Charles; thou'lt thrive not one jot the worse for them. Since this gentleman is reconciled, we are all made happy. Sir Jeal. I always loved precaution, and took care to avoid dangers; but, when a thing was past, I ever had philosophy to be easy. Cha. Which is the true sign of a great soul. I loved your daughter, and she me; and you shall have no reason to repent her choice. Isa. You will not blame me, sir, for loving my own country best. Mar. So, here's every body happy, I find, but poor Pilgarlick. I wonder what satisfaction I shall have for being cuffed, kicked, and beaten in your service! Sir Jeal. I have been a little too familiar with you, as things are fallen out; but, since there's no help for't, you must forgive me. Mar. Egad, I think so-but, provided that be not so familiar for the future. Sir Geo. Thou hast been an unlucky rogue. you Cha. That I'll vouch for, and freely forgive thee. Sir Geo. And I'll do you one piece of service more, Marplot; I'll take care that sir Francis make you master of your estate. Mar. That will make me as happy as any of you. SCENE I-A Street. ACT I. Enter DON LOPEZ, meeting FREDErick. Fred. My Lord, Don Lopez! Lop. How d'ye, Frederick? Fred. At your Lordship's service. I am glad to see you look so well, my lord. I hope Antonio's out of danger? Lop. Quite contrary; his fever increases, they tell me; and the surgeons are of opinion his wound is mortal. Fred. Your son, Don Felix, is safe, I hope? Lop. I hope so, too; but they offer large rewards to apprehend him. Fred. When heard your lordship from him? Lop. Not since he went: I forbade him wri ting till the public news gave him an account of Antonio's health. Letters might be intercepted, and the place of his abode discovered. Fred. Your caution was good, my lord. Though I am impatient to hear from Felix, yet his safety is my chief concern. Fortune has maliciously struck a bar between us in the affairs of life, but she has done me the honour to unite our souls. Lop. I am not ignorant of the friendship between my son and you: I have heard him commend your morals, and lament your want of noble birth. Fred. That's nature's fault, my lord. It is some comfort not to owe one's misfortunes to one's self; yet it is impossible not to regret the want of noble birth. as you are master of, should be eclipsed by mean extraction. Fred. Such commendation would make me vain, my lord, did you not cast in the allay of iny extraction. Lop. 'Tis a pity, indeed, such excellent parts, | in the right, though it is a secret which I never had the curiosity to enquire into, nor, I believe, ever shall. Inclination, quotha! Parents would have a fine time on't, if they consulted their children's inclinations! I'll venture you a wager, that in all the garrison towns in Spain and Portugal during the late war, there was not three women who have not had an inclination for every officer in the whole army; does it, therefore, follow, that their fathers ought to pimp for them? No, no, sir; it is not a father's business to follow his children's inclinations till he makes himself a beggar. Lop. There is no condition of life without its cares; and it is the perfection of a man to wear them as easy as he can: this unfortunate duel of my son's does not pass without impression; but since it is past prevention, all my concern is now how he may escape the punishment. If Antonio dies, Felix shall for England. You have been there; what sort of people are the English? Fred. But this is of another nature, my lord. Lop. Look ye, sir; I resolve she shall marry Don Guzman the moment he arrives. Though I could not govern my son, I will my daughter, I assure you. Fred. My lord, the English are, by nature, what the ancient Romans were by discipline, courageous, bold, hardy, and in love with liberty. Liberty is the idol of the English, under whose banner all the nation lists: give but the word for liberty, and straight more armed le-rous than that which you proposed to your son, gions would appear, than France and Philip keep from whence arose this fatal quarrel. Don Anin constant pay. tonio's sister, Elvira, wanted beauty only; but Guzman every thing but Lop. I like their principles: who does not wish for freedom in all degrees of life? though common prudence sometimes makes us act a gainst it, as I am now obliged to do; for, I intend to marry my daughter to Don Guzman, whom I expect from Holland every day, whither he went to take possession of a large estate left him by his uncle. Fred. You will not surely sacrifice the lovely Isabella to age, avarice, and a fool? Pardon the expression, my lord; but my concern for your beauteous daughter transports me beyond that good manners which I ought to pay your lordship's presence. Fred. This match, my lord, is more preposte Lop. Money and that will purchase every thing; and so adieu. [Erit. Fred. Monstrous! these are the resolutions which destroy the comforts of matrimony. He is rich and well-born; powerful arguments, indeed! could I but add them to the friendship of Don Felix, what might I not hope? But a merchant and a grandee of Spain are inconsistent names. Lissardo! from whence came you? Enter LISSARDO in a riding-habit. vant, sir. Fred. To Violante, I suppose? [Bowing. [Erit. Lop. I can't deny the justness of the character, Frederick; but you are not insensible what I have suffered by these wars; and he has two things which render him very agreeable to me for a son-in-law-he is rich and well born: as for his being a fool, I don't conceive how that can Fred. [Reads.] Dear Frederick! the two be any blot in a husband, who is already posses-chief blessings of this life, are a friend and a sed of a good estate. A poor fool, indeed, is a 'mistress; to be debarred the sight of those, is very scandalous thing, and so are your poor not to live. I hear nothing of Antonio's death, wits, in my opinion, who have nothing to be vain and therefore resolve to venture to thy house of but the inside of their sculls. Now, for Don this evening, impatient to see Violante, and emGuzman, I know I can rule him as I think fit.- 'brace my friend. Your's. This is acting the politic part, Frederick, without which, it is impossible to keep up the port of this life. Fred. But have you no consideration for your daughter's welfare, my lord? Lop. Is a husband of twenty thousand crowns a-year no consideration? Now, I think it a very good consideration. Fred. One way, my lord. But what will the world say of such a match? Lop. Sir, I value not the world a button. Fred. I cannot think your daughter can have any inclination for such a husband. Lop. There, I believe, you are pretty much FELIX.' Pray Heaven he comes undiscovered! Ha! Colonel Briton! Enter COLONEL BRITON in a riding-habit. Col. Frederick, I rejoice to see thee. Fred. What brought you to Lisbon, colonel? Col. La fortune de la guerre, as the French say. I have commanded these three last years in Spain, but my country has thought fit to strike up a peace, and give us good Protestants leave to hope for christian burial; so I resolved to take Lisbon in my way home, Fred. If you are not provided of a lodging, | seeing my own again, I had rather purchase my colonel, pray command my house while you stay. | pleasure than run the hazard of a stiletto in my Col. If I were sure I should not be troublesome, I would accept your offer, Frederick. guts. Egad, I think I must e'en marry, and sacrifice my body for the good of my soul. Wilt thou recommend me to a wife, then; one that is willing to exchange her moidores for English li Fred. So far from trouble, colonel, I shall take it as a particular favour. What have we here? Col. My footman: this is our country dress,berty? ha, friend? you must know, which, for the honour of Scotland, I make all my servants wear. Enter GIBBY, in a highland dress. Gib. What maun I de with the horses, and like yer honour? They will tack cald gin they stand in the causeway. Fred. Oh, I'll take care of them. What, hoa! Vasquez! Enter VASQUEZ. Put those horses, which that honest fellow will shew you, into my stable, do you hear, and feed them well. Vas. Yes, sir.-Sir, by my master's orders, I am, sir, your most obsequious humble servant. Be pleased to lead the way. Gib. 'Sbleed! gang your gate, sir; and I sall follow ye. Ise tee hungry to feed on compli[Exit. Well, how ments. Fred. Ha, ha! a comical fellow. do you like our country, colonel ? Col. Why, faith, Frederick, a man might pass his time agreeably enough within side of a nuunery; but to behold such troops of soft, plump, tender, melting, wishing, nay, willing girls, too, through a damned grate, gives us Britons strong temptations to plunder. Ah, Frederick! your priests are wicked rogues; they immure beauty for their own proper use, and shew it only to the laity to create desires, and inflame account, that they may purchase pardons at a dearer rate. Fred. I own wenching is something more difficult here than in England, where womens' liberties are subservient to their inclinations, and husbands seem of no effect but to take care of the children which their wives provide. Col. And does restraint get the better of inclination with your women here? No, I'll be sworn, not even in fourscore. Don't I know the constitution of the Spanish ladies? Fred. And of all the ladies where you come, colonel; you were ever a man of gallantry. Col. Ah, Frederick! the kirk half starves us Scotsmen. We are kept so sharp at home, that we feed like cannibals abroad. Hark ye, hast thou never a pretty acquaintance now that thou wouldst consign over to a friend for half an hour, ha? Fred. Faith, colonel, I am the worst pimp in Christendom; you had better trust to your own luck: the women will soon find you out, I warrant you. Col. Aye, but it is dangerous foraging in an enemy's country; and since I have some hopes of VOL. II. Fred. She must be very handsome, I suppose ? Col. The handsomer the better--but be sure she has a nose. Fred. Aye, aye; and some gold. Col. Oh, very much gold; I shall never be able to swallow the matrimonial pill, if it be not well gilded. Fred. Puh! beauty will make it slide down nimbly. Col. At first, perhaps, it may; but the second or third dose will choke me. I confess, Frederick, women are the prettiest play-things in nature; but gold, substantial gold, gives them the air, the mien, the shape, the grace, and beauty of a goddess. Fred. And has not gold the same divinity in their eyes, colonel? Col. Too often-Money is the very god of marriage; the poets dress him in a saffron robe, by which they figure out the golden deity; and his lighted torch blazons those mighty charms which encourage us to list under his banner. None marry now for love; no, that's a jest: The self-same bargain serves for wife and beast. Fred. You are always gay, colonel. Come, shall we take a refreshing glass at my house, and consider what has been said? Col. I have two or three compliments to discharge for some friends, and then I shall wait on you with pleasure. Where do you live? Fred. At yon corner-house with the green rails. Col. In the close of the evening, I will endeavour to kiss your hand! Adieu. [Exit COL. Fred. I shall expect you with impatience. [Exit FRED. SCENE II-A room in DoN LOPEZ's house. Enter ISABELLA, and INIs her maid. Inis. For goodness sake, madam, where are you going in this pet? Isa. Any where to avoid matrimony. The thoughts of a husband are as terrible to me as the sight of a hobgoblin. Inis. Ay, of an old husband: but if you may choose for yourself, I fancy matrimony would be no such frightful thing to you. Isa. You are pretty much in the right, Inis: but to be forced into the arms of an idiot, a sneaking, snivelling, drivelling, avaricious fool! who has neither person to please the eye, sense to charm the ear, nor generosity to supply those 3 Z defects-Ah, Inis! what pleasant lives women lead in England, where duty wears no fetter but inclination! The custom of our country enslaves us from our very cradles, first to our parents, next to our husbands, and, when Heaven is so kind to rid us of both these, our brothers still usurp authority, and expect a blind obedience from us; so that, maids, wives, or widows, we are little better than slaves to the tyrant, man. Therefore, to avoid their power, I resolve to cast myself into a monastery. Inis. That is, you'll cut your own throat to avoid another's doing it for you. Ah, madam! those eyes tell me you have no nun's flesh about you. A monastery, quotha!— where you'll wish yourself into the green-sickness in a month. Isa. What care I? there will be no man to plague me. Inis. No; nor, what's much worse, to please you, neither-Odslife, madam, you are the first woman that ever despaired in a Christian country Were I in your place Isa. Why, what would your wisdom do, if you were? Inis. I'd embark with the first fair wind with all my jewels, and seek my fortune on t'other side the water: no shore can treat you worse than your own. There's ne'er a father in Christendom should make me marry any man against my will. Isa. I am too great a coward to follow your advice. I must contrive some way to avoid Don Guzman, and yet stay in my own country. Enter DON LOPEZ. Lop. Must you so, mistress? but I shall take care to prevent you. [Aside.]-Isabella, whither are you going, my child? Isa. Ha! my father!-To church, sir. Inis. The old rogue has certainly overheard her. [Aside. Lop. Your devotion must needs be very strong, or your memory very weak, my dear. Why, vespers are over for this night. Come, come; you shall have a better errand to church than to say your prayers there. Don Guzman is arrived in the river, and I expect him ashore to-morrow. Isa. Ha! to-morrow! Lop. He writes me word, that his estate in Holland is worth twelve thousand crowns a-year, which, together with what he had before, will make thee the happiest wife in Lisbon. Isa. And the most unhappy woman in the world. Oh, sir, if I have any power in your heart; if the tenderness of a father be not quite extinct, hear me with patience. Lop. No objection against the marriage, and I will hear whatsoever thou hast to say. Isa. That's forturing me on the rack, and forbidding me to groan. Upon my knees, I claim the privilege of flesh and blood. [Kneels. Lop. I grant it; thou shalt have an armful of flesh and blood to-morrow. Flesh and blood, quotha! Heaven forbid I should deny thee flesh and blood, my girl! [Aside. Inis. Here's an old dog for you! Isa. Do not mistake, sir. The fatal stroke, which separates soul and body, is not more terrible to the thoughts of sinners, than the name of Guzman to my ear. Lop. Puh, puh! you lie, you lie. Isa. My frighted heart beats hard against my breast, as if it sought a passage to your feet, to beg you'd change your purpose. Lop. A very pretty speech, this! if it were turned into blank verse, it would serve for a tragedy. Why, thou hast more wit than I thought thou hadst, child. I fancy this was all extempore; I don't believe thou didst ever think one word on't before. Inis. Yes, but she has, my lord; for I have heard her say the same things a thousand times. Lop. How, how!--What, do you top your second-hand jests upon your father, hussy, who knows better what's good for you than you do yourself? Remember 'tis your duty to obey. Isa. [Rising.] I never disobeyed before; and I wish I had not reason now; but nature has got the better of my duty, and makes me loathe the the harsh commands you lay. Lop. Ha, ha! very fine! ha, ha! Isa. I am your daughter, my lord, and can boast as strong a resolution as yourself. I'll die before I'll marry Guzman. Lop. Say you so? I'll try that presently. [Draws] Here, let me see with what dexterity you can breathe a vein now. [Offers her his sword.] The point is pretty sharp-twill do your business, I warrant you. Inis. Bless me, sir! What! do you mean to put a sword into the hands of a desperate woman? Lop. Desperate! ha, ha, ha! you see how desperate she is. What, art thou frighted, little Bell? ha! sir. Isa. I confess I am startled at your morals, Lop. Ay, ay, child; thou hadst better take the man; he'll hurt thee the least of the two. Isa. I shall take neither, sir: Death has many doors; and, when I can live no longer with pleasure, I shall find one to let him in at without your aid. Lop. Say'st thou so, my dear Bell? Ods, I'm afraid thou art a little lunatic, Bell. I must take care of thee, child. [Takes hold of her, and pulls out of his pocket a key.] I shall make bold to secure thee, my dear; I'll see if locks and bars can keep thee till Guzman come. into your chamber: There I'li your boasted resolution try, Go, get [Pushes her in, and locks the door. |