much my wonder, why a stranger, friendless and unknown, should meet, unmerited, such floods of courtesy: for, if I mistake not, once this day before, I've tasted of your bounty. Lou. I have forgot that; but I confess I saw you, sir. Car. Why, then, was I forced hither? If you relieved me only from a soft compassion of my fortune, you could not think but such humanity might, on the slightest hint, have drawn me to be grateful. Lou. I own I could not trust you to my fortune; I knew not but some other might have seen you―beside, methought you spoke less kind to me before. Car. If my poor thanks were offered in too plain a dress, (as I confess, I am little practised in the rules of graced behaviour) rather think me ignorant, than rude, and pity what you cannot pardon. Lou. Fie, you are too modest-how could you charge yourself with such a thought? I scarce can think 'tis in your nature to be rude-at least to our sex. Car. Twere more unpardonable there. Lou. Nay, now you are too strict on the other side; for there may happen times, when, what the world calls rudeness, a woman might be brought to pardon; seasons, when even modesty were ignorance- -Pray be seated, sir-nay, I'll have it so. Suppose a woman were reduced to offer love; suppose yourself the man so loved; where could you find, at such a time, excuses for your modesty? Car. If I could love again, my eyes would tell her; if not, I should not easily believe, at least, in manners, would not seem to understand her. Lou. Oh, they have such subtle ways to steal into a lover's heart! nay, if she's resolute, not all your strength of modesty can guard you: she'd press you still with plainer, stronger proofs; her life, her fortune should be yours: for, where a woman loves, such gifts as these are trifles. Thus, like the lazy minutes, would she steal them on, which once but past, are quite forgotten. [Gives him jewels. Car. Is't possible! can there be such a woman? Lou. Fie! I could chide you now; you would not, sure, be thought so slow of apprehension. Car. I would not willingly be thought so vain, or so uncharitable, to suppose there could be such a one. Lou. Nay, now, you force me to forsake my sex, and tell you plain-I cannot speak it-yet you must know—I am this creature so reduced for you. Car. Monstrous! Lou. What is't you start at? Car. Not for your beauty; though I confess you fair to a perfection, complete in all, that may engage the eye: but, when that beauty fades (as time leaves none unvisited) what charm shall then secure my love? Your riches? Noan honest mind's above the bribes of fortune :— for, though distressed, a stranger, and in want, I thus return them thankless. Be modest, and be virtuous, I'll admire you; all good men will adore you; and, when your beauty and your fortune are no more, will still deliver down your name revered to ages. Lou. If I appear too free a lover, and talk beyond the usual courage of my sex, forgive me; I'll be again the fearful, softening wretch, that you would have me my wishes shall be dumb, unless my eyes may speak them for pity speak, for I confess your hard reproofs have struck upon my heart! Oh! say you will be mine, and make your own conditions. If you suspect my temper, bind me by the most sacred tie, and let my love, my person, and my fortune, lawfully be yours. Car. Take heed! Consider yet, if even this humility be not the offspring of your first unruly passion: but since, at least, it carries something a better claim to my concern, I'll be at once sincere, and tell you, 'tis impossible that we should ever meet in love. Lou. Impossible! Oh, why? Car. Because my love, my vows, and faith, are given to another: therefore, since you find I dare be honest, be early wise, and now release me to my fortune. Lou. I cannot part with you. Car. You must! I cannot with my reasonPray, let me pass! Why do you thus hang upon my arm, and strain your eyes, as if they had power to hold me? Lou. Ungrateful! Will you go? Take heed! for you have proved I am not mistress of my temper. Car. I see it, and am sorry, but needed not this threat to drive me; for still I dare be just, and force myself away. [Exit CARLOS. Lou. Oh, torture! left! refused! despised! Have I thrown off my pride for this? Oh, insupportable! If I am not revenged, may all thewell. [Walks disordered. -now, D. Lew. What a pox! are all these fine things come to nothing, then?-Poor soul! she's in great heat, truly-Ah, silly rogue! could I find in my heart to put her into good humour again-I have a great mind, faith-Odd, she's a hummer!- -A strange mind, I ha'nt had such a mind a great while-Hey! ay; I'll do't faith-if she does but stay now; ah, if she does but stay! [As he is getting from the balcony, LOUISA is speaking to JAQUES.] Lou. Who waits there? D. Lew. I say, don't you be so modest; for there are times, do you see, when even modesty is ignorance, (pray be seated, madam-nay, I'll have it so) ah! [Sits down, and mimics her behaviour to CARLOS.] Lou. Confusion! have I exposed myself to this wretch, too!--had witnesses to my folly! nay, I deserve it. [Stands mute. D. Lew. So, so, I shall bring her to terms presently-you have a world of pretty jewels here, madam-ay, these now-these are a couple of fine large stones, truly; but, where a woman loves, such gifts as these are trifles. [Mimics again. Lou. Insupportable! within there! Enter Servants and Bravoes. D. Lew. Hey! [Rising. [Aside. Ser. Did your ladyship call, madam? D. Lew, I don't like her looks, faith. Lou. Here, take this fool, let him be gagged, tied neck and heels, and locked into a garret; away with him! D. Lew. Dumb! Dumb! help, Dumb! Dumb! stand by me, Dumb! a pox of my finishing, awe! awe! [They gag him, and carry him off. Lou. The insolence of this fool was more provoking than the other's scorn; but I shall yet find ways to measure my revenge. [Exit LOUISA. Re-enter CARLOS in the dark. Car. What can this evil woman mean me? The doors all barred; the lights put out; the servants mute, and she with fury in her eyes now shot regardless by me. I would the worst would shew itself! Ha! yonder's a light; I'll follow it, and provoke my fortune. [Exit. SCENE II.-Changes to another room. Enter ANGELINA with a light. Ang. I cannot like this house; for now, as going to my rest, my ears were alarmed with the cries of one, that called for help. I've seen strange faces, too, that carry guilt and terror in their looks; and yet the officer, that placed me here, appeared of honest thought-what can this mean? no matter what, since nothing but the loss of him I love, can worse befal me! hark, what noise! is the door fast? ab! [Going to shut it, Re-enter CARLOS and JAQUES, listening. [Amazed. Car. Save me, ye powers! and give me strength to bear this insupportable surprise of rushing joy! Ang. My Carlos-oh! Car. 'Tis she! my long lost love, my living Angelina!. [Embraces her. Jaq. Say you so, sir? this shall to my lady. [Exit JAQUES. Ang. Oh, let me hold you ever thus, lest fate again should part us. Car. 'Twas death, indeed, to part; but from so hard a separation, thus again to meet, is life restored, Ang. Oh! I were happy, blessed above my sex, could but my plain simplicity of love deserve your kind endearments. Car. Is't possible, thou miracle of goodness, that thou canst thus forget the misery, the want, the ruin my unhappy love has brought thee to? Trust me, that stormy thought has clouded even the very joy I had to see thee. Enter JAQUES and LOUISA at a distance. Jaq. They are there; from hence, your ladyship inay hear them. Lou. Leave me. [Exit JAQUES, and Lovisa listens. Ang. I cannot bear to see you thus: for my sake, don't despond; for, while you seem in hope, I shall easily be cheerful. Car. Oh, thou engaging softness! thy courage has revived me; no, we'll not despair; the guardian power, that hitherto has saved us, may now protect, and fix us happy. Lou. Ha! so near acquainted [Behind. Run, take help, and stop the stranger; he is now Enter JAQUES, Now, have you brought him? Jaq. Madam, we made what haste we could, but the gentleman reached the mount before us, and escaped over the garden wall. Lou. Escaped, villain! durst thou tell me so? Jaq. If your ladyship had called me a little sooner, we had taken him. Who the devil is this stranger? [Aside. again; and, if he keeps his word, (as I've an odious cause to fear he will) he yet, at least in my revenge, shall prove me woman. [Exit LOUISA. SCENE III.-The Street. Enter D. DUART disguised, with a servant." Enter CLODIO. D. Du. I scarce remember him. I would not willingly mistake—I'll observe him. Clo. So! now if I can but pick up an honest fellow, to crack one healing bottle, I think I shall finish the day as smartly as the grand signiorHold, let me see, what has my hasty refreshment cost me here; umb-umb-umb-[Counts his money.]-seven pistoles, by Jupiter; why, what a plaguy income this jade must have in a week, if she's thus paid by the hour! D. Du. 'Tis the same! leave mee-[Exit Ser vant.]-Your servant, sir. Clo, Sir-your humble servant. D. Du. Pardon a stranger's freedom, sir; but when you know my business Clo. Sir, if you'll take a bottle, I shall be proud of your acquaintance; and if I don't do your business before we part, I'll knock under the table. D. Du. Sir, I shall be glad to drink with you; but at present am incapable of sitting to it. Clo. Why, then, sir, you shall only drink as long as you can stand; we'll have a bottle here, sir. Hey, Madona ! [Calls at the door. D. Du. A very frank humoured gentleman; I'll know him farther-I presume, sir, you are not of Portugal? Clo. No, sir-I am a kind of a—what d'ye call 'um-a sort of a here-and-thereian; I am a stranger no where. D. Du. Have you travelled far, sir? Enter Servant with wine. Clo. So, so here's the wine! come; sir, to our better acquaintance-faith, I like you mightily-Allons!-[Drinks.]-Morbleu! ce n'est pas mauvais! Allons, encore, hey! Vive l'amour! Quand Iris, &c. [Sings. D. Du. I find, sir, you have taken a taste of all the countries you have travelled through: but I presume your chief amusement has lain among the ladies. You fared well in France, I hope? Clo. Yes, faith, as far as my pocket would go : the devil a stroke without it: no money, no maLou. Fool, that I am! I betray myself to my demoiselle; no ducat, no duchess; no pistole, no own servants. Well, 'tis no matter, bid the bra-princess-By the way, let me tell you, sir, your voes stay; I have directions for them. Go-Lisbonites are held up at a pretty smart rate, too [Exit JAQUES.]-He has not left me hopeless, -I was forced to come down to the tune of yet; an hour hence, he promised to be here seven pistoles here-a man may keep a pad of his own, cheaper than he can ride post, split | I desire you will command my sword or for me! D. Du. I find, sir, you know England, then. Clo. Aye, sir, and every woman there that's worth knowing. D. Du. But I wonder, sir, that in a country so famed for handsome women, the men are so generally blamed for their scandalous usage of them. Clo. Oh, damned scandalous, sir-they use their mistresses as bad as their wives, faith. I tell you what, sir; I knew a citizen's daughter there, that run away with a lord, who, in the first six months of her preferment, never stirred out, but she made the ladies cry at her equipage; and, about eight months after, I think, one morning reeling pretty early into a certain house in the Savoy, I found the self-same, cast-off, solitary lady, in a room with bare walls, dressing her dear, pretty head there, in the corner bit of a lookingglass, prudently supported by a quartern brandypot, upon the head of an oyster-barrel. D. Du. I find few mistresses make their fortunes there; but pray, sir, among all your adventures, has no particular lady's merit encouraged you to advance your own marriage? Clo. Sir, I have been so near marriage, that my wedding-day has been come; but it was never over yet, split me! D. Du. How so, sir? Clo. Why, the priest, the bride, and the dinner, were all ready dressed, faith; but, before I could fall to, my elder brother, sir, comes me in, with a damned long stride, and a sharp stomach -says a short grace, and-whipped her up like an oyster. D. Du. You had ill fortune, sir, Clo. Sir, fortune is not much in my debt; for you must know, sir, though I lost my wife, I have escaped hanging since, here in Lisbon. D. Du. That I know you have; be not amazed, sir. Clo. Hey! what the devil? have I been all this while treating an officer, that has a warrant against me- -Pray, sir, if it be no offence-may I beg the favour to know who you are? D. Du. Let it suffice, I own myself your friend- am your debtor, sir; you fought a gentleman they call Don Duart-I knew him well; he was a proud insulting fellow, and my mortal foe: but you killed him, and I thank you; nay, I saw you do it fairly, too; and for the action, tune. how I Clo. Pray, sir-is there no joke in all this? D. Du. There, sir, the little all I'm master of, may serve, at present, to convince you of my sinerity; I ask for no return, but to be informed may do you farther service, [Gives him a purse. Clo. Sir, your health- -I'll give you information presently. [Drinks.]-Pray, sir, do you know the gentleman's sister, that I fought with? That is, do you know what reputation, what fortune she has ? D. Du. I know her fortune to be worth above twelve thousand pistoles; her reputation yet unsullied; but pray, sir, why may you ask this? Clo. Now, I'll tell you, sir-twelve thousand pistoles, you say? D. Du. I speak the least, sir. Clo. Why, this very lady, after I had killed her brother, gave me the protection of her house; hid me in her closet, while the officers that brought in the dead body came to search for me; and, as soon as their backs were turned, poor soul! hurried me out at a private door, with tears in her eyes, faith! Now, sir, what think you? Is not this hint broad enough for a man to make love upon? D. Du. Confusion! [Aside. Clo. Look you, sir, now, if you dare, give me a proof of your friendship; will you do me the favour to carry a letter to her? D. Du. Let me consider, sir-death and fire! is all her height of sorrow but dissembled, then? A prostitute, even to the man supposed my murderer! If it be true, the consequence is soon resolved--but this requires my farther search.- Aside.]—May I depend on this for truth, sir? Clo. Why, sir, you don't suppose I'd banter a lady of her quality? D. Du. Damnation!-[Aside.]-Well, sir, I'll take your letter; but first let me be well acquainted with my errand. Clo. Sir, I'll write this moment; if you please, we'll step into the house here, and finish the business over another bottle. D. Du. With all my heart. [Exeunt, SCENE I. ACT V. ELVIRA is discovered alone in mourning, a lamp by her. DON DUART enters behind, disguised. Elo. I'll dispatch immediately will you walk this way, sir? D. Du. Madam, I wait on you--Revenge SCENE II.-LOUISA's house, D. Du. THUS far I am passed, unknown to any of the servants-now for the proof of what I fear-Ha! yonder she is- -This close retirement, those sable colours, the solemn silence that attends her, no friends admitted, nor even the day to visit her-These seem to speak a real sorrow; if not, the counterfeit is deep indeed-fright. I'll fathom it- -madam Elv. Who's there? another murderer! where are my servants? will nothing but my sorrows wait upon me? D. Du. Your pardon, lady; I have no evil meaning; this letter will inform you of my business, and excuse this rude intrusion. Elv. For me! whence comes it, sir? D. Du. The contents, madam, will explain to you-She seems amazed! looks almost through the letter-I should suspect the stranger had belied her, but that he gave me such convincing circumstances-Ha, she pauses! 'sdeath! a smile too I fear her now! Elv. My prayers are heard; justice at length has overtaken the murderer: his vowed protection having been strictly paid, I now, unperjured, may revenge my brother's blood. It lies on me, if I neglect this fair occasion: but 'twere not safe to shew my thought; therefore, to be just, I must dissemble. [Aside.] I ask your pardon for my rudeness, sir; upon your friend's account, you might, indeed, have claimed a better wel come. D. Du. So; then she's damned, I find. But I'll have more, and bring them face to face. [Aside.] My friend, madam, thought his visits would be unseasonable, before the sad solemnity of your brother's funeral. Elv. A needless fear! My brother, sir! Alas, I owe your friend my thanks, for having eased our family of so scandalous a burthen! A riotous, unmannered fellow; I blush to speak of him. D. Du. Oh, patience! patience! [Aside. Elo. Pray, let him know, his absence was the real cause of this mistaken mourning: 'tis true, indeed, I gave it out 'tis for my brother's death; but womens' hearts and tongues, you know, must not always hold alliance; you'd think us fond and forward, should not we now and then dissemble. D. Du. How shall I forbear her? [Aside. Elv. I grow impatient till he's wholly mineto-morrow! 'tis an age! I'll make him mine tonight--I'll write to him this minute- -Can you have patience, sir, till I prepare a letter for you? D. Du. You may command me, madam. Lou. Let them be ready to produce her, as I directed. When the stranger's taken, bring me immediate notice: 'tis near his time, away.[Erit JAQUES.] Had he not loved another, methinks I could have borne this usage, sat me down alone content, and found a secret pleasure in complaining; but to be slighted for a girl, a sickly, poor, unthinking wretch, incapable of love: that, that stabs home! 'Tis poison to my thoughts, and swells them to revenge! My rival! no, she shall never triumph. Hark! what noise! they have him sure! How now! Enter JAQUES. Jaq. Madam, the gentleman is taken. Lou. Bring him in- -Revenge, I thank thee now! Enter Bravoes with CARLOS disarmed. So, sir, you are returned, it seems; you can love then! You have an heart, I find, though not for me! Perhaps you came to seek a worthier mistress here; 'would be uncharitable to disappoint your love——I'll help your search: if she be here, be sure she's safe-Open that door there. Enter more Bravoes with ANGELINA, an handkerchief on her neck, which they hold ready to strangle her. Now, sir, is this the lady? Car. My Angelina! Oh! Lou. Now, let me see you smile, and rudely throw me from your arms; now scorn my love, my passion, and my fortune; now, let your squeamish virtue fly me as a disease to modesty; and tell her, now, your shameful tale of my intemperance! Car. Oh, cruelty of fate! that could betray such innocence. Lou. What, not a word to soften yet thy obstinate aversion! thou wretched fool, thus to provoke thy ruin--End her! [to the Bravoes. Car. Oh, hold! for pity hold, and hear me ! Lou. I've learned from you to use my pity-On one condition yet she lives an hour; but, if refused Car. Name not a refusal; be it danger, death, or tortures; any thing that life can do to save her, |