ; such low suspicions have their source from vulgar conversation; nun of your politer taste never rashly censure Come, this is some groundless jealousy Love rai-^es many fears. Fel. No, no ; my cars conveved llie truth into ni y iieart, and reason justifies my anger. Oh, my friend D 3 30 THE WONDER. Violantc's false, and I have notliing left but thee in, Lisbon, wliich can make me wisli ever to see it more ; except revons^e upon my rival, of whom I am ignorant. Oh, that some miracle would reveal him to me, that I might through his heart punish her infidelity ! Ite-eiiter hissARDO, l.h.d. Us. Oh, sir ! here's your father, don Lopez, coming up. lu^l. Does lie know that I am here ? J.i.s. 1 can't tell, sir ; he asked for don Frederic. Fred. Did lie see you ? Lis.. 1 believe not, sir ; for as soon as I saw him, I ran back to give my master notice. Fel. Keep out of his sight then. [^Exit Lissardo, l.h. And dear Frederic, permit me to retire into the next room, for I know the old gentleman will be very much displeased at my return without his leave. [Exit, r.ij.d. Fred. Quick, quick, be gone ; he is here. Enter Don Lopez, speaking as he enters, l.h.d. Lop. ]\Ir. Alguazil, wait you without till I call for you. Frederic, an affair brings me here which requires privacy so that if you have any body within ear-shot, pray order them to retire. Fred. We are private, my lord; speak freely. Lop. Why, then, sir, I must tell you that you had better have pitclied upon any man in Portugal to have injured than myself. Fred. 1 understand you not, my lord. Lop. "riioutrh 1 r.iii old, I liave a son Alas, why name I him? he knows not the dishonour of my house. Fred. I'.xplain yourself, my lord ; I am not consci- ous of any di>,ii()nourable action to any man, much less to your lordship. Lop. "J'is false ! vou have deb;uiched my daughter. Fred. My lord, 1 scorn so foul a charge. THE. WONDER. 31 Lop. You have debauched her duty at least, there- fore instantly restore her to me, or, by St. Anthony, I'll make you. Fred. Restore her, my lord ! where shall I find her ? Lop. I have those that will swear she is here in your house. Fred. You are misinformed, my lord ; upon my re- putation, I have not seen donna Issabella since the absence of don Felix. Lop. Then pray, sir if I am not too inquisitive, wliat motive had you for those objections you made against her marriage with don Guzman yesterday ? Fred. The disagreeableness of such a match, 1 fear'd would give your daughter cause to curse her duty, if she complied with your demands ; that was ail, my lord. Lop. And so you helped her through the window, to make her disobey. Fred. This is insulting me, my lord, wlien I assure you, I have neither seen nor known any thing of your daughter If she is gone, the contrivance was her own, and you may thank your rigour for it. Lop. Very well, sir; however, my rigour shall make bold to search your house. Here, call in the al- guazil Flora. (Preps.) The alguazil ! What, in the name of wonder, will become of me ? Fred. The alguazil ! My lord, you'll repent this. Enter Alguazil and Altemlants, l.h. Lop. No, sir, 'tis you that will repent it. I charge you, in the king's name, to assi-t me in (inding my daughter. 15e sure you leave no part of the house un- searched. Come, follow me. [dcfs Innards the Door triicrc Ftli.i is: Fre- deric dratcs, and plants liintsclf he/ore it.) Fred. Sir, 1 must first know by what autliority you pretend to search my house, before you enter here. Alg. How, sir, dare you presume to draw your 32 THE WONDER. sword upon the representative of majesty ? I am, sir, his majesty's alguazil, and the very quintessence of authority therefore put up your sword, or I shall order you to be kiiock'd down For know, sir, the breath of an alguazil is as dangerous as the breath of a demi- culverin. L"''. 'nto the bargain. B 38 THE WONDER. Isa. Has the last no incumbrance upon it ? Can you make a clear title, colonel ? Co/. B. All freehold, child ; and I'll afford thee a very good bargain. {Mmbraces her.) Gxhhy. O'niy sol, they male muckle words about it. Ise sair weary with standing ; Ise e'en take a sleep. (Aside. Lies doivn.) Isa. If I take a lease, it must be for life, colonel. Col. li. Thou slialt have me as long, or as little time as thou wilt, my dear. Come let's to my lodging, and we'll sign and seal this minute. Isa. Oh, not so fast, colonel ; there are many things to be adjusted, before the lawyer and the parson comes. Col. B. The lawyer and parson ? No, no, you little rogue, we can finish our afl^airs without the help of the law or the gospel. Isa. Indeed but we can't, colonel; Col. B. Indeed ! Why, hast thou llicn trepanned me out of my warm bed this morning for nothing ? Why, this is showing a man, half-famish'd, a well- furnish'd larder, then clapping a padlock on the door, till you starve him quite. Isa. If you can find in your heart to say grace, colonel, you shall keep the key. Col. B. I love to see my meat before I give thanks, madam ; therefore uncover thy face, child, and I'll tell thee more of my mind. If I like you Isa. I dare not risk my reputation upon your ifs, colonel, and so adieu. {Going.) Col. B. Nay, nay, nay, we must not part. Isa. As you ever hope to see me more, suspend your curiosity now ; one step further loses me for ever. Show yourself a man of honour, and you shall find me a woman of honour. C()l. B. Well, for once, I'll trust to a bUnd bargain, madam. [Kises her Hand. Exit Isahella, l.h.] But I shall be too cunning for your ladyship, if Gibby observes my orders. Melhinks, these intrigues which relate to the mind are very insipid the conversation of bodies is nmch more diverting. Ha ! what do I THE WONDER. 39 see ? my rascal asleep ! Sirrah, did not I charge you to watch the lady ? And is it thus you observe my orders, yo u dog ? {Kicks Gibhij all this while; Gibhj shrugs, rubs his eyes, and yuivns. Gihby. That's true, and like yer honour; but I thought when yence you had her in yer ane bonds, ye might a ordered her yer sel well eneugh without me, en ye ken, an like yer honour. Col. B. Sirrah, hold your impertinent tongue, and make haste after lier, 11" you don't bring me some ac- count of her, never dare to see my face again. [Exit, R.H. Gihby. Ay, this is bony wark indeed ! to run three hundred mile to this wicked town, and before I can well fill mv wcam, to be sent a whore-hunting after this black she-devil ! What gate sal I gang to speer for this wutch now? Ah, for a ruling elder or the kirk's trea- surer or his mon I'd gar my master mak twa o'this. But I am sure tliere's na sick honest people here, or there wud na be sa mickle sculddudrie. Kilter a Soldier, ix.u. ])assi}ig along. Good mon, did ye see a woman, a ladv, ony gate here awe ecu now ? Sol. Yes, a gn-at many. VViiat kind of a woman is it you enquire after ? Gibhy. (ieud trotli, she's na kenspekle ; she's aw In a cloud. Sot. What, 'tis some Highland monster, wliieli you brought over with you, I suppose. I see no >ueh, not I. Kenspekle, ({uotha ! GiUhy. Huly, huly, mon ; the deel pike out yer cen, and then ye'll see the bater, ve i'ortiguise tike. S(,l. VVhat says the fellow'? {Turns to Gihby.) Gihby. Say? I say I am a l)ettir fellow than e'er stude ujxjn your sjianks and gin 1 lieer mair o'yer din, (leel o'my saui, sir, but Ise crack your croon. A'V. (jict you gone, vou Scotcli rascal, and thank E 2 40 THE WONDER. vour hcatlien dialect, whicli I don't understand, that you ha'n't your bones broke. Gihhy. Ay, an ye dinna understond a Scotsman's tongue, Ise see gin ye can understond a Scotsman's gripe. Wha's the better mon now, sir ? {Lays hold of him, strikes up his heels, and gets astride over him.) ViOLANTE crosses the stage, r.h. Gibbv Jumps front the Soldier, and brushes up to her. I vow, madam, but I am glad tliat ye and I are fore- gather'd. [Exit Soldier, l.h. F20. What would the fellow have ? Gihhy. Nothing away, madam, no worth yer heart, what a muckle deal o' mischief had you like to bring upon poor Gibby ! Vio. The man's drunk. Gihhy. In troth am I not. And gin I had no found ye, madam, the Laird knows when I should ; for my master bad me ne'er gang hame without tidings of ye, madam. Vio. Sirrah, get about your business, or I'll have vour bones drubb'd. Gihhy. Geud faith, my malster has e'en done that t'vcr bonds, madam. Fio. Who is your master, sir r Gihhy. Mony a ane speers the gate they ken right weel. It is no sa lang sen ye parted wi' him. 1 wish lie ken ye hafe as weel as 3c ken him. Vio. Poll, the creature's mad, or mistakes me for somebody else ; and I should be as mad as he, to talk to him any longer. {Enters Don Pedro's House, l.h.d.) J'Mter Lr^sARDo, a.ii.u.K. Lis. So, she's gcjuc home, I se.'. \Miat did that Scotch fellow wimt with her ? Til try to find it out ; THE WONDER. 41 perhaps I may discover something that may make ray master friends with me again. Gihhy. Are ye gone, madam ? A deel scope in yer company; for I'm as weese as 1 was. But I'll bide and see wha's house it is, gin I can meet with ony civil body to speer at. [Turns and sees Lissardo.) My lad, wot ye wlia lives here? Lis. Don Pedro de Mendoza. Gihhy. And did you see a lady gang in but now ? lAs. Yes, I did. Gibhy. And d'ye ken her tee ? Lis: It was donna Violante, his daugiiter. What tlie devil makes him so inquisitive ! Here is something in it, that's certain. [Aside.) 'Tis a cold morning, brother, what tliink you of a dram? Gihhy. In troth, veryweel, sir. Lis. You seem an honest fellow; pr'ythee, let's drink to Our l)etter acquaintance. Gihhy. Wi' aw my heart, sir, gang your gate to the next house, and Ise follow ye. Lis. Come, along then. [Exit, r.h Gihhy. Don Pedro de Mendoza Donna Violante, his daiighter Tiiut's as riglit as my leg, now Ise need )ia mare; I'll tak a drink, and then to my maister. I'll bring hiin news will mak his heart full blec ; Gin he rewards it not, deel jnnip for nic. [Exit, v.u. END OK ACT IK. ACT IV. SCl^NI:^ I. fiola/ite's Lodging :. Enter IsAni:i.r,A, in (( ii'/^iy fonper, nml Vioi.ANiK, ftiit of liuitKnir, I. .11. Isd. My dear, 1 have been seeking yuu liiis half hour, to tell von the most lucky adventure. li 6 42 THE WONDER. Vio. And you have pitched upon the most unlucky hour for it, that you could possibly have found in the whole four and twenty. Isa. Hang unlucky hours, I wont think of them; I hope all my misfortunes are past, I'iu. And mine all to come. Isd. 1 have seen the man 1 like. I^io. And 1 have seen the man that I could wisli to hate. Isa. And you must assist me in discovering whether he can like me or not. Vio, You have assisted me in such a discovery al- ready, I tliank ye. Isa. What say you, m'y dear ? Vio. I say I am very unlucky at discoveries, Isa- bella ; I have too lately made one pernicious to my case; your brother is false. Isa. Im])ossible ! Vio. Most true. Isa. Some villain has traduced him to you. Vio. No, Isabella, 1 love too well to trust the eyes of others; I never credit the ill-judging world, or form suspicions upon vulgar censures ; no, I had ocular proof of his ingratitude. Isa. Then I am most unhappy. My brother was tlie only pledge of faith betwixt us; if he has forfeited your favour, 1 have no title to your friendship. /7o. You wrong my friendship, Isabella; your own merit entitles you to everything within my power. Isa. Generous maid But may I not know what grounds you have to think my brother faUe ? Vio. Another time. But tell me, Is;ibella, how can I serve you ? _ Isa. Thus, then The gentleman that brought me hither, J have seen and talked will-. u!?on the Terriero f'e Pas-a this mdrning ; and I iind him a man of sense, ffnero-iiy, and good-humour: in t-liort, he is every tiiing that 1 eowid like for a hu:^band, and 1 have di-.- )-ite!ic-d Mrs. Flora to bring him hillier I hope you'H lorgivc the liberty I have taken. THE WONDER. 43 yio. Hither ! to what purpose ? Isa. To the great universal purpose, matrimony. Vio. Matrimony ! Why, do you design to ask him ? Isa. No, Violante, you must do that for me. Vio, I thank you for the favour you design mc, but desire to be excused : I manage my own affairs too ill, to be trusted with those of other people ; I can't, for my life, admire your conduct to encourage a person altogether unknown to you. 'Twas very imprudent to meet him this morning, but much more so to send for him hither, knowing what inconveniency you have al- ready drawn upon me. Isa. I am not insensible how far my misfortunes have embarrassed you ; and, if you please, will sacri- fice my quiet to your own. Vio. Unkindly urged ! Have I not preferred your happiness to every thing that's dear to me ? Isa. I know thou hast ; then do not deny me this last request, when a few hours, perhaps, may render my condition able to clear thy fame, and bring my bro- ther to thy feet for pardon. Vio. I wish you don't repent of this intrigue. I sup- pose he knows you are the same woman that lie broug!it in here last night? fsa. Not a syllal)le of that: I nu-t him veiled; and to prevent his knowing tiie house, 1 ordered Mrs. Flora to bring him by the back-door into the garden. Vio. The very way which Felix comes; if tlicy should meet, there would be line work. Indeed, my dear, I can't approve of your design. Fjiiter Fi.oKA, i..n. Flora. Madam, the colonel waii>- \<)ur j)ie;!sure. Vio. How durst you go ujion such a me^.^age, mis- tress, without ac(|uaintini: nic r Flora. So, I am huffed inr e\er\thing. Isa. ' Tis too late to disputr tliai now, dear Violante; 1 acknowledge the rashness of the action but consider tiie necessity of my deliverance. K 3 44 THE WONDER. Fio. That, indeedj is a weighty consideration: well, what am I to do ? fsa. In the next room I'll give you instructions -In the mean time, Mrs. Flora, show the colonel into this. [Exeunt Flora, l.ii.d, hahellaund Violimte, r.h. lie-enter Flora, tvith Colonel Briton, l.h.d. Fiord. The lady will wait on you presently, sir. [Exit, R.H. Col. B. Very well. This is a very fruitful soil : I have not been here quite four-and-tvventy hours, and I have three intrigues upon my hands already j but I hate the chase without partaking of the game. Bc-entcr Violantk, r.h. veiled. Ha ! a fine-sized woman Pray heaven she proves handsome. {Aidde.) J am come to obey your lady- ship's comnninds. Via. Are you sure of that, colonel ? CoL B. If you be uot very unreasonable, indeed, madam. A wvaw is but a man. {Takes her hand, and kisses it.) Vio. Nay, we have no time for compliments, co- lonel. Co/. B. I understand you, madam Montrez moi votre chanibie. {Takes her in his amis.) Fio. Nay, nay, hold, colonel, my bed-chamber is nut to be entered without a certain purchase. (ill. B. Purcluise ! Huiuph, this Is some kept mis- tress, 1 suppose, wiio industriously lets out her leisure liours. {Aside.) Look you, madam, you must consi- der we soldiers are not overstocked with money But wc make ample sati^faciion in love; we have a world of eour;;ue upon our hands now, you know Then, pr'ytlue, use a conscience, and I'll try if my pocket can come uj) to your price. Fio. Nay, don't give yourself the trouble of draw- THE WONDER. 45 ing your purse, colonel ; my design Is levelled at your person, if that be at your own disposal. Co/. B. Ay, that it is j faith, madam, and I'll settle it as firmly upon thee Vio, As Taw can do it ? Col, B. Hang law in love affairs ; thou shalt have right and title to it out of pure inclination. A matri- monial hint again. {Aside.) Vw. Then you have an aversion to matrimony, co- lonel ? Did you never see a woman, in all your travels, that you could like for a wife ? Col. B. A very odd question. {Aside.) Do you really expect that I should speak truth, now ? Vio. 1 do, if you expect to be dealt with, colonel. Col. B. Why, then yes. P'io. Is she in your country, or this ? Col. B. This Is a very pretty kind of a catechism ! {Aside.) In this town, 1 believe, madam, Vio, Her name is Col. B. Ay, how is she call'd, madam ? Vio. Nay, I ask you that, sir. Col. B. Oil, oh, why she is called Pray, madam, how is it you spell your name ? Vio. Oh, colonel, I am not tlic liappy woman, nor do I wish it. Col. B. No : I'm sorry for tliat. What the devil does she mean Ijy all these (juestloiis ? {Aside.) Vio. Come, colonel, for once l)e sincere [)crhaps you may not repent it. Col. B. This is like to I)e but a slllv adventure, here's so much sinceritv required. {Aside.) Faith, madam, I have an inclination to' sincerity; but I'm afraid you'll call my manners in (pustion. Vio. Not at all ; 1 prefer Iruth before complhuent, in this alfalr. Col. B. W^iiy, then, to be ])lain with you, ina'Iain a lady la>t night wounded niv lu-art t)y a lall IVoiu a window, wiiose person 1 could be content to take, as my father took my mother, till dcuili tlo us |)art; but 4C) THE WONDER. whom she Is, or how distinguished, whether maid, wife, or widow, I can't inform you. Perhaps you are siic ? flo. Not to keep you in suspense, I am not she, but I can give you an account of her. That lady is a maid of condition, lias ten thousand pounds ; and if you are a single man, her person and fortune are at your ser- vice. Col. B. I accept the offer with the highest trans- ports ; but say, my charming angel, art thou not she? {Offers to emhruve her.) Vio. Once again, colonel, I tell you I am not she but at six this evening you shall find her on the Ter- riero de Passa, with a white handkerchief in her hand. Get a priest ready, and you know the rest. Col. 1). I shall infallibly observe your directions, madam. He-enter Flora, r.h. hastily, and whispers Vio- LANTE, who starts and seems surprised. Vio. Ha ! Felix crossing the garden, say you ? what shall 1 do now ? Col. B. You seem surprised, madam. Vio. Oh, colonel, my father is coming hither j and if he finds you here I am ruin'd. Col. 11. Odslife, madam, thrust me anywhere. Can't 1 go out this way ? Vio. \o, no, no, he comes that way. How shall I prevent their meeting? Here, here, step into my bed- chamber Col. B. Oh, the best place in the world, madam. ^ /7o. And be still, as you value her you love. Don't stir till you've notice, as ever you hope to have her in your arms. Col. B. On that condition, I'll not breathe. [Exit, R.H.D. Tlnter Fklix, l.h.d. Fil. I wonder where this dog of a serviint is all this THE WONDER. 4^ while ! But slie is at home, I find How coldly she re- gards me ! {Aside.) You look, Violante, as if the sight of me were troublesome to you. Vio. Can I do otherwise, when you have the assur- ance to approach me, after what 1 saw to-day ? Fcl. Assurance! rather call it good-nature, after what I heard last night. But such regard to honour have I in my love to you, I cannot bear to be suspected, nor suflFer you to entertain false notions of my truth, without endeavouring to convince you of my inno- cence 5 so much good-nature have I more than you, Violante. Pray give me leave to ask your woman one question ; my man assures me she was the person you saw at my lodgings. Flora. I confess it, madam, and ask your pardon. Vio. Impudent baggage, not to undeceive me sooner! What business could you have there? Ftl. Lissardo and she, it seems, imitate you and I. Flora. I love to follow the example of my betters, madam. Fel. I hope I am justified Vio. Since we are to part, Felix, there needs no jus- tification. Fel. Metiiinks you talk of parting as a thing indif- ferent to you. Can you forget how I have loved ? f^io. I wish I could forget my ovvn passion, I should with less concern remember youi's But, for JNIrs, Flora Fcl. You must forgive her Must, did I say ? I fear 1 have no [)ower to impose, though the injury was done to me. Vio. 'Tis harder to pardon an Injury done to what we love than to ourselves; but, at your re([uest, Felix, 1 do forgive her. Go watch my father, Flora, lest he should awake, and surprize us. Flora. Yes, madam. [F.vit, u.li. Fcl. F)ost tliou, then, love me, Violante ? Vio. What need of repetition from my tongue, when every look confesses what you ask? Fcl. Oh, let no man judge of love but those who 48 THE WONDER. feel it ! what wondrous magic lies in one kind look ! One tender word destroys a lover's rage, and melts his fiercest passion into soft complaint. Oh, the window, Violante ; wouldst thou but clear that one suspicion ! Via. Pi'ythee, no more of that, my Felix; a little time shall bring thee perfect satisfaction. Fel. Well, Violante, on condition you think no more of a monastery, I'll wait witii patience for this mighty secret. Via. Ah, Felix, love generally gets the better of re- ligion in lis women. Resolutions made in the heat of passion ever dissolve upon reconciliation. He-enter Flora, r.h. hastihj. Flora. Oh, madam, madam, madam, my lord, your father, has been in the house, and locked the back door, and comes muttering to himself this way. Vio, Then we are caught. Now, Felix, we are undone. Fel. Heaven forbid ! This is most unlucky ! Let me step into your bed-chamber, he wont look under the bed ; there I may conceal myself. {Runs to the door^ and pushes it open a little.) Vio. No, no, Felix, that's no safe place ; my father often goes thither ; and should you cough, or sneeze, we are lost. Fel. Either my eye deceived me, or I saw a man within, ril watch him close. {Aside.) Flora. Oh, invention, invention ! 1 have it, madam. Here, here, sir : off with your sword, and V\\ fetch you a disguise. " [Exit, r.h. s.e. _ Fel. She shall deal with the devil, if she conveys him out without my knowledge. (Aside.) Vio. Bless me, how 1 tremble ! Re-enter Flora, r.h. s.e. with a riding-hood. I'lora. Here, sir, put on this. Be sure you don't speak a word. THE WONDER. 49 JV/. Not for the Indies. (Ptits on the hood.) Fed. {Within, l.h.) Why, how came the garden- door open ? Enter Don Pkdro, l.h.d. Ha ! how now ! Who have we here ? Flora. 'Tis my motlier, and please you^ sir, {She and Felix curtsey.) Fed. Your mother ! By St. Andrew she's a strapper; why you are a dwarf to her. How many children have you, good woman ? Via. Oh, if he speaks we are lost ! {Aside.) Flora. Oh, dear seignior, she cannot liear you ; she has been deaf these twenty years. Fed. Alas, poor woman ! Why, you muffle her up as if she was blind too; turn up her hood. f^io. Undone for ever ! St. Anthony forbid. {Aside.) Oh, sir, she has the dreadfuUest unlucky eyes Pray don't look upon them ; I made her keep her hood shut on purpose Oh, oh, oh, oh ! Fed. Eyes ! Why, what's the matter with her eyes ? Flora. My poor mother, sir, is much afflicted with the colic; and, about two months ago, she had it grievously in her stomach, and was over-persuaded to take a dram of filthy English Geneva, which imme- diately flew up into her head, and caused such a de- Huxion in her eyes, that she could never since bear the day-light. Fed. Say you so ? Poor woman ! Well, make her sit down, Violante, and give her a glass of wine. Fio. I^et her daughter give her a glass below, sir; for my part, she has frighten'd me so, I sha'n't be my- self these two hours. I am sure her eyes are evil eyes. Fed. Well, well, do so Evil eyes ! there arc no evil eyes, child. Flora. Come along, motlier. {Spcahs loud.) Fed. Good bye, good woman. '[^Exeunt Felix and Flora, l.h.d. F 50 THE WONDER. P'io. I'm glad he's gone. {Aside.) Fed. Hast thou heard the news, Violante? Via. What news, sir? Fed. VVliy, Vasquez tells me, that don Lopez's daughter, Lahella, is run away from her lather; that lord ha^ very ill fortune with his children. Well, I'm glad inv daughter has no inclination to mankind, that my house is jdagued with no suitors. [Aside.) Viu. 'I'his is the first word I ever heard of it ; I pity her frailty ! Fed. Well said, Violante. Next week I intend thy happiness shall begin. Re-enter Flora, l.h.d. /7o. I don't intend so stay so long, thank you, papa. {Aside.) Fed. My lady abbess writes word she longs to see thee, and has provided evcrytliing in order for tiiy re- ception. Thou wilt lead a happy life, my girl fifty times before that of matrimony, where an extravagant coxcomb might make a beggar of thee, or an ill-natured surly dog break thy heart. Flora. Break her heart ! She had as good have her hones broke as to be a nun ; I am sure I had rather, of tlie two. {Aside.) You are wondrous kind, sir ; but if 1 had such a father, I know what I would do. Fed. Why, what would you do, minx, ha ? Flora. I would tell liim I had as good a right and title to the law of nature, and the end of the creation, as he had. Fed. You would, mistress! who the devil doubts it? A good assurance is a chambermaid's coat of arms; and lying and contriving, the supporters. Your inclina- tions are on tiptoe, it seems If I were your father, housewife, I'd have a penance enjoined you, so strict, that you shculd not be able to turn you in your bed for a inonth. You arc enough to spoil your lady, house- wife, if she had not auundancc of devotion. Fio, Fie, Flora, are you not ashamed to talk thus to THE WONDER. 51 my father ? You said, yesterday, you would be glad to go with me into the monastery. Flora. Did I ? I told a great lie, then. Fed. She go with thee ! No, no ; she's enough to debauch the wliole convent. Well, child, remember what I said to thee : next week Vio, Aye, and what I am to do this, too. {Aside.) I am all obedience, sir ; 1 care not how soon I change my condition. Fed. Well said, Violante. Well, child, I am going into the country for two or three days, to settle some afifairs with thy uncle ; and when I return, we'll pro- vide for thy happiness, child Good bye, Violante ; take care of thyself. [^Exeunt Don Fedro and Violante, t-.h. Flora. So, now for the colonel. Hist, hist, colonel. Re-enter Colonel Briton, r.h. Co/. B. Is the coast clear? Flora. Yes, if you can climb ; for you must get over the wash-house, and jump from the garden-wall into the street. Col. li. Nay, nay, 1 don't value my neck, if my in- cognita answers but thy lady's jjromisc. [Fxeunt Colo)if;l Briton and Flora, r.h. Re-enter Felix, l.h.d. Fel. I have lain perdue under the stairs, till I watch- ed the old man uut, {Fiolante opens the door.) 'Sdeath, lam prevented. [Exit, l.h. Jtc-entcr Violantk, i-.n.n. I'^io. Now to set mv |)ri<()ncr at liberty. {Goes to the door ic/irre the i'oUniel was hid.) Sir, sir, you may appear. F 2 52 THE WONDER. Re-eiiter Fklix, ^..vi. following her. Fel. May he so, madam ? I had cause for my sus- picion, I find. Treacherous woman ! Via. Ha, Felix here ! Nay, then, all's discovered. Aside.) Fel. {Draws.) Villain, whoever thou art, come out, I charge thee, and take the reward of thy adulterous errand. Via. What shall I say? Nothing but the secret which I have sworn to keep, can reconcile this quarrel. (Aside.) Fel. A coward! Nay, then, I'll fetch you out. Think not to hide thyself j no, by St. Anthony, an altar should not protect thee. [Exit, r.h.d. Via. Defend me, heaven? What shall I do? I must discover Isabella, or here will be murder. {Aside.) Re-enter Flora, r.h.s.e. Flora. I have help'd the colonel off clear, madam. [Eont, L.H. Fio. Say'st thou so, my girl ? Then 1 am arra'd. lie-enter Felix, r.h.d. Fel. Where has the devil, in compliance to your sex, convey'd him from my resentment ? Vio. Him, whom do you mean ? my dear, inquisi- tive spark ? Ha, ha, ha, will you never leave these jealous whims. Fel. Will you never cease to impose upon me ? Fio. You impose upon yourself, my dear. Do you think I did not see you? Yes, 1 did, and resolved to [)ut this trick upon you. Fel. Trick ! Vio. Yes, trick. I knew you'd take the hint, and THE WONDER. 53 soon relapse into your wonted error. How easily your jealousy is fired ! I shall have a blessed life with you. Fel. Was there nothing in it then, but only to try me ? Via. Wont you believe your eyes ? Fel. My eyes ! no, nor my ears, nor any of my senses, for they have all deceived me. (Crosses to l.h.) Well, J am convinced that faith is as necessary in love as in religion ; for the moment a man lets a woman know her conquest, he resigns his senses, and sees nothing hut what she'd have him. Fio. And as soon as that man finds his luve returned, she becomes as errant a slave as if she had already said after the priest. Fel. The priest, Violante, would dissiT)ate those fears which cause these quarrels; when wilt thou make me liappy ? Vio. To-morrow I will tell thee ; my father is gone for two or three days to my uncle's ; we have time enough to finish our affairs. But, pr'ythee, leave me now, lest some accident sliould bring my father. Fel. To-morrow, then Fly swift, ye hours, and l)ring to morrow on But must I leave you now, my Violante? Vio. You must, my Felix. We soon shall meet to part no more. Fel. Oh, rapt'rous sounds ! Charming woman 1 Thy words and looks iiave fiU'd my heart With joy, and left no room for jealousy. Do thou, like me, each doubt and fear remove. And all to come be confidence and love. [Exeunt, Felix, l.h. Violante, r.ii. liND OK ACT IV. y .\ 54 THE WONDER. ACT V. SCENE I. Frederic's House. Enter Felix WfZ Frederic, r.h. Fel. This hour has been propitious ? I am reconciled to Violante, and you assure me Antonio is out of dan- Fred. Your satisfaction is doubly mine. Enter Lissardo, l.ii. Fel. What haste you made, sirrah, to bring me word if Violante went home. Lis. I can give you very good reasons for my stay, sir. Yes, sir, she went home. Fred. Oh 1 your master knows that, for he has been there himself, Lissardo. Lis. Sir, may I beg the favour of your ear ? Fel. Wliat have you to say ? {JVIdspers, and Felix seems vneasy.) Fred. Ha ! Felix changes colour at Lissardo's news. What can it be ? Fel. A Scotch footman, that belongs to colonel Bri- ton, an acquaintance of Frederic's, say you ? The devil 1 If she be false, by heaven I'll trace her. {JVhispers Lis. and sends him nff\ l.h.) (Aside.) Pr'ytliee, Frederic, do you know one colonel ]5riton, a Scotchman ? Fred. Yes. Why do you ask me? Fel. Nay, no great nuittcr : but mv man tells me that he has had some little dilieronces with a servant of his, that's all. Fred. He is a good, harmless, innocent fellow ; I am sorry for it. The eolonel lodges in my house ; 1 knew him formerly in England, and met him here by accident last night, and gave him an invitation home. He is a gentleman of gocxl estate, besides his commission ; of excellent jirineipks, and strict honour, I assure you. THE WONDER. 55 Fel. Is he a man of intrigue ? Fred. Like other men, I suppose. Here he comes. Enter Colonel Briton, l.h. Colonel, I began to think I had lost you. Col. B. x\nd not without some reason, if you knew all. Fel. There's no danger of a fine gentleman's being lost in this town, sir. Col. B. That compliment don't belong to me, sir but I assure you I have been very near being run away with. Fred. Who attempted it ? Col. B. Faith, I know not only that she is a charm- ing woman ; I mean as mucli as 1 saw of her. Fel. My heart swells with apprehension. {Aside.) Some accidental rencounter ? Fred. A tavern, 1 suppose, adjusted the matter. Col. B. A tavern ? No, no, sir, she is above tliat rank, 1 assure youj this nymph sleeps in a velvet bed, and lodgings every way agreeable. Fel. How ! a velvet bed ! {Aside.) I thought you said but nov/, sir, you knew her not. Col. B. No more I don't, sir. Fel. How came you then so well acquainted with her bed? Fred. Aye, aye, come, come, unfold. Col. B. Why then you must know, gentlemen, that 1 was conveyed to her lodgings, by one of Cupid's emissaries, called a eluunbermaid, in a ehair, through fifty blind alleys, who, by tiie help of a key, let me into a garden. Fel. '^dealh, a garden ! This must be Violante's garden. {Aside.) Col. B. From thence conducted nw into a spaclou?: room, told me her lady would wait on me presently ; so, without unveiling, modestly withdrew. Fel. Dauui her modesty! this was Flora. {Aside.) Fred. Well, how then. Colonel ? Col. B. Then, sir, inmiediately from auotlicr door 56 THE WONDER. issued fortli a lady, ann'd at both eyes, from wlience such showers of darts fell around me, that had I not been cover'd with the shield of another beauty, I had infallibly fallen a martyr to lier charms : for, you must know, I just saw her eyes eyes, did I say r No, no, hold, 1 saw but one eye, though I suppose it had a fel- low equally as killing. i*6'/. But how came you to see her bed, sir ? 'Sdeath, tliis expectation gives a thousand racks. (^^zV/e.) Co/. B. Why, upon her maid's giving notice her father was coming, she thrust me into the bed-chamber. Fel. I 'pon lier father's coming ? Col. B. Aye, so she said ; but putting my ear to the key-hole of the door, 1 found it was another lover. Fcl. Confound the jilt! 'Twas she, without dispute. (Aside.) Fred. Ah, poor colonel! ha, ha, ha! Col. Ji. 1 discover'd they had had a quarrel, but whe- ther they were reconciled or not, 1 can't tell; for the second alarm brought the father in good earnest, and had like to have made the gentleman and I acquainted; but she found some other stratagem to convey liim out. Fel. Contagion seize her, and make her body ugly as her soul ! There is nothing left to doubt of now ' lis plain 'twas she. (Fred, and Col. laugh.) Sure lie laiows me, and takes this method to insult me. \Such an uncom- mon rudeness, as the most profligate wretch would be o 3 66 THE WONDER. ashamed to own. As I was at my devotions in my closet JFel. Devotions ! Plo. 1 heard a loud knocking at my door, mix'd with a woman's voice, which seemed to imply she was in danger. I flew to the door with the utmost speed, where a lady, veil'd, rush'd in upon me, who, falling on her knees, begged my protection from a gentleman, who, she said, pursued her. I took compassion on her tears, and locked her in this closet j but, in the sur- prise, having left open the door, this very person whom you see, with his sword drawn, ran :n, protesting, if I refused to give her up to his revenge, he'd force the door. Fel. What, in the name of goodness, does she mean to do ? hang me ! {Aside.) Vio. 1 strove with him till I was out of breath, and had you not come as you did, he must have entered Rnt he's in drink, I suppose, or he could not have been guilty of such an indecorum. {Signs to Felix.) Ped. I'm amazed ! Fel, The devil never fail'd a woman at a pinch : wliat a tale has she form'd in a minute In drink, quotha : a good hint ; I'll lay hold on't to bring my- self off. (Aside.) Ped. Fie, don Felix ! No sooner rid of one broil, but you are commencing another. To assault a lady with a naked sword derogates much from the character of a gentleman, I assure you. Fel. {Counterfeits dnmkenness.) Who? I assault a lady ! Upon honour the lady assaulted me, sir, and would have siczed this body politic upon the king's liighway Let her come out, and deny it, if she can. Pray, sir, command the door to be open'd, and let her prove nie a liar, if she knows how. Ped. Aye, aye, who doubts it, sir? Open the door, \iolaute, and let the lady come out. Come, I warrant thee he sha'n't hurt her. Fel. No, no, 1 wont hurt the dear creature. Now wjiich way will she come off? {Aside.) THE WONDER. 67 Vio. {Unlocks the door.) Come forth, madam; none shall dare to touch your veil I'll convey you out with safety, or lose my life. I hope she understands me. {Aside.) Re-enter Isabella^ k.h.d. veiled^ who crosses the Stage. Isa. Excellent girl ! [Exit, l.h. Fel. The devil ! a woman ! I'll see if she be really so. {Aside.) Vio. Get clear of my father, and follow me to the Terriero de Passa, when all mistakes shall he rectified. {Apart to Felix, and Fxit, l.h. Felix offers to follow her.) Fed. (Draws his sword.) Not a step, sir, till the lady be past your recovery ; 1 never sutler the laws of hospitality 10 be violated in my house, sir, Come, sir, you and 1 will take a pipe and i)ottle together. Fel. Damn your pipe, and damn your bottle ! I hate drinking and smoking and how will you help yourself, old Whiskers ? Fed. As to smoking or drinking, you have your liberty; but 30U shall stay, sir. Fel. liut I wont stay; for I don't like your company : bcsidc>, i have the best reason in the world for my not staying. Fed. Aye! What's that? Fel. Why, I am going to be married; and so good bye. Ih'd. To be married ! it can't be ! Why you are drunk, Felix ! Fel. Drunk ! Aye to be sure. You don't think I'd go to be married if i was sober But drunk or ^u\\cx, I am going to l)e married f(;r all that; and if vim wont believe mc, to convince you, I'll show you ihc con- tract, old gentlem;in. Pcd. Aye, do; come, let's sec this contract, then. Fel. Yes, yes, I'll show you the contract I'll 68 THE WONDER. show you the contract Here, sir here's the contract. {Draws a pistol.) Fed, (Starts.) Well, well, I'm convinc'dj go, go pray go and be married, sir. /*ectre is iiothiii'? more than a romance drawn out into scenes, and may he reckoned amongst the hest of its kind ; still it is a fiction that could at no time have heen real ; it wears the colour of no period ; the system of fairies, witches, and spectres as a whole is iieautiful, hut Lewis, has here drawn off the grosser part only; there is fancy in Ids romance, but not that Ijeauty which arises from ]>ropriety and proportion. The fact is he imitated the worse parts of German literature ; and what is dark and terrible with them becomes too often puerile with him ; that he was inti- mately ac'juainted wiih Geiman literature may be proved by many borrowed incidents. For instance in the " Monk ;" the whole story of the " Bleeding Nun," is borrowed, and much of the language too from a tale in ti.e Volksmarchcn (Popular tales, called, if we reniember rightly. Die Entluhrung) The Rape,* the catastrophe of the Monk Ambrosio is almost word for word from a tale in P'eil If'cher'x Sagcn der Vorzeit, Tales of other Times called Die Teufd's Beschwurnng, the Calling up of the devil. 'i'lie language of the present play contrary to Lewis's general prose style, which is piu'c and simple, is heavy and bombastic; there a;)pcHrs to Ijc a perpetual etfort after tlu' grand and the terri- ble, which as constantly degenerates into the batiios and the riiii- culous. The plot has strong interest, but it is the interest of mys- tery, for it tells a talc that belongs neitliLr to the present nor to any past pi'iiod. Ili^ knights and hi-> fool sci'in more Ike modern n'presentiiti% ( -, drc^-^cl iij! to play a part, t!iaii realities, and in tiutii tliey jday their i)arts but badly. JJtiii (J.unn/id is an anior- * Tills woril (onu's ni'ar(".t In ihi.' (L'linan, liioirvh not prt-ciscly of the .^ame import. l-nlliilirung, sigiiilics the forcible a^>,luctiou, or carr\in'c oil a woman. 11 0U3 tyrant, who makes love upon the rack and iu dungeons. Ami Angela who is said to liave all simplicity, is a perfect heroine, brandishing the dagger and sjieakiiig pure romance ; yet even they are surpassed by the Father who sorrows as no man ever sor- rowed, while Hassan refines upon refinement, and revenges as no man ever did revenge. With all these defects Lewis was an accomplished scholar and possessed unbomided fancy ; the fatal rock on which his good quali- ties have been sliii)wrecked is his deficiency of taste ; he had ener- gy, he had humour, he had imagination, and even his errors claim our lenity. Matthew Gregory Lewis was the son of the Deputy Secre- tary at War, and was born about the year 1774. While on his travels he wrote his celebrated romance of the " Monk." On the death of his father, he succeeded to a handsome patrimony, part of which consisted in West India property. He resided in the Albany when iu London, and lived in rather a retired manner. But the latter years of his life were principally passed in travelling. He had visited the Continent, and twice made the voyage to tlie West Indies, in returning from whence he died on shipboard about three months ago. In person Mr. Lewis was small and well-formed ; his countenance was expressive ; his manners gentlemanly ; and his conversation agreeable. As a dramatist his works are as follow : Village Plrliies, Dr. F. The Miiiistcr, T. Castle Spectre, '[).Rolla,T.The Twms, F. East Indian, C. Adelmorn, Rom. Alfonso, T. The Captive, Mono Drama. Harper's Daughter, T. Rugantino, .Mel Dr. yld- elgUha, T. fVood Damon, Rom. Mel. Dram. P'enoni, T. One o'clock, O. Rich and Poor, O. The two last pieces he altered from his, *' Wood Damon," and " East Indian." Stage Directions, By R.li is meant Right Hand. L.ii Left Hand. S'-E Second Entrance f.K Upper Entrance. >' L) Middle Door. O.I' Door in Flat. R-n.u Right Hand Door. i-.ii.D. , , . , Left Hand Door. PROLOGUE. SPOKEN BY MR. WROUGHTON, Far from the haunts of men, of vice the foe, The moon-struck child of genius and of woe. Versed in each magic spell, and dear to fame, A fair enchantress dwells, Romance her name. She loathes the sun, or blazing taper's light : The moon- beam' d landscape and tempestuous night. Alone she loves; and oft, with glimmering lamp, Near graves new open'd, or 'midst dungeons damp. Drear forests, ruin'd aisles, and haunted towers, Forlorn she roves, and raves away the hours I Anon, when storms howlloud, and laUi the deep, Desperate she climbs the sea-rock's beetling steep ; There wildly strikes her harj/s fantastic strings. Tells to the moon how grief her bosom wrings; And while her strange song chaunts fictitious ills. In wounded hearts Oblivion's balm distills. A youth, who yet has liv'd enough to know That life has thorns, and taste the cup of woe. As late near Conway's time-bowed towers he stray'd, Invok'd this Itright enthusiast's nia;;ic aid. His prayer was heard. \\'ilh amis .uul bD^oni l)are, Eyes flashing fire, loose robes, and >lri lining hair, Her heart all anguish, and iier '^iinl all llanit, Swift as her thought-,, the lovely niaiii.ic \ut red stuff petticoat, black hood. SPECTRE. White muslin dress, large gauze drapery. PERSONS REPRESENTED. An originally acted. Osmond Mr- B trryuiorc. Ilea inald ^J ' Wioushton. Pern/ > Mr. Kcmble, Father Philip Mr. Palmer. Motlei/ jMr. Bannister, jun. Kem'ic Mr. Aickin. Saib Mr. Truman, Hassan Mr. Dowton. Mtiley Mr. Davis. yJli/ric Ml"- VVentworth. Jllan Mr. Packer. Edric Mr. Wathen. Harold Mr. Gibbon. Angela Mrs. Jordan. Alice Mrs. Walcot. Evelina Mrs. Powell . Drury-lane. Osmond Mr. Rae. Reginald Mr. Pope. Percy Mr. Barnard. Father Philip , . Mr. Gattie. Motlei) Mr. Harley. K':nric Mr. Carr. ^ai/j Mr. Coveney. Hassan Mr. i'enley. Muleii Mr. Smith. Alaric Mr. Evans. Allan Mr. Maddocks. Edric Mr. Minton. Harold Mr. Buxton. Angela Mrs. Robinson. Aiice Mrs. Sparks. Evelina Mrs. Kni"ht. Covent-gardcn, Mr. Voung. Mr. Murraj'. Mr. Abbott. Mr. Egerton. Mr. Blanchard. Mr. (^laremont. Mr. Treby, Mr. Slader. Mr. Jefferies. Mr. Louis. Mr. Atkins. Miss Bristow. Mrs. Kennedy. Mrs. Powell. The time this piece takes in representatimi is two hours and fifty minutes. The first act occupies the space of thirty mi- nutes the ,c(:'jnd, thirty-five the third, thiity-si.\. the fourth, thirty-fuiu iuid the fifth, thirty-five The half price commences, generally, at ten minutes before nine o'clock. THE CASTLE SPECTRE. ACT I. SCENE I. J Grove. Enter Fathhr Philip and Motley, through Gate, It.H. F. Phil. Never tell nio ! 1 repeat it, you are a fellow of a very scandalous course of life ! But what principally oflends me is, that you pervert the minds of the maids, and keep kissint^ and smuggling all the pretty girls you meet. Oh ! fye ! fye ! {Crosses to r.ii.) Mot. I kiss and smuggle them ? St. Francis forbid ! Lord love you, father, 'tis they who kiss and smuggle me. 1 protest I do wliat I can to preserve my modes- ty; and 1 wisii that archbishop Dunstan had heard the lecture upon ciui'^tity which I read last night to the dairy-maid in the dark ! he'd have lieen (|uite edified, liut vet what does talking signify? The eloquence of my lij)s is counteracted by the lustre of my eyes ; and really the little devils are so tender, and so trouble- some, that I'm half angry with nature for having made me so very bewitching. F. Phil. Nonsense ! nonsense ! u 3 CASTLE SPECTRE. Mot. Put yourself in my place: suppose that a sweet, smiling rogue, just sixteen, with rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, pouting lips, &c. F. Vldl Oil, tyi' ! tye ! fye ! To hear such licen- tious disci urse brings the tears into my eyes ! Mot. 1 believe you, father; for I see the water is running over at your mouth; which puts me in mind, my good father, that there are some little points which might be altered in you still better than in my- self: such as intemperance, gluttony F.Phil. Gluttony ! Oh! abominable falsehood ! Mot. Plain matter of fact ! Why, will any man pretend to say that you came honestly by that enor- mous belly, that tremendous tomb of fish, flesh, and fowl ? and, for incontinence, you must allow yourself, that you are unequalled. F. Phil. I ! I ! Mot. You ! you ! May I ask what was your busi- ness in the beech grove the other evening, when I cauglit you with buxom Margery, the miller's pretty wife ? Was it quite necessary to lay your heads to- gether so close ? F. Phil. Perfectly necessary : 1 was whispering in her ear wholesome advice, and she took it as kindly as I gave it. Jlot. So you was, faith, father; you gave it with your lips, and she took it with hers Well done, father Philip ! F. Phil. Son, son, you give your tongue too great a license. Jllot. Nay, fatlicr, be not angry : fools, you know, are privileged persons. P\ Phil. I know they are very useless ones; and, in short, master Motley, to be plain with you, of all fools 1 think you the worst ; and for fools of all kinds Fve an insuperai)le aversion. 3Iot. Really ? Then you have one good quality at least, and I cannot but admire such a total want of :-L'lf-lovc ! {Bell rings, u.ii.) But, hark ! there goes CASTLE SPECTRE. 3 tlie dinner-bell away to table, fatlier Depend upon't tlie servants will rather eat part of tbeir dinner un- blessed, than stay till your stomach comes like Jonas's whale, and swallows up the whole. F. Phil. Well, well, fool ; I am going ; but first let me explain to you that my bulk proceeds from no indulgence of voracious appetite. No, son, no little sustenance do I take ; but St. Cuthbert's blessing is upon me, and that little prospers with me most mar- vellously. Verily, the saint has given me rather tco plentiful an increase, and my legs are scarce able to support the weight of his bounties. [E.vit, R.ii. Jlot. He looks like an overgrown turtle, waddling upon its hind fins ! Yet, at bottom, 'tis a good fellow enough, warm-hearted, benevolent, friendly, and sin- cere ; but no more intended by nature to be a monk, than I to be a maid of honour to the queen of Shcba. {Going, R.H.) Muter Percy, l.h. Per. I cannot be mistaken In spite of liis dress, his features are too well known to mel Hist! Gilbert i Gilbert ! 3Iot. Gilbert ? Oh Lord, that's 1 1 Who calls ? Per. Have you forgotten me ? Mot. Truly, sir, that would be no easy matter; I never forgot in my life what I never knew. Per. Have ten years altered me so much that you cannot 3lot. Hey ! can it be Pardon me, my dear lord l*ercy. In truth, you may well forgive my having forgotten i/our name, for at first I didn't very well remember my own. However, to prevent furtlicr mistakes, I must inform you tliat he who in your father's service was (iilbeit the knave, is Motley the fK)I in the servite of l'2arl Osmond. Per. Of earl Osmond ? this is fortunate. Ciilbert, you may be of use to nic ; and if the attachment 4 CASTLE SPECTRE. which as a boy you professed for me still exists Mot. It does with ardour unabated, for Tm not so unjust as to attribute to you my expulsion from Alnwic castle : but now, sir, mav I ask, what brings you to Wales? Per. A woman whom I adore. Mot. Yes, I j:^uessed that the business was about a petticoat. And this woman is Per. The orplian ward of a villager, without friends, without family, without fortune ! 3Iot. Great points in her favour, I must confess. And which of these excellent qualities won your heart ? Per. I hope I had better reasons for bestowing it on her. No, Gilbert : I loved her for a person beautiful without art, and graceful without affectation for a heart tender without weakness, and noble without pride. I saw her at once beloved and reverenced by her village companions ; they looked on her as a being of a superior order : and I felt, that she who gave such dignity to the cotta:^e tiiald, must needs add new lustre to the coronet of tlie Percies. Mot. From which I am to understand that you mean to marry this rustic ? Per. Could I mean otherwise I should blush for myself. 3Iot. Yet surely the baseness of her origin Per. Can to me be no objection : in giving her my hand I raise her to my station, not debase myself to hers ; nor ever, while gazing on the beauty of a rose, did 1 think it less fair because planted by a pea- sant. 3ot. Bravo! And what says your good grumbling father to this ? Per. Alas ! he has lonir slept in the grave. Mot. Then he's quiet at last ! Well, heaven, grant him that peace above wliich he suffered nobody to enjoy below, but what obstacle now prevents your marriage? Per. You shall hear. Fearful lest my rank should inlluenee this lovely girl's affections, and induce her to CASTLE SPEC IRE. 5 bestow her hand on the noble, while she refused her lieart to the man, I assumed a peasant's habit, and presented myself as Edwy the low-born and the poor. In this character I gained her heart, and resolved to hail, as countess of Northumberland, the betrothed of Edwy the low-born and the poor ! Judge, then, how great must have been my disappointment, when, on entering her guardian's cottage with this design, he informed me, that the unknown, who sixteen years before had confided her to his care, had reclaimed her on that very morning, and conveyed her no one knew whither. Mot. That w^as unlucky. Per. However, in spite of his precautions, I have traced the stranger's course, and find him to be Ken- ric, a dependant upon earl Osmond. Mot. Surely 'tis not lady Angela, who I*er. Tiie very same ! Speak, my good fellow ! do you know Ivor ? Mot. Not by your description ; for here she's un- derstood to be the daughter of sir JMalcolin Mowbray, my master's d^'ccased friend. And wiiai is your pre- sent intention ? Per. To demand her of the carl in marriage. Mot. Oil! that will never do: for, in the first place, you'll not be able Ko get a sight at him. I've now lived with him five long years, and till Angela's arrival, never witnessed a guest in the castle. Oh ! 'tis the most melancholy niaiision ! And as to the earl, he's the very antidote to mirth : none dare approach him, except Iv'enrie and his four bliieks all others are ordered to avoid him ; and whenever he (piits his room, ding ! dong ! goes a great bell, and away run the servants like so many seared rabbits. Per. Strange I and ivhat riMSons can he have for yiot. Oh I reasons in ])lenty. You must know there's an ugly story respecting the last cnvners of this castle. Osmond's brother, his wiiV-. and infant child, were nmrdered by banditti, a*- it was ^aid : nnluekily the n .1 6 CASTLE SPECTRE. only servant who escaped the slaughter deposed, that he recognised among tlie assassins a black still in the service of earl Osmond. The truth of this assertion was never known, for the servant was found dead in his bed the next morning. Per. Good heavens ! 3fot. Since that time no sound of joy has been heard in Conway-castlc. Osmond instantly became gloomy and ferocious 5 he now never utters a sound except a sigh, has broken every tie of society, and keeps his gates barred unceasingly against the stranger. Per. Yet Angela is admitted But no doubt affec- tion for her father 3Iot. Why, no; 1 rather think that aflection for her father's child Per. How ? 3Iot. If I've any knowledge in love, the earl feels it for his fair ward ; but the lady will tell you more of tills, if 1 can procure for you an interview Per. The very recjuest which Mof. 'Tis no easy matter, I promise you: but TU do my Inst. In tlie meanwhile wait for me in yonder tiihing hut its owner's name is Ediic; tell him that i sent you, and he wiil give vou a retreat. I'cr. Farewell, then, and remember that wlratcvtr reward 3/oL Dear master, to mention a reward insults me. You have already shown me kindness; and when 'tis in my ])ower to he of use to vou, to need the induce- ment cf a second favour v.ould prove me a scoundrel undeserving of the lirst. [E.vit, r.ii. Per. How warm is this good fellow's- attachment 1 Yet our barons complain that the great can have no friends! IF tliey have none, let their own pride bear the blauie. Instead of looking with scorn on those whom a smile would attract, and a favour bind for ever, 1 ow many firm frieruls might our nobles gain, if they \M)uld Init reileet tlial their vassals are men as they are, and have hearts whose feelings can be grateful as theii' own. [Exit, L.H, CASTLE SPECTRE* 7 SCENE IL The Castle-Hall. Enter Saib, l.h., and Hassan, r.h. Saih. Now, Hassan, what success ? Has. My search has been fruitless ? In vain have I paced the river's banks, and pierced the grove's deepest recesses. Nor glen nor thicket have 1 passed unex- plored, yet found no stranger to whom Kenric's de- scription could apply. Saih. Saw you no one ? Has. A troop of horsemen passed me as I left the wood. Saih. Horsemen, say you ? -Then Kenric may be rigist. Earl Percy has discovered Angola's abode, and lurks near the castle, in hopes of carrying her off. Has. His hopes then will be vain. Osmond's vi- gilance will not easily be eluded sharpened by those powerful motives, love and fear. Saih. His love, I know; but should he lose Angela, what has he to fear ? Has. If Percy gains her, every thing ! Supported by such wealth and povvcr, dangerous would be her claim to these domains, should her l)iith be discovered. Of this our lord is aware ; nor did he sooner hear tliat Northumberland loved her, than he ha-tened to re- move her from Allan's care. At first I dou])t his pur- ])Ose was a foul one: her resemblance to her mother induced him to change it. He now is resolved to make her his bride, and restore to her those rights of which himself deprived her. Saih. Thirdc you the lady perceives that our master loves her ? Has. I know she does not. Absorbed in her own passion for I'crcy, on Osmond's she Ijcstows no thought, and, while roving through these pompous halls and chambers, siglis for tlie Cheviot-hills, and Allan's humble cottage. Saih. But as she still beli'evcs Percy to be a low - n '{ 8 CASTLE SPECTRE. born swain, when Osmond lays his coronet at her feet, will she reject his rank and splendour ? Has. If she loves well, she will. Saib, I too have loved ! I have known how painful it was to leave her on whom my heart hung ; how incapable was all else to supply her loss ! I have exchanged want for plenty, fatigue for rest, a wretched hut for a splendid palace. But am I happier ? O no ! Still do I regret my na- tive land, and the partners of my poverty. Then toil was sweet to me, for I laboured for Samba ! then repose ever blessed my bed of leaves, for there by my side lay Samba sleeping. iSaib. This from you, Hassan ? Did love ever find a place in your flinty bosom ? Has. Did it ? Oh Saib ! my heart once was gentle, once was good ! But sorrows have broken it, insults have made it hard! I have been dragged from my na- tive land, from a wife who was every thing to me, to whom I was every thing ! Twenty years have elapsed since these christians tore rne away; they trampled upon my heart, mocked my despair, and, when in frantic terms 1 raved of Samba, laughed, and wondered how a negro's soul could feel ! {Crosses to l.h.) In that moment, when the last point of Africa faded from my view, when as I stood on the vessel's deck 1 felt that all J loved was to me lost for ever, in that bitter mo- ment did I banish humanity from my breast. I tore from my arm the bracelet of Samba's hair ; I gave to the sea the precious token, and while the high waves swift bore it from me, vowed aloud endless hatred to mankind. I have kept my oath, I ivill keep it ! {Crosses to r.h.) Saih. Ill starred Hassan ! your wrongs have indeed been great. Has. To remember them unmans me. Farewell ! I must to Kenric. Hold I Look, where he comes from Osmond's chamber ! Saib. And seemingly in wrath. Has. His conferences witii the earl of late have had no other end. The period of his favour is arrived. CASTLE SPECTRE. 9 Saih. Not of his favour merely, Hassan. Has. How ? Mean you that Saib. Silence! He's here! you shall know more anon. Enter Kenric, r.h. Ken. Ungrateful Osmond, I will bear your ingrati- tude no longer. Now, Hassan, found you the man described ? Has. Not any that resembled him. Ken. Yet, that I saw Percy, 1 am convinced. As I crossed him in the wood, his eye met mine. He started as had he seen a basilisk, and fled with rapidity. But I will submit no longer to this painful dependence. To-morrow, for the last time, will I summon him to perform his promise : if he refuses, I will bid him farewell for ever, and, by my absence, free him from a restraint equally irksome to myself and him. 'Saib, Will you so, Kenric ? Be speedy then, or you will be too late. Ke)i. Too late ! And wherefore ? Sai/j. You will soon receive the reward of your ser- vices. Ken. Ha ! Know you what that reward will be? Saib. I guess, but may not tell. Ken. Is it a secret ? Saib. Can you keep one ? KeJi. Faithfully ! Saib. As faithfully can I. Come, Hassan. [Exennt r.h. Ken. What meant the slave ? Those doubtful expressions Ha! should the earl intend me false Kenric ! Kenric ! how is thy nature changed ! There was a time when fear was a stranger to my bosom when, guiltless myself, I dreacUd not art in others. Now, where'er I turn me, danger a])pears to lurk ; and I suspect treachery in every breast, because my own heart hides it. [^Exit l.u. n 5 10 CASTLE SPECTRE. Enter Father Philip, followed hy Alicp:, r.h. F. Phil. Nonsense ! You silly woman, what you say is not possible. Alice. I never said it was possible. I only said it was true ; and that if ever I heard music, 1 heard it last nijrht. F. Phil. Perhaps tlie fool was singing to the ser- vants. Alice. The fool indeed? Oh! fye! fye ! How dare you call my lady's ghost a fool? F. Phil. Your lady's ghost ! You silly old woman 1 Alice. Yes, father, yes: I repeat it, I heard the guitar lying upon the oratory table play the very air which the lady Evelina used to sing while rocking her little daughter's cradle. She warbled it so sweetly, and ever at the close it went {singing) " Lullaby! Lullaby ! hush thee, my dear ! Thy father is coming, and soon will be here!" F.Phil. Nonsense! Nonsense! Why, pr'ythee, Alice, do you think that your lady's ghost would get up at night only to sing Lullaby for your amusement? J^esides, how should a spirit, which is nothing but air, play upon an instrument of material wood and cat-gut ? Alice. How can I tell ? VVh)', I know very well that men are made ; but if you desired me to make a man, I vow and protest 1 should't know how to set about it. I can only say, that last night I heard the ghost of my nuirdeied lady F. Phil. Playing upon the spirit of a cracked guitar! Alice! Alice! these fears arc ridiculous! The idea of ghosts is a vulgar prejudice ; and they who are timid and absurd enough to encourage it, prove themselves the most comemptible Alice. [Scrrarniirs.) Oil ! Lord ble>s us ! F. Phil. What ?~lley ! Oh ! dear ! Alice. Look ! look ! A figure in white ! It comes from the haunted room ! CASTLE SPECTRE. 11 F. Phil. (Dropping on his Anees.) Blessed St. Pa- trick ! Who has uot my beads ? VVIiere's my prayer- book ? It comes ! it coiues ! Ni>\v ! now ! Lack- a-day. it's only lady Amjela ! (Rising.) Lack-a-day ! I'm c^Iad of it with all my heart ! ^licf Truly so am I. But what say you now, fa- ther, to the fear of spectres ? JP". Phil. Why, the next time you are afraid of a ghost, remember and make use of the recei()t which I shall now give you; and instead of caliiitg for .igjit my iiead again pressed my pillow, J whispered to myself, " ha})py has been to-day, and to-morrow will be as happy !" Then sweet was my slecj) ; and my dreams were of those whom I loved dearest. CASTLE SPECTRE. 1 7" Osm. Romantic enthusiast ! These thoughts did well for the village maid, but disgrace the daughter of Sir Malcolm Mowbray : hear me, Angela ; an English baron loves you, a nobleman than whom our island boasts few more potent, 'Tis to him that your hand is destined, 'tis on him that your heart must be be- stowed. Ang. I cannot dispose of that which has long been another's My heart is Edwy's. Osm. Edwy's ? A peasant's ? Ang. For the obscurity of his birth chance must be blamed ; the merit of his virtues belongs wholly to himself. Osm. By Heaven you seem to think that poverty is a virtue ! Ang. Sir I think 'tis a misfortune, not a crime : Edwy has my plighted faith : He received it on the last evening which I passed in Northumberland. It was then that for the first time 1 gave him my hand, and I swore that I never would give it but to him ! It was then that for the first time he pressed his lips to mine, and I swore that my lips should never be pressed by ano- ther ! Osm, Girl ! girl ! you drive me to distraction ! Ang. You alarm me, my Lord ! Permit me to re- tire. [Going, Osynond detains her violentbj hi; the arm.) Osm.. Stay ! {In softer tone.) Angela ! I love you Ang. (Starting.) My lord ! Osm. {Passionate! I/.) Love you to madness ! Nay strive not to escape : remain, and hear me ! I offer you my hand : if you accejjt it, mistress of these fair and rich domains, your days shall glide away in happiness and honour ; but if you refuse aiid scorn my offer, force shall this instant Ang. Torce ? Oh ! No ! You dare not he so l)ase ! Osm. Reflect on your situation, Angela ; you are in my power remember it, and he wise ! Ang. If you have a generous mind, that will he my 18 CASTLE SPECTRE. surest safeguard. Be it my plea, Osmond, wlien thus 1 sue to you for mercy, for protection ! look on me with pity, Osmond ! 'Tis tlie daughter of the man you loved, 'tis a creature, friendless, wretched, and forlorn, who kneels before you, who flies to you for refuge ! True, I am in your power : then save me, respect me, treat me not cruelly ; for I am in your power ! Osm. I will hear no more. Will you accept my offer? -"^ng. Osmond, I conjure you Osfn. Answer my question ! -^>ii>-. Mercy ! Mercy ! Os7n. Will you be mine ? Speak ! Speak f ^4ng. (After a 'moment's pause, rises, and pro- Jiounces withjirmness.) Never, so help me heaven ! Osm. {Seizing her.) Your fate then is decided! {Angela shrieks.) Per. {In a holloiu voice.) Hold ! Osm. {Starts, hut still grasps Angela's ar7n.) Ila! what was tliat ? Ang. {Struggling to escaj)e.) Hark ! haik ! Heard you not a voice ? Osm. { Gazing upon Percy.) It came from hence ! From Reginald ! Was it not a delusion ? Did in- deed his spirit [Relapsing into his former passion.) Well be it so ! though his ghost should rush between us, thus would I clas|' her horror ! What sight is this ! [At the moment that he again seizes Angela, Percj/ cxteyuls his trwuheun ivith a menacing gesture^ and descends from the pedestal. Osmond releases Angela, who immediately rushes from the chamber, R.n.i). while Percy advances a few steps, and re- mains ga-Jng OH the earl steadfastly) I know that shield ! that helmet! Speak to me, dreadful vision ! Tax nie with tiiy crimes ! Tell me, that you come Stay ! Speak ! {Following Percy, who, tvhen he reaches the door, through irhich Angela escaped, turns, and signs to him ivith his hand. Osmond starts back in terror.) He forbids my following ! CASTLE SPECTRE. 19 He leaves me ! The door closes {in a sudden hurst of passion, and draiving his stvord) Hell, and fiends ! I'll follow him, though lightnings blast me ! {He rushes distractedly from the chamber^ r.h.d.) SCENE IL The Castle-halL Enter \licb, r.h. ^lice. Here's rudeness ! here's ill-breeding ! On my conscience, this house grows worse and worse every day ! Enter Motlby, l.h. Mot. What can earl Percy have done with himself? Plow now, dame Alice, you look angry. Alice. By my troth, fool, I've little reason to look pleased. To be frightened out of my wits by night, and thumped and bumped about by day, is nutiikcly to put one in the best huniotir. Mot. Poor soul 1 And who has been thum})ing and bumping you ? Alice. Who has r You should rather ask who has not. Why only hear : as 1 was just now going along the narrow passage which leads to the armoury singing to myself, and thinking of nothing, I met lady Angela flying away as if for dear life ! so 1 drop- ped her a curi>y but might as well have spared my pains. Without minding me any more than if I had l)een a dog or a cat she pushed me on one side ; and before 1 could recover my balance, somebody else, who came bouncing l)y me, gave me t'other tluimp and tiiere I lay sprawling upon the floor. However, 1 tumlded witji all possible decency. Mot . SomelKxly else ! What somebody else ? AU'c. 1 know not but he seemed to be in armour. M')t. In armour? Pray, Alice, looked he like a ghost ? Alice, What he looked like, I cannot say; but 20 CASTLE SPECTRE. I'm sure he didn't feel like one : however, you've not heard the worst. While I was sprawling upon the ground, my lord comes tearing along the passage the first (hing he did was to stumble against mC' away went his heels over he came and in the twinkling of an eye there lay his lordship ! As soon as he got up again Mercy ! how he stormed ! He snatched me up cal- led me an ugly old witch shook the breath out of my body then clapped me on the ground again, and bounced away after the other two ! Mot. My mind misgives me! But what cantliis mean, Alice ? Alice. The meaning I neither know, or care about ; but tins I know I'll stay no longer in a house where I'm treated so disrespectfully. " My lady !" says I " Out of my way !" says she, and pushes me on one side. "My lord," says I " You be damned" says he, and pushes me on t'other ! I protest I never was so ill used, even when I was a young woman! [Exit, L H. Mot. Should earl Percy be discovered the very thought gives me a creak in my neck ! At any rate I had better enquire whether (Going, R..j Enter Father Philip hastily, r.h. F. Phil. (Stojjping hhn.) Get out of the house ! That's your way 1 Mot. Why, what's the meaning F. PJdl. Don't stand prating here, but do as I bid you ! Mot. But first tell me F. Phil. I can only tell you to get out of the house. Kenrie has discovered earl Percy You are known to have introduced him the Africans are in search of you If you are found, you will be hung out of hand. Fly tlien to Edric's cottage hide .yourself there ! Hark ! Some in tlie neiglihouihood ; and tl.at secret, known only to myself, will surely-. But, silence I Look where he comes ! Enl( r () .MONJ3, K.u. Osm. It shall not be I Away with these forehoding terrors, which wcitrh ('own my heart! I will forget the l)a^t, I will cn'jDy tlit present, and make tlmse ra[)- tures again miiiC. w .licli Ah I no, iio, lui I ('on- seience, that scrj'Ci.'. \- iids liei tolds rouni he cup of my bliss, and, ere my !;[.> <;in re;.. ' it, !ier vi riom is :i^ingle(l with the tiraui:!!'. Andseewlure he walks, :!i( riiirf ('l)ieet my fi ar> 1 lie shall not be so long! *i3 CASTLE SPECTRE. >Hs anxiety to leave me, his mysterious threats No, no ! I will not live in fear. Soft ! He advances ! Ken. So melancholy, my lord? Osm. Aye, Kenric, and must be so till Angela is mine. Know that even now she extorted from me a ])roniIse, that till to-morrow I would leave her unmo- lested. Ken. But till to-morrow ? Osm. But till to-morrow ? Oh ! in that little space 11 lover's eye views myriads of dangers ! Yet think not, good Kenric, that your late services are under- valued by me, or that I have forgotten those for which I iuive been long your debtor. When, bewildered by hatred of Reginald, and grief for Evelina's loss, my dagger was placed on the throat of their infant, your hand arrested the blow Judge then how grateful I umst feel when I behold in Angela her mother's living counterpart. Worthy Kenric, how can I repay your services ? Ken. These you may easily. But what, carl Or- I-)! nd, what can repay me for ilie sacrifice of my inno- cence ? My iiatids were pure till you tauglit me to .slain thcin v.ith blood you painted in strong colours the shanvj of servitude you promised freedom, riches, independence. Let me then claim that independence so long promised, and seek for peace in some other ciiiaate, since memory forljids me to taste it in this. Osm. Kenric, ere named, your wish was granted. In a far di-,tant counti-y a retreat is already prepared for you: there may you hush those clamours of conscience, which must reach me, I fear, e'en in the arms of Angela. K'H. Llff'ected.) My lord ! Gratitude Amaze- ment And I doubted 1 suspected Oh ! my good lorf!, how have I wrong'd your kindness ! Dsni. No more I must not hear you \{As'u[e.) Sh:\me '. sb.ame ! that ever my soul should stoop to dissembling with my hlave! {Crotaes to L.ii.) CASTLE SPECTRE. ^*^ Saib enters^ l.h. and advances with apprehension. Osm. How now? Wliy this confusion? ^^Vhy do you tremble ? Speak ! Suih. My lord! The prisoner Osui. The prisoner ? Go on ! go on ! Saib. {Kneeling.) Pardon, my lord, pardon ! Our prisoner has escaped I Osm. Villain ! [IVild tcith rage he draws his dag- ger, and rushes upon Saih Kenric holds his arm.) Ken. Hold ! hold ! V\'hat would you do ? Osm. (Strngg/ing.) Unhand nic, or by heaven Ken. Away ! away ! Fly, fellow, fly and save your- self ! [Exit Saib, i,.n.] {lleleasing Osmond.) Con- sider, my lord Haply 'twas not by his keeper's fault that Osm. (Furioitsli/.) What is't to me hy whose? Is not my rival fled? Soon will Northumberland's guards encircle my walls, and force from me Yet that by heaven tliey sliall not ! No! Rather than re- sign her, my own hand shall give this castle a ).rey to flames; then, plunging with Angela into the bla/cing gulpii, I'll leave these ruins to tell posterity how des- perate was my love, and how dreadful my revenge! (Going, he s(o/is, and turns to Kenric.) And you, who dared to nisi^ between me and my resentment you who could so well succeed in saving others now look to yourself ! [E.vit R.n. K< /I. Ha! tliat look tlmt tb.reat Yet he seemed so kind, so grateful ! He smiled too! Oh! there is ever danger when a villain smiles. Sai enters softly, l.h. htahing round him icith ((tut ion. Saih. {Tn a hnv voire.) Hist! Kenric ! Keu. How now? \\ hat brimrs Sail). SiU'iice, and hear me! Wni have sn^ c 1 my life; nor will I be ungiat( fnl Look at ihi,' phiiil c 5 34 CASTLE SPECTRE. Ken. Ha ! did the earl Saib. Even so : a few drops of this liquor should to-night have flavoured your wine you would never have drank again ! Mark me then When I offer you a goblet at supper, drop it as by accident. For this night I give you life: use it to quit the castle; for no longer than till to-morrow dare 1 disobey our lord's commands. Farewell, and fly from Conway You bear with you my thanks. [Exit. l.ii. Ken. Can it be possible ? Is not all this a dream ? Villain ! villain ! Yes, yes, I must away ! But tremble, traitor ! A bolt, of which you little think, hangs over, and shall crush you ! The keys are still in my possession Angela shall be the partner of my flight. My prisoner too Yet hold ! May not re- sentment may not Reginald's sixteen year's capti- vity Oh! no! Angela shall be my advocate; and, grateful for her own, for her parent's life preserved, she can she will obtain my pardon Yet, should she fail, at least 1 shall drag down Osmond in my fall, and sweeten death's bitter cup with vengeance. [Exit l.h. SCENE 111. The Cedar-room, 7cith Folding-doors in the middle, and a large antiqii^e Bed; on one side is the Portrait of a Ladij, on the other that of a TVarrior armed. Both are at fall length After a pause the Female Portrait fulls back, and Father Philip, after looking in, advances cau- tioHsly. F. Phil. {Closing the panneL) Thus far I have pro- ceeded without danger, though not without difficulty. Yon narrow passage is by no means calculated for per- sons of my habit of body. By my holidame, I begin to suspect that the fool is in the right ! I certainly am trrowing corpulent. And now, how shall I employ myself? Sinner that I am, why did I f(;rget my bottle of sack? The time will pass tcdiovisly till Angela romes, x\nd, to comjdete the business, yonder is the liHuntcd oratory. What if the ghost should pop out CASTLZ. SPECTRE. 35 on me ? Blessed St. Bridget, there would be a tete-a- t^te ! Yet this is a foolish fear: 'tis yet scarce eight o'clock, and your ghosts always keep late hours; yet I don't like the idea of our being such near neighbours. If Alice says true, the apparition just now lives next door to me; but the lord forbid that we should ever be visiting acquaintance ! Osm. {without.) What, Alice ! Alice, I say ! F. Phi/. By St. David, 'tis the earl ! I'll away as fast 1 can. {Trying to open the door.) I can't find the spring. Lord forgive me my sins; Where can 1 hide myselt? Ha ! the bed ! 'Tis the very thing. {Throivs himself ifito the bed, and conceals himself inider the clothes.) Heaven grant that it mayn't break down with me ! for, oh ! what a fall would be there, my country- men ! They come ! {The door is imlocked.) Enter Osmond, Angela, and Alice, l.h.d. Osm. {Entering.) You have heard my will, lady. Till your liand is mine, you quit not this chamber. ^ng. If then it nmst be so, welcome my eternal pri- son I Yet eternal it shall not be. My hero, my guar- dian-angel is at liberty. So(jn shall his horn make these hateful towers tremble, and your fetters be ex- changed for the arms of Percy. Osm, Beware, beware, Angela ! Dare not before me ylng. Before you ! liefore the world ! Is my at- tachment a disgrace ? X(j ! 'tis my pride; for its ob- ject is deserving. Long ere I knew him, Percy's fame was dear to me. AVhile I still believed him tlu" pea- sant Edwy, often, in his hearing, have I dwelt upon Northumberland's praise, and eliid him that lie sjioke of our lord so ecddlyl Ah I little fiid 1 think that the man then seated beside nic was he whom I i-iivicd for his power of doing ii;oo(l, wlioin I loved lot exerting that power so largely I .ludge then, eail Osmond ; on my arrival here how strongly I must have lelt the con- trast! What peasant names you his benefactor - c (; 3b* CASTLE SPECTRE. What beggar has been comforted by your bounty? what sick inuu preserved by your care ? Your breast is unmoved by woe, your ear is deaf to comphiint, your doors are barred against the jioor and wretciicd. Not so are the gates of Alnwie castle ; they are open as tieir owner's heart. Osni. Insulting girl! This to my face? ^1/tg. Nay, never bend your brows ! Shall I tremble, because you frown ? Shall my eye sink, because anger flashes from yours ? No ! that would ill become the bride of Northumberland. Osm. Amazement ! Can this be the gentle, timid A ngela ? uJitg. Wonder you that the worm should turn when you trample It so cruelly? Oh 1 wonder no more : ere he was torn from nie, I clasped Percy to my breast, and my heart caught a spark of that fire which flames in his unceasingly ! uUice. Cauglit fire, lady ! Osm. Silence, old crone ! I have heard you calmly, Angela; now then hear me. Twelve hours shall be allowed you to reflect upon your situation : till that period is elapsed, this chamber shall be your ])rison, tind Alice, on whose fidelity I can depend, your .sole attendant. This term ex[)ired, should you still re- ject my hand, force shfdl obtain for me what love de- nies. Speak not : I will hear nothing ! I swear that to-morrow sees you mine, or undone ! and, skies, rain cur-es on me if I keep not my oath ! Mark that, pixi'.'l gill ! UDirk it. and tremble! [^Exit l.h.d. F.PIi'd. iJeavcn be j)r;'ised, he's gone ! [From thehed.) ^'Irn.';. Tremi)le, did he say ? Alas ! how quickly is my boat'ii couraa-i' vanished ! Vet J will not despair: thtrf. is a pv, c- in '!L:iven, there is a l\>rc_\ on earth; on them 'A-'! i rriy * ^u-zo inc. .//.'' Tli iir-l ;. a;.-, 1 rly ; hut as to ihe second, lic'li be .)i' iv) u-nc, (l.'pr (] cii"'. Xi)\v niis'dit I advise, you'd acci;)t; my i',rd' - ( iib'' : Whit matters it wdiethcr liic ii;a.i's ii:i:;;c be Osmond or Percy? An earl's an CASTLE SPECTRE. 37 earl after all j and though one may be something richer than t'other ^4iig. Oh ! silence, Alice ! nor aid my tyrant's de- signs : rather instruct me how to counteract them ; assist me to escape. Alice. I help you to escape ! Not for the best gown in your ladyship's wardrobe! I tremble at the very idea of my lord's rage ; and, besides, had I the will, I've not the power. Kenric keeps the keys; we could not possibly quit the castle without his know- ledge ; and if the earl threatens to use force witli you Oh gemini ! what would he use with me, lady ? Aug. Threatens, Alice ! I de-pise his threats ! Ere it pillows Osmond's liead will I plunge this poniard in my bosom. Alice, floly fathers ! A dagger ! Aug. Even now, as I wandered througli the ar- moury, my eye was attracted by its glittering handle. Look, Alice ! it bears Osmond's name ; and the point - Alice. Is rusty with blood! Take it away, lady I take it away ! 1 never see blood without fainting ! Aug. {Patting up the dagger.) This weapon m.ay render me good service. But, ah! what service has it rendered Osmond ? Haply 'twas this very poniard Avhicii drank his brother's blood or which pierced the fair breast of I'^velina ! Said you not, Alice, that this was her portrait ? cilice. 1 (lid, lady; and the likeness was counted ex- cellent. Aug. How fair! How lieavcnly fair ! Alice, [i taring locked the folding doors.) Ah! 'twas a sad (lay tor nic, when I heard of the dear lady's loss! Ivook at that bed, lady: that \ery bed was hers. How oflen h;i\e I seen her sleepin;^ in liiat bed and, oh! how lii<(' an angel she looIj)ca)\s (it the door, motions l.h.s.k. to Suih, c^v. /o retire, and adi'anccs himself unobserved.) Ang. It beat ! It beat ! Cruel, and your dagger Ken. Oh ! that would have been mercy ! Xo, lady. It struck me, lunv strong would be my hold over Os- mond, while his brother was in my jjower; and this re- Hection det.'ll dcserv'd his fate. KPILOGUE. He heeded not papa's pathetic pleading ; He stabb'd mamma which was extreme ill-breedinjf ; And at his feet for mercy when I sued. The odious wretcli, I vow, was downright rude. Twice his bold hands my person dared to touch ! Twice in one day ! 'Twas really once too much ! And therefore justly fiU'd with virtuous ire. To save my honour, and protect my sire, I drew my knife, and in his bosom stuck it ; He fell, you clapp'd and then he kick'd the bucket! So perish still the wretch, whose soul can know Selfish delight, while causing others woe ; Who blasts that joy, the sweetest God has given. And makes an hell, where love would make an hea\ien '. Forbear, thou lawless libertine ! nor seek Forc'd favours on that pale averted cheek : If thy warm kisses cost bright eyes one tear. Kisses from loveliest lips are bought too dear Unless those lips with thine keep playful measure, And that sweet tear should be a tear of pleasure ! Now as for Osmond at that villain's name I feel reviving wrath my soul inflame ! And shall one short and sudden pang suffice To clear so base a fault, so gross a vice ? No ; to your bar, dear friends, for aid I fly ! Bid Osmond live again, again to die ; Nightly with plaudits loud his breath recall. Nightly beneath my dagger see him fall. Give him a thousand lives and let me take them all 1 W. OXBEKRY AND CO. PRINTERS, 8, WHITE-HART-YABD. <&iMmfe Coition. THE WOODMAN'S HUT, A MELO-DRAME: IN THREE ACTS. TII^OM^ F.DIMOS F.XISTINO WHICH IS KAlTriFULLY MARKED WITH Tin; srAi;F. businp.ss, and stagf. directions, \s IT IS PERFOKMF.!) AT THE THEATRES ROVAL LoxnoiV: iM'iii.iSHKi) ii)i{ TiiK ritnrii I kt'm;-, r.v w. simtkiv \ no K. MAHSIIAM., SrATIOM.K->' COMll', I,( ix; A ri:-STKi;KT ; 1 . ( Jl \ ri'I.E, (ifi, I'A l,l.-M \ I.I, : \ M) SMJ.I) li V \\ . AM) J. J.ow.NDi;-;, 9 J i!u vi)Gi:>.sTi{i:i.i, ten i.n i-c. a udi.n. IHIS. OXBERUY AND CO. PRINH.Us, Willi K-IIAKT-YARD. atiberti^ement THE Author of the " JVoodmaris Hut;' acknowledges, with many thanks, the effec- tive exertions of the Performers in this Melo- drame. At the same time^ without the remotest intention of making any invidious distinction, he hegs leave to dedicate it to MISS KELLY, as a sincere mark of his admiration of her talents, and of his high respect for the virtues which so eminently distinguish her character in private life. April, 18, 1811. l^emaifes;* Modern ingenuity has invented a royal road to wisdom, or at least to the reputation of it; nothing can be more simple to the understanding, or less laborious in the practice ; all that is requisite to this end is the profession uf utter contempt for the writers of the day, and the use of a few mystical phrases, which, as they have no meaning, are allowed to pass for metaphysics; German-horrors, me- lo-dramatic horrors, melo-drama, classic purity, and a few similar phrases, which may be learned by the perusal of Blackwood's Maga- zine, Mr. Phipps's News, and the Champion ; armed with these any lady or gentleman is fully competent to the task of criticism, and entitled to look down with contempt on modern authors. The best weapon for ignorance is contempt; it is at once its shield and its spear, its armour of defence and its weapon of annoyance. To be pleased with what pleases the many is to be of the many, as on the contrary to despise their amusements is to be above them. For our own credit, therefore, we ought to write " JVaso adunco" upon melo-drama; but wc are not ambitious, and even were we so, we have worn out too much of life in study to court the opinion of learning by fost(!ring the prejudices of ignorance : to our shame be it said, we have often been amused by jnelo-drama, and are pre- pared to offer a few uniialatable truths in its defence. Melo-drama is either founded on a sim])le domestic fable, wliether true or feigned, or is pure romance, or lastly combines the two. The first sort comes as near to real life .as any dramatic composition can do ; its music is not more remote from nature than tlic biiink verse or the rhymes of tragedy, and if it err in having too much i'.ction, it has a counterbalancing advantage in not being clogged by :xcess of speech ; in fact the musie supplies the place of language, and though the expressions of music are not so nicely marked, still in conjunction with action, the purport of the scene is easy to be under-;ti)<)(l. Wli.itLv.i- edect IS to be produced, whether terror or pathos, melo-drMtiia (k-|ieiuU nyow the stretith of incident. It places cha- racters in sinking situations, leavinj^the situations to tell for them- selves, and carefully avoids encunibeiing iheni wiili language; this necessity of producing great effects, no doubt sometimes leads to the most monstrous anomalies, but we do not speak of these abuses ; we treat of melo-drania as it should be, and as it is in the best models. The great fault of this species of writing is, that it only aims at pro- ducing excitement without offering any food to the understanding; it neither exalts nor refines the imaginMr. Barnard. hausen) J Kaunitz, "j Mr. Wallack. Dnngerfeldt, >His Comrades. .Mr. Chatterley. Schampt, J Mr. Smith. Moritz, a Gardener at thel ,, ,.. , Cattle..... JMr.Oxberry. Bruhl (a ffoodcutlfr iri the\ ., /^ t^- rr . f i^J''. Gattie. Forest J Servant Mr. Evans. Amelia {Dauf;hter to the latel ... ,. ,, Count Conenberg) J ' ' ^ ' Maria [her Foster-sister) .... Miss Cooke. Laura (an Attendant) Miss I vers. Lyceum, Mr. T. Short. Mr. I. Jones. Mr. L. Lee. Mr. Huckle, Mr. Salter. Mr. I. Isaacs. Mr. Wilkinson. Mr. Chatterley. Mr. Evans. Miss Kelly. Miss C. Lancaster. Miss Lo\e. The time this piece takes in representation is about one honr and fifty minutes. The first act occupies tlie space of twenty- five minutes the second, forty the third, forty-five. Stage Directions. 15y n. 11 is meant Rifijht Hand. L. II Left Hand. s. E Second Entrance. u. E Upper Entrance. M. D Middle Door. I). F Door in Flat. n, n. D Rij^ht Hand Door. r . 11. u Left Hand Door. THE WOODMAN'S HUT, ACT I. SCENE I. Before the Castle of Count Conenberg. A distant view of the River and the Castle of Baron Hernhausen. Enter Moritz and L^ura, r.h. Mor. Well, well j be patient and you shall hear all about It. Lau. The question is, why the young lord Ferdi- nand, nephew to our late master, the count of Conen- berg, has taken possession of this castle and estate ? ^tor. Well, you must know, that about five years ago Lau. Yes Mor. Our powerful and terrible neighbour, the Baron Hernhausen Lau. Aye ! the great baron who lives yonder, on the other side the river, in the Black Castle, as 'tis called. Mor. Hush! silence ! he hears every thing he has secret emissaries every where, and spies in every house in Jiohemia; therefore be silent. Lau. I am mute; provided you'll talk, and go on with your story. Mor. I will. A war of nearly twenty years had bccii B 3 THE WOODMAN S HUT. waged between the family of Hernhausen and that of our late master, the count of Conenberg, who died se- ven months ago. The chance of war had left the count at the mercyofthis haughty baron, who demanded, as the price of peace, his only daughter, the lovely Amelia, in marriage. This young creature, then only fifteen years old, shuddered at the thoughts of mar- riage with a man, whom she had been taught to detest Lau. 1 don't wonder at It I should have done just the same. Mor. But the good count, in order to save his de- pendants and their families from the further ravages of war, urged her to accept the hand of his conqueror. Lau. Aye ! that's the way with all your tyrannical fathers. Mor. She refused, and he commanded 'till at last, driven to despair, as was supposed, she sud- denly left the castle, and has never since been heard of. Pshaw ! There's some strangers accidentally passing by the castle. And now, as they are gone, let us have a little quiet chat. Laii. Chat ! about what, Mr. Moritz ? Mor. About my love for you, ye little gypsey. L/au. Lord, Moritz ! you know 'tis no use talking to me of love : all you ought to think of is the war which we are going to engage in. Mor. I've a good place as gardener here, and my uncle, old Bruhl, who contracts for the wood-cutting in the great forest yonder, is rich, and I am to be hk heir ; so no fear that we shall be able to live happily, and provide for all our children, though heaven should bless us with a dozen or two. Lau. For shame, Moritz ! I vow you frighten one out of one's wits. THE WOODMAN S HUT. S SONG. Laura. Oh never say I stole the heart Tf^hich you so freely gave ; For sooner should the truant party Than stay to be my slave. Yet ne'er would I a gift receive. Or valued love obtain^ Jf forced, your passion to relieve. To give it back again. But as your heart you gave to me, Fre yet you knew ' twas Jioxon, J could not let you heartless he. So gave you hack my oivn : For never could this bosom jylay So treacherous a part, As suffer mine with yours to stay, To bear a double heart ! Mor. Well, now it's all settled we'll be married to-inorrovv. Lau. Lord now I declare you bring my heart up into my mouth. Mor. Do I ? then as I love your heart, as a right pood one, I'll make you shut your mouth, for fear you fiiiould lose it. {Kisses her.) Lau. So there I vow are the strangers again ! and they've seen you kissing me. I shall never be able to look you in the face again; so if you have any more to say, you must follow me into the castle, {^Exit Laura, l.h. ^^or. And so I will; and when the strangers can't see us, I'll have the fellow to that kiss, or know a good reason why not. [Music.) [Ej;it after her. b2 f 4 THE WOODMAN S HUT. Enter VVolfender, Kaunitz, and Schampt, tvatching, r.h.u.e, Wolf. Step cautiously I think those people of the castle have perceived us. Kaunitz, is all ready ? Kaun. Aye, I warrant ; we are no sluggards. Wolf. I know not that. For five years you have reposed in sluggish idleness, from which it is high time you should be roused. Scham, For my part, I verily believe my sword has grown rusty in its scabbard. Wolf. Make yourself easy ; you will soon have oc- casion to rub the rust off. Kaun. What is your plan ? Wolf. This young count has had the audacity to declare war on the baron : but as our master finds he can ill support this unexpected warfare, we are to sur- prise the young count, and bear him prisoner to our lord's castle. Scham. Pshaw ! that's a childish scheme 'twill be impossible ! Wolf. Impossible ! nothing so easy. You both assisted me in the seizure of the young and beautiful Amelia five years ago. Kawi. True : though unfortunately in three days she contrived to escape, and has never since been heard of. Schajn. If we may believe a letter she wrote a few days after her flight, it is probable that she destroyed herself, from fear of again falling into his hands. But come, let us hear your intentions. Wolf. You remember the grotto in the garden of the castle Kaun. We have good reason to remember it, for 'twas from that very place we carried off the girl. At the end of the grotto is a subterranean passage, which leads without the walls, through which we conveyed her. Wolf. That subterranean passage will again answer THE WOODMAN S HUT. 3 our purpose. We will hasten on our pretended mis- sion to the count, and it shall be my business to lure him to the spot. You will lie concealed in the grotto, as before, and our scheme will be accomplished with- out noise or danger. Kaun. One difficulty strikes me. IFolf. What is it ? Kaun. You are aware that there is only a slender foot-bridge across the river, which divides the estate of the baron from that of the count ; and we shall be obliged to conduct our prisoner on foot, four long leagues through the forest. Wolf. I have thought of that : have yon not ob- served a small cottage which stands on the other side of the river ? Sclumi. I recollect it well. Wolf. It is inhabited by an old woman, and her two daughters. At that lonely house we will pass the night with our prisoner j and early in the morning, the carriage and escort which 1 have appointed will arrive. Kaun. Aye, aye ; nothing can be better planned. Let us to our work. Wolf. Steal softly, friends ; when we are once ad- mitted, and pass unobserved, if possible, to your lurking-{)lace : then, at the pr()|;er nioiuent, we'll fall on him like a thunderbolt, bear him otf like free- booters, and receive our promised reward, like huuest gentlemen. [Exennty l.ii. SCENE II. A i'luunher in the Castle. Enter Count Fkrdinand ?/r/ Wkiithkii, u.h. Wer. My dear count, I am resolved not to leave you till I learn why, instead of the joy natural on obtaining this great estate Count F. A prey to a hopeless passion, the increase of wealth and honour has but still further removed me liom the object I adore. B 3 6 THE woodman's hut. fFer. So ! Love ! I thought I knew the symptoms. Come, come: Who is this unknown charmer, who has so suddenly robbed you of your senses ? Cbunt F. You remember that some days past, I left the castle on horseback, to revisit the romantic spots around us. Which I have not seen since my childhood. Alone, and regardless of the way, I was soon lost in the forest. JVer. Yes, I remember your absence frightened all the females of the family out of their wits. Count F. At length, worn with fatigue, I reached the banks of a river. On the other side I perceived a lone cottage, and at a little distance from me a boat. Having tied my horse to a tree, I was on the point of entering that boat, when my steps were suddenly .'irrested by the cries of a young female. Heavens ! liow lovely an object burst upon my sight ! never did 1 behold a form so beautiful, so interesting. rVe}'. Aye, tncbc solitary ^amse|s 'n\ yvoods, ar? always interestintr to US vout^g gentlemen. CQunt F, ** \Vhat will become of me?" said she, in the mildest tone of entreaty ; " What will become of me, if you dei)rive me of the means of regaining the opposite bank ? Night approaches ; I shall be loft alone in this forest, and my poor mother will die with grief!" Wer. Very pathetic, indeed ! Count F. Oil ! my dear Werthcr, I cannot express to you what I felt. Motionless, mute, my eyes were fixed on her's, burning with all the fire of love. IFer. Poor Ferdinand ! Count F. Alarmed at my appearance, she was on the point of escaping by flight, wiien I took her hand, i.nd detained her. liy degrees, my words calmed her iv.HTS, and gained her confidence. *' I live with my widowed mother," said this angelic creature, " in that cottage, which you see on the other side of the river : my name is Caroline Blomfeldt, and I have been seeking plants, from which my mother extracts remedies for the sick poor of the neighbouring hamlet." THE WOODMAN S irUT % Wer. Yes, I understand a sort of village doctress, who cures all complaints by amulets, and charms, and simples, gathered by moonlight ! Count F. Nay, do not banter. I have little more to add. She said she trembled at the dangers which threatened me, at that late hour pointed out to me the road which would bring me to the plain, and bade heaven conduct and guard me in safety ! I offered her my ring, as a token of gratitude, which, perceiving she was about to refuse, I threw it at her feet, and has- tening from her, left my heart, my happiness behind me. fVer. And your ring. Alas ! poor count I pity you ! So then you have really fallen in love with a simple peasant girl, without a name, without fortune Oh ! I beg pardon, she has a name Caroline Blomfeldt. Enter Servant, l.h. Serv. My lord, there are strangers who inquire for your lordship. Count F. Strangers ? Serv. Yes, my lord. They say their business presses, and beg an immediate audience. They will not enter the castle, but have walked by the ram[)arts, and descended to the garden. Cou7it F. I attend them. {Crosses l.h. Exit Sen).) Doubtless, some messengers from the baron Heriihau- sen to him I have sent the mortal defiance of been but in ol)e(lience, and not from choice, (iraiit me but protection, and I will confess. Count F. Proceed your life is safe. Wolf. I do confess 1 was en)[)loye(l, though sorely against my will, with others, in the service of the baruii b5 10 THE woodman's HUT. Cotoit F. To the point at once. By what con- trivance by what base stratagem, was she conveyed beyond the walls ? Wolf. Even from this very spot it was, my lord. Mark you this grotto ; at the furthest end, contrived in former times for purposes unknown to me, there is the hidden entrance to a path that leads through vaulted passages beneath the moat, and far beyond your walls. Count F. Give me an instant proof of this. Wolf. This way, my lord you shall convince your- self. {The Count enters with Wolfender, where Kau- nitZy and his Comrades, who, while listening, have moved from the Grotto, enter behind him, Kaunitz throws the large chak over his head, while at the same moment ff'olfender and Schampt seize his Hands.) Count F. Help! help! Wolf. Silence, or death! {Holding a Pistol to his breast. The Count struggles they force him into the Grotto, at the mouth of which the encounter takes place.) Wolf, Down with him into the secret pass. {Exeunt to Grotto, l.h. END OF ACT I. THE woodman's hut. 11 ACT. II. SCENE I. The interior of a Cottage On one side a Chimner/ ; a little further, mi the same side, an external Door : on the other, the Door of an inner Chamber. A spinning Wheel, Table, and some wooden Chairs. Alight distinguished bi/ the dark- ness of a high fVindow. A lamp on the Table. Amelia closing the door, which she fastens. Music, as the curtain rises, indicating m storm. Anvel. How dark the night ! The river is fearfully agitated by the wind, and the sky threatens a storm ! all is alike gloomy, without and within ! still must the wretched Amelia, an outcast from her splendid birth- right, be grateful to heaven for the shelter even of this miserable roof. Witiiin this week, too, death has robbed me of my dear foster-mother, the only comfort the world had left me! My enemies alone still live ! I have lost all parents, fortune, friends ! all that I have left is hope, my innocence, and heaven ! 'Tis Maria, the orphan daughter of my lost friend oh let me forget my own sorrows, in the endeavour to lighten hers ! Enter Maria from the inner room. Amel. My dear Maria, why are you not yet at rest ? it is eleven o'clock ! Maria. I cannot sleep, dear madam if I could, I should be li;ippy, Amel. I will not bid you cease to weep but do not indulge in unreasonable grief. Sit d(jwn with me before I go to rest, I wish to finish this work, and to- morrow you can take it to the village, and, at the same time, incjuirc after poor Emily she wants nothing but D 6 12 THE woodman's HUT. repose. I have prepared the opiate, with which your good mother used to relieve her ; the effect of it is cer- tain, and so expeditious, that she will fall asleep, as soon as she has drank it. Maria. Ah, madam, you are a blessing to the vil- lage, for you are ever the friend of the unfortunate. Amel. I wish to be so. Come, sit down 1 have much to say to you. Maria. To me, madam ? Amel. It is become necessary to form some plan for my future life; you know, that since my escape from the baron of Hernhausen who little dreams, that even on his own estate, I have found a peaceful home here, for five years in the disguise of poverty, I have remained, sheltered and fostered still by her, whose tender care sustained my infant years. You know that some months ago my father died ; but, fearing the dreadful power of my enemy, I have never dared return to claim my paternal rights. {A faint halloo is heard, R.H.u.E.) Hark! what can that mean ? {Halloo again.) Some traveller, doubtless, who has lost his road. Run, Maria no, not to the door above stairs, from the window run make haste. [Exit Maria np stairs. Amel. {Looking after her.) Yes, artless innocent, I have no fear in trusting, thee but the softer secret of my heart, must still be mine alone. {Takes a ring from her hosom.) Shall I indulge this weakness shall I indulge the sweet, the pleasing hope, which fancy has created ? This ring, left by that interesting stranger, whom, by chance, I met eight days ago this ring, emblazoned with the well known arms of Conenbcrg, does it not tell me who he was ? Yes, yes it must be Ferdinand, the relation whom, though Jroni infancy I was taught to love, 'till that auspicious day, i never saw. Maria. {JFitldn.) Yes, yes, gentlemen, I will return in a moment. IFolf. {IVithout.) Be quick, then, and open the door. THE woodman's hut. 13 Enter Maria rummig in terror down stairs, Amel. Heavens ! what is the matter ? who is it ? Maria. Oh, madam, I shall die with fright ! Here are several armed men, who are conducting some unhappy wretch. Amel. A prisoner? Maria. VVe are lost ! (A noise is heard near the entrance door.) Don't you hear them ? Amel. Who can these people be ? Maria. Don't let them in, for heaven's sake. Amel. Alas ! we are unable to resist their strength refusal would only irritate them : they are, perhaps, merely seeking shelter, and we 7/z?....> nil RECEIVFD r LD URL J- HkC LT la-UHi urJ MARi0l97\ APR Z2 1974 Al'R 2^1974 196F Form L9 15m-10, '48 (31039)444 ^^fl iiMm^^*^ 1^- l2~- 3 1158 '00320 5431 Ta UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 056 274 4^<% t yj.: 'rP*. VX:-^^'[y^^: ^V. 'X/^.H