[]THE WONDER: A Woman keeps a SECRET.

SCENE I.

MY Lord Don Lopez.

How do you Frederick?

At your Lordſhip's Service, I am glad to ſee you look ſo well my Lord, I hope Antonio is out of dan⯑ger.

Quite contrary, his Feaver increaſes they tell me, and the Surgeons are of Opinion his wound is mortal.

Your Son Don Felix is ſafe I hope.

I hope ſo too, but they offer large Rewards to apprehend him.

When heard your Lordſhip from him?

Not ſince he went, I forbad him writing till the publick News gave him an Account of Anto⯑nio's Health, Letters might be intercepted, and the place of his Abode diſcovered.

Your Caution was good my Lord; tho' I am impatient to hear from Felix, yet his Safety is my chief Concern. Fortune has maliciouſly ſtruck a Bar be⯑tween us in the Affairs of Life, but ſhe has done me the Honour to unite our Souls.

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.

That's Nature's fault my Lord, 'tis ſome comfort not to owe ones Misfortunes to ones Self, yet 'tis im⯑poſſible not to regret the want of noble Birth.

'Tis pity indeed ſuch excellent Parts as you are Maſter of, ſhould be eclipſed by mean Extraction.

Such Commendation wou'd make me vain my Lord, did you not caſt in the allay of my Extraction.

There is no Condition of Life without its Cares, and it is the Perfection of a Man to wear 'em as eaſie as he can; this unfortunate Duel of my Son's does not paſs without Impreſſion. But ſince 'tis paſt Preven⯑tion, 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 Eng⯑liſh?

My Lord, the Engliſh are by Nature, what the ancient Romans were by Diſcipline, couragious, 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 Legions wou'd appear, than France, and Philip keep in conſtant Pay.

I like their Principles; who does not wiſh for Freedom in all Degrees of Life? Tho' common Prudence ſometimes makes us act againſt it, as I am now obliged to do, for I intend to marry my Daugh⯑ter to Don Guzman, whom I expect from Holland eve⯑ry Day, whither he went to take Poſſeſſion of a large Eſtate left him by his Uncle.

You will not ſure 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.

I can't deny the juſtneſs of the Character Frederick; but you are not inſenſible what I have ſuffer⯑ed 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 con⯑ceive how that can be any Blot in a Husband, who is al⯑ready poſſeſs'd of a good Eſtate.—A Poor Fool indeed is a very Scandalous thing, and ſo are your Poor Wits, in my Opinion, who have nothing to be vain of, but the inſide of their Sculls; now for Don Guzman I know I can rule him, as I think fit; this is acting the Politick part, Frederick, without which, it is impoſſible to keep up the Port of this Life.

But have you no Conſideration for your Daughter's welfare my Lord?

Is a Husband of twenty thouſand Crowns a Year, no Conſideration? Now I think it a very good Conſideration.

One way, my Lord. But what will the World ſay of ſuch a Match?

Sir, I value not the World a Button.

I cannot think your Daughter can have any Inclination for ſuch a Husband.

There I believe you are pretty much in the right, tho' it is a Secret, which I never had the Curio⯑ſity [4] to enquire into, nor I believe ever ſhall—Inclina⯑tion quotha! Parents would have a fine time on't, if they conſulted their Childrens Inclinations! I'll ven⯑ture you a Wager, that in all the Garriſon Towns in Spain and Portugal, during the late War, there were not three Women, who have not had an Inclination to 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 Childrens Inclinations till he makes himſelf a Beggar.

But this is of another Nature my Lord.

Look ye Sir, I reſolve ſhe ſhall Marry Don Guzman the Moment he arrives; tho' I cou'd not go⯑vern my Son, I will my Daughter, I aſſure you.

This Match my Lord, is more prepoſterous than that which you propoſed to your Son, from whence a⯑roſe this fatal—Quarrel, Don Antonio's Siſter Elvira, wanted Beauty only, but Guzman every thing, but—

Money—and that will purchaſe every thing, and ſo Adieu.

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 come you?

That Letter will inform you Sir.

I hope your Maſter's ſafe.

I left him ſo, I have another to deliver which requires—haſte—Your moſt humble Servant Sir

To Violante, I ſuppoſe.

The ſame.

Dear Frederick, the two chief Bleſ⯑ſings of this Life are a Friend, and a Miſtreſs; to be debarred the ſight of thoſe is not to live. I hear no⯑thing of Antonio's Death, therefore reſolve to venture to thy Houſe this Evening, impatient to ſee Violante, and embrace my Friend. Yours Felix.

Pray Heaven he comes undiſcover'd—ha! Colonel Britton!

Frederick, I rejoice to ſee thee.

What brought you to Lisbon Colonel?

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 reſolve to take Lisbon in my way home.

If you are not provided of a Lodging Colo⯑nel, pray command my Houſe, while you ſtay.

If I were ſure I ſhould not be troubleſome, I wou'd accept your offer, Frederick.

So far from trouble Colonel, I ſhall take it as a particular Favour, what have we here?

My Footman, this is our Country Dreſs you muſt know, which for the Honour of Scotland, I make all my Servants wear.

What mun I de with the Horſes, an like yer Honour, they will tack cold gin, they ſtand in the Cauſsway.

Oh! I'll take Care of them, what hoa Vaſquez.

put thoſe Horſes which that honeſt Fellow will ſhow you into my Stable, do you hear? And feed them well.

Yes Sir.—Sir, by my Maſter's Order, I am Sir, your moſt obſequious humble Servant. Be pleas'd to lead the Way.

S'bled gang yer gat Sir, and I fall follow yee: Iſe tee hungry to feed on Compliments.

Ha, ha, a comical Fellow.—Well, how do you like our Country, Colonel?

Why Faith Frederick, a Man might paſs his Time agreeably enough with Inſide of a Nunnery; but to behold ſuch Troops of ſoft, plump, tender melting, wiſhing, nay willing Girls too, thro' a damn'd Grate, gives us Brittons ſtrong Temptation to Plunder. Ah Frederick, your Prieſts are wicked Rogues. They im⯑mure Beauty for their own proper Uſe, and ſhow it on⯑ly to the Laity to create Deſires, and inflame Accompts, that they may purchaſe Pardons at a dearer Rate.

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.

And does Reſtraint get the better of Inclina⯑tion with your Women here? No, I'll be ſworn not even in fourſcore. Don't I know the Conſtitution of the Spaniſh Ladies?

And of all Ladies where you come, Colo⯑nel, you were ever a Man of Gallantry.

Ah Frederick, the Kirk half ſtarves us Scotch⯑men. 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 con⯑ſign over to a Friend for half an Hour, ha?

Faith Colonel, I am the worſt Pimp in Chri⯑ſtendom, you had better truſt to your own Luck, the Women will ſoon find you out I warrant you.

Ay, but it is dangerous forraging in an Ene⯑my's Country, and ſince I have ſome hopes of ſeeing [7] my own again, I had rather purchaſe my Pleaſure, than run the hazard of a Stilletto in my 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 Moy⯑ders for Engliſh Liberty; ha Friend,

She muſt be very handſome I ſuppoſe.

The handſomer the better—but be ſure ſhe has a Noſe.

Ay, ay, and ſome Gold.

Oh, very much Gold, I ſhall never be able to ſwallow the Matrimonial Pill, if it be not well Gil⯑ded.

Puh, Beauty will make it ſlide down nim⯑bly.

At firſt perhaps it may, but the Second or Third Doſe will choak me—I confeſs Frederick, Wo⯑men are the prettieſt Play-things in Nature, but Gold, ſubſtantial Gold, gives 'em the Air, the Mien, the Shape, the Grace, and Beauty of a Goddeſs.

And has not Gold the ſame Divinity in their Eyes Colonel?

Too often.—Money is the very God of Mar⯑riage, 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.

You are always gay Colonel, come ſhall we take a refreſhing Glaſs at my Houſe, and conſider what has been ſaid.

I have two or three Compliments to diſcharge for ſome Friends, and then I ſhall wait on you with Pleaſure: Where do you live?

At yon Corner Houſe with the green Rails.

In the cloſe of the Evening I will endeavour to kiſs your Hand. Adieu.

I ſhall expect you with impatience.

For goodneſs ſake, Madam, where are you go⯑ing in this Pet?

Any where to avoid Matrimony; the thoughts of a Husband is as terrible to me as the ſight of a Hob⯑goblin.

Ay, of an old Husband, but if you might chuſe for your ſelf, I fancy Matrimony wou'd be no ſuch frightful Thing to you.

You are pretty much in the right, Inis; but to be forc'd into the Arms of an Ideot, a ſneaking, ſni⯑vling, drivling, avaricious Fool, who has neither Per⯑ſon to pleaſe the Eye, Senſe to charm the Ear, nor ge⯑neroſity to ſupply thoſe Defects, ah Inis! What plea⯑ſant Lives Women lead in England, where Duty wears no Fetter but Inclination: The Cuſtom of our Coun⯑try inſlaves us from our very Cradles, firſt to our Pa⯑rents, 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 my ſelf into a Monaſtery.

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 Nuns fleſh about you; a Monaſtery quotha! Where you'll wiſh your ſelf in the Green-Sick⯑neſs in a Month.

What care I, there will be no Man to plague me.

No, nor what's much worſe, to pleaſe you [9] neither—Ad'slife Madam, you are the Firſt Woman that e'er diſpair'd in a Chriſtian Country—Were I in your Place—

Why what wou'd your Wiſdom do if you were?

I'de imbark with the firſt fair Wind with all my Jewels, and ſeek my Fortune on t'other ſide the Wa⯑ter; no Shoar can treat you worſe than your own; there's ne'er a Father in Chriſtendom ſhould make me marry any Man againſt my Will.

I am too great a Coward to follow your Ad⯑vice. I muſt contrive ſome way to avoid Don Guzman, and yet ſtay in my own Country.

Muſt you ſo Miſtreſs, but I ſhall take Care to prevent you.

Iſabella, whether are you go⯑ing my Child?

Ha! my Father! To Church, Sir.

The old Rogue has certainly over-heard her.

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 bet⯑ter Errand to Church than to ſay your Prayers there. Don Guzman is arriv'd in the River, and I expect him aſhore to Morrow.

Ha, to Morrow!

He writes me Word, That his Eſtate in Holland is worth 12000 Crowns a Year, which, together with what he had before, will make thee the happieſt Wife in Lisbon.

And the moſt unhappy Woman in the World. Oh Sir! If I have any Power in your Heart, if the ten⯑derneſs of a Father be not quite extinct, hear me with Patience.

No Objections againſt the Marriage, and I will hear whatever thou haſt to ſay.

That's torturing me on the Rack, and for⯑bidding me to Groan; upon my Knees I claim the Priviledge of Fleſh and Blood.

I grant it, thou ſhalt have an Arm full of Fleſh and Blood to Morrow; Fleſh and Blood quotha, Hea⯑ven forbid I ſhould deny thee Fleſh and Blood, my Girl.

Here's an old Dog for you.

Do not miſtake, Sir, the fatal Stroak which ſe⯑parates Soul and Body, is not more terrible to the Thoughts of Sinners, than the Name of Guzman to my Ears.

Puh, puh; you Lye, you Lye.

My frighted Heart beats hard againſt my Breaſt, as if it ſought a Paſſage to your Feet, to beg you'd change your Purpoſe.

A very pretty Speech this, if it were turn'd 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 did'ſt ever think of one Word on't before.

Yes, but ſhe has, my Lord, for I have heard her ſay the ſame Things a thouſand Times.

How, how, What do you top your ſecond Hand Jeſts upon your Father, Huſſy, who knows bet⯑ther what's good for you than you do your ſelf; re⯑member 'tis your Duty to Obey.

I never diſobey'd before, and wiſh I had not Reaſon now; but Nature has got the better of my Duty, and makes me loath the harſh Commands you lay.

Ha, ha, very fine! Ha, ha.

Death it ſelf wou'd be more welcome.

Are you ſure of that?

I am your Daughter, my Lord, and can boaſt as ſtrong a Reſolution as your ſelf; I'll die before I'll marry Guzman.

Say you ſo, I'll try that preſently.

Here let me ſee with what Dexterity you can breath a Vein now,

The Point is pretty ſharp, 'twill do your Buſineſs I warrant you.

Bleſs me, Sir, What do you mean to put a Sword into the Hands of a deſperate Woman?

Deſperate, ha, ha, ha, you ſee how deſperate ſhe is, what art thou frighted little Bell. ha!

I confeſs I am ſtartled at your Morals, Sir.

Ay, ay, Child, thou hadſt better take the Man, he'll hurt thee the leaſt of the two.

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.

Say'ſt thou ſo, my dear Bell. Ods, I'm afraid thou art a little Lunatick Bell. I muſt take Care of thee, Child,

I ſhall make bold to ſecure thee, my Dear: I'll ſee if Locks and Bars can keep thee till Guzman comes; go, get you into your Chamber.

SCENE, a Room in Don Pedro's Houſe.

WHAT muſt that Letter be read again?

Yes, and again, and again, and again, a thouſand Times again, a Letter from a faithful Lover can ne'er be read too often; it ſpeaks ſuch kind, ſuch ſoft, ſuch tender Things—

But always the ſame Language.

It does not charm the leſs for that.

In my Opinion nothing charms that does not change; and any Compoſition of the four and Twenty Letters, after the firſt Eſſay, from the ſame Hand, muſt be dull, except a Bank Note, or a Bill of Exchange.

Thy Taſte is my Averſion—

My all that's charming, ſince Life's not Life exil'd from thee this Night ſhall bring me to thy Arms. Frederick and thee are all I truſt: Theſe ſix Weeks abſence has been in Love's Accompt ſix Hundred Years; when it is Dark expect the wonted Signal at thy Window, till when adieu, thine more than his own. Felix.

Who wou'd not have ſaid as much to a Lady of her Beauty, and twenty Thouſand Pounds.—Were I a Man, methinks I cou'd have ſaid a Hundred finer Things, I wou'd have compar'd your Eyes to the Stars, your Teeth to Ivory, your Lips to Corral, your Neck to Allabaſter, your Shape to—

No more of your Bombaſt, Truth is the beſt E⯑loquence in a Lover.—What Proof remains ungiven of his Love? When his Father threatned to diſinherit him, for refuſing Don Antonio's Siſter, from whence [13] ſprung this unhappy Quarrel; did it ſhake his Love for me? And now, tho' ſtrict Enquiry runs thro' every Place, with large Rewards to apprehend him, does he not venture all for me?

But you know, Madam, your Father Don Pedro deſigns you for a Nun, and ſays your Grand-Father left you your Fortune upon that Condition.

Not without my Approbation, Girl, when I come to one and Twenty, as I am inform'd. But how⯑ever, I ſhall run the risk of that; go call in Liſſardo.

Yes, Madam, now for a thouſand Verbal Que⯑ſtions.

Well, and how do you do Liſſardo?

Ah, very weary, Madam—Faith thou look'ſt wondrous Pretty Flora.

How came you?

En Cavalier, Madam, upon a Hackney-Jade, which they told me formerly belong'd to an Engliſh Colonel. But I ſhould rather have thought ſhe had been bred a good Roman Catholick all her Life time; for ſhe down of her Knees to every Stock, and Stone, we came along by. My Chaps Waters for a Kiſs, they do, Flora.

You'd make one believe you are wondrous fond now.

Where did you leave your Maſter?

Od, if I had you alone Houſe-Wife, I'd ſhow you how fond I cou'd be—

at a lit⯑tle Farm-Houſe, Madam, about five Miles off; he'll be at Don Frederick's in the Evening—Od, I will ſo re⯑venge my ſelf of thoſe Lips of thine.

Is he in Health?

Oh, you counterfeit wondrous well.

No, every Body knows I Counterfeit very ill.

How ſay you! Is Felix ill, What's his Diſtem⯑per? Ha!

A pies on't, I hate to be interrupted—Love, Madam, Love—In ſhort, Madam, I believe he has thought of nothing but your Ladyſhip ever ſince he left Lisbon. I am ſure he cou'd not, if I may Judge of his Heart by my own

How came you ſo well acquainted with your Maſter's Thoughts, Liſſardo?

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 you—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—I flew into the Kitchin, full of Thoughts of thee, cry'd, here Cook, roaſt me theſe Florellas.

Ha, ha, excellent—You mimick your Maſter then it ſeems.

I can do every thing as well as my Maſter, you little—Rogue, another time: Madam, the Prieſt came to make him a Viſit, he call'd out haſtily, Liſſardo ſaid he, bring a Violante for my Father to ſit down on;—then he often miſtook my Name, Madam, and call'd me Violante; in ſhort, I heard it ſo often, that it be⯑came as familiar to me as my Prayers.

You liv'd very Merrily then it ſeems.

Oh, exceeding Merry Madam.

Ha! Exceeding Merry; had you Treats and Balls?

Oh! Yes, yes, Madam, ſeveral.

You are Mad, Liſſardo, you don't mind what my Lady ſays to you.

Ha! Balls—Is he ſo Merry in my abſence? And did your Maſter Dance, Liſſardo?

Dance Madam! Where Madam?

Why, at thoſe Balls you ſpeak of.

Balls! What Balls Madam?

Why, ſure you are in Love, Liſſardo; did not you ſay, but now, you had Balls where you have been?

Balls, Madam! Odſlife, I ask your Pardon Madam! I, I, I, had miſlaid ſome Waſh-Balls of my Maſter's t'other Day; and becauſe I cou'd not think where I had laid them, juſt when he ask'd 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 Melancho⯑ly as an unbrac'd Drum.

Poor Felix! There, wear that Ring for your Maſter's Sake, and let him know, I ſhall be ready to receive him,

I ſhall Madam—

methinks a Diamond-Ring is a vaſt addition to the little Finger of a Gentleman.

That Ring muſt be mine—Well Liſſardo! What haſte you make to pay off Arrears now? Look how the Fellow ſtands?

Egad, methinks I have a very pretty Hand—and very white—and the Shape!—Faith, I never minded it ſo much before!—In my Opinion it is a very fine ſhap'd Hand—and becomes a Diamond Ring, as well as the firſt Grandees in Portugal.

The Man's tranſported! Is this your Love! This your Impatience!

Now in my Mind—I take Snuff with a very Fantee Air—Well, I am perſuaded I want nothing but a Coach, and a Title, to make me a very fine Gentleman.

Sweet Mr. Liſſardo,

if I may pre⯑ſume to ſpeak to you, without affronting your little Finger.—

Odſo Madam, I ask your Pardon—Is it to me, or to the Ring—you direct your Diſcourſe, Madam.

Madam! Good lack! How much a Diamond Ring improves one.

Why, tho' I ſay it—I can carry my ſelf as well as any Body—But what wer't thou going to ſay Child?

Why 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?

Humph! Ah! But—but—but—I believe I ſhan't marry yet a while.

You ſhan't, you ſay—Very well! I ſuppoſe you deſign that Ring for Inis.

No, no, I never bribe an old Acquaintance—Perhaps I might let it ſparkle in the Eyes of a Stranger a little, till we came to a right Underſtanding—But then like all other Mortal Things, it would return from whence it came.

Inſolent—Is that your Manner of dealing.

With all but thee—Kiſs me you little Rogue you.

Little Rogue! Prithy Fellow, don't be ſo fa⯑miliar,

if I mayn't keep your Ring, I can keep my Kiſſes,

You can, you ſay! Spoke with the Air of a Chambermaid.

Reply'd with the Spirit of a ſerving Man.

Prithy Flora, don't let you and I fall out, I am in a merry Humour, and ſhall certainly fall in ſomewhere.

What care I, where you fall in.

Why do you keep Liſſardo ſo long, Flora? When you don't know how ſoon my Father may awake, his Afternoon Naps are never long.

Had Don Felix been with her, ſhe wou'd not have thought the Time long; theſe Ladies conſider no body's Wants but there own.

Go, go, let him out, and bring a Candle.

Yes Madam.

I fly, Madam.

The Day draws in, and Night,——the Lover's Friend advances—Night more welcome than the Sun to me, becauſe it brings my Love.

Ah! Thieves, Thieves! Mur⯑der, Murder!

Ah! Defend me Heaven! What do I hear? Felix is certainly purſu'd, and will be taken.

How, now! Why doſt ſtare ſo? Anſwer me quickly! What's the Matter?

Oh Madan! 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.

Ha! A dead Perſon! Heaven grant it do's not prove my Felix.

Here they are Madam.

I'll retire till you diſcover the Meaning of the Accident.

The Neceſſity this Lady was under, of be⯑ing convey'd into ſome Houſe with Speed and Se⯑crecy, will I hope excuſe any Indecency I might be guilty of, in preſſing ſo rudely into this—I am an entire Stranger to her Name and Circumſtances; wou'd I were ſo to her Beauty too

I commit her Madam to your Care, and fly to make her Retreat ſe⯑cure; if the Street be clear, permit me to return and learn from her own Mouth. If I can be farther ſer⯑viceable, pray Madam, how is the Lady of this Houſe call'd?

Violante, Senior—He is a handſome Cavalier and promiſes well.

Are you ſhe Madam?

Only her Woman, Senior.

Your humble Servant. Mrs. Pray be careful of the Lady—

Two Moyders! Well he is a generous Fellow this is the only Way to make one careful; I find all Countries underſtand the Conſtitution of a Chamber⯑maid.

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 me Heaven, 'tis Iſabella, Siſter to my Felix, what has be [...]a [...]n her? Pray Heaven he's ſafe,—Run and fetch ſome cold Water,

Iſabella, Friend, ſpeak to me, Oh! Speak to me, or I ſhall die with Apprehenſion.

See, ſhe revives.

Oh! Hold my deareſt Father, do not force me, indeed I cannot love him.

How wild ſhe talks—

Ha! Where am I?

With one as ſenſible of thy Pain as thou thy ſelf canſt be.

Violante! What kind Star preſerv'd, and lodg'd me here?

It was a Terreſtial Star, call'd a Man, Madam; pray Jupiter he proves a lucky one.

Oh! I remember now, forgive me dear Vio⯑lante, my Thoughts ran ſo much upon the Danger I eſcap'd, I had forgot.

May I not know your Story?

Thou art no Stranger to one part of it; I have often told thee that my Father deſign'd to ſacrifice me to the Arms of Don Guzman, who it ſeems is juſt re⯑turn'd from Holland, and expected aſhore to-morrow, the Day that he has ſet to celebrate our Nuptials, upon my refuſing to obey him, he lock'd me into my Chamber, vowing to keep me there till he arriv'd, and force me to conſent. I know my Father to be poſſi⯑tive, never to be won from his Deſign; and having no hope left me, to eſcape the Marriage, I leap'd from the Window, into the Street.

You have not hurt your ſelf I hope.

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 aſſur'd me to the contrary.

He is a very fine Gentleman I promiſe you, Madam, and a well bred Man I warrant him. I think I never ſaw a Grandee put his Hand into his Pocket with 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 the Gold cou'd equal.

There is but one common Road to the Heart of a Servant, and 'tis impoſſible for a generous Perſon to miſtake it.—But how came you hither Iſabella?

I know not, I deſir'd the Stranger to convey me to the next Monaſtery, but e'er I reach'd thy Door, I ſaw, or fancy'd that I ſaw, Liſſardo, my Brother's Man, and the Thought that his Maſter might not be far off, flung me into a Swoon, which is all that I re⯑member: Ha! What's here

For Collonel Britton, to be left at the Poſt-Houſe in Lisbon; this muſt be drop'd by the Stranger which brought me hither.

Thou art fal'n into the Hands of a Soldier, take care he does not lay thee under Contribution, Girl.

I find he is a Gentleman; and if he be but un⯑married I cou'd be content to follow him all the World over.—But I ſhall never ſee him more I fear.

What makes you ſigh Iſabella?

The fear of falling into my Father's Clutches again.

Can I be ſerviceable to you?

Yes if you'l conceal me two or three Days.

You command my Houſe and Secrecy.

I thank you Violante,—I wiſh you wou'd oblige me with Mrs. Flora a while.

I'll ſend for her to you—I muſt watch if Dad be ſtill aſleep, or here will be no room for Felix.

Well I don't know what ails me, but methinks I wiſh I cou'd find this Stranger out.

Does your Ladyſhip want me Madam?

Ay, Mrs. Flora, I reſolve to make you my Confident.

I ſhall endeavour to diſcharge my Duty, Madam.

I doubt it not, and deſire you to accept this as a Token of my Gratitude.

Oh dear Senjora, I ſhou'd have been your hum⯑ble Servant, without a Fee.

I believe it—But to the Purpoſe—Do you think if you ſaw the Gentleman which brought me hither you ſhou'd know him again?

From a Thouſand Madam, I have an excellent Memory where a handſome Man's concern'd; when he went away he ſaid he would return again imme⯑diately, I admire he comes not.

Here, did you ſay? You rejoyce me—Tho' I'll not ſee him, if he comes, cou'd not you contrive to give him a Letter?

With the Air of a Duanna.—

Not in this Houſe—You muſt veil and follow him—He muſt not know it comes from me.

What do you take me for a Novice in Love Affairs? 'Tho I have not practic'd the Art ſince I have been in Donna Violantes Service, yet I have not loſt the Theory of a Chamber-Maid—Do you write the Letter, and leave the reſt to me—Here, here, here's Pen Ink and Paper.

I'll do't in a Minute.

So! This is 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 t'other two Moyders with a Britiſh Air—Methinks there's a Grace peculiar to that Na⯑tion in making a Preſent.

So I have done, now if he does but find this Houſe again!

If he ſhou'd not—I warrant I'll find him if he's in Liſbon.

Flora, watch my Papa; he's faſt aſleep in his Study—If you find him ſtir, give me Notice.—Hark, I hear Felix at the Window, admit him inſtantly, and then to your Poſt.

What ſay you Violante? Is my Brother come?

It is his Signal at the Window.

Oh! Violante, I conjure thee by all the love thou bear'ſt to Felix—By thy own generous Nature—Nay more, by that unſpotted Vertue thou art Miſtreſs of, do not diſcover to my Brother I am here.

Contrary to your Deſire, be aſſur'd I never ſhall, but where's the Danger?

Art thou born in Lisbon, and ask that Que⯑ſtion? He'll think his Honour blemiſh'd by my Diſ⯑obedience, [22] and wou'd reſtore me to my Father, or kill me, therefore dear, dear, Girl.

Depend upon my Friendſhip, nothing ſhall draw thy Secret from theſe Lips, not even Felix, tho' at the Hazard of his love; I hear him coming, retire into that Cloſet.

Remember Violante, upon thy Promiſe my ve⯑ry Life depends.

When I betray thee, may I ſhare thy Fate.

My Felix, My everlaſting Love.

My Life, my Soul! My Violante!

What Hazards doſt thou run for me; Oh, how ſhall I requite thee?

If during this tedious painful Exile, thy Thoughts have never wander'd from thy Felix, thou haſt made me more than Satisfaction.

Can there be room within this Heart for any but thy ſelf. No, if the God of Love were loſt to all the reſt of Human Kind, thy Image wou'd ſecure him in my Breaſt, I am all Truth, all Love, all Faith, and know no jealous Fears.

My Heart's the proper Sphere where Love re⯑ſides; cou'd he quit that he wou'd be no where found: And yet Violante I'm in doubt.

Did I ever give thee Cauſe to doubt my Felix.

True love has many Fears, and Fear as many Eyes as Fame; yet ſure I think they ſee no Fault in thee—What's that?

What? I heard nothing.

Ha! What means this Signal at your Window?

Some Body perhaps, in paſſing by; might ac⯑cidentally hit it, it can be nothing elſe.

Hiſt, hiſt, Donna Violante, Donna Violante.

They uſe your Name by Accident too, do they Madam?

There is a Gentleman at the Window, Madam, which I fancy to be him who brought Iſabella hither; ſhall I admit him!

Admit Diſtraction rather, thou art the Cauſe of this, unthinking Wretch!

What has Miſtreſs Scout brought you freſh In⯑telligence? Death, I'll know the Bottom of this im⯑mediately!

Scout, I ſcorn your Words, Senior.

Nay, nay, nay, nay, you muſt not leave me.

Oh! 'Tis not fair, not to Anſwer the Gentle⯑man, Madam, It is none of his Fault, that his Viſit proves unſeaſonable; pray let me go, my Preſence is but a reſtraint upon you.

Was ever Accident ſo Miſchievous?

It muſt be the Colonel, now to deliver my Letter to him.

Hark, he grows impatient at your delay—Why do you hold the Man, whoſe Abſence wou'd oblige you, pray let me go, Madam; conſider, the Gentle⯑man wants you at the Window. Confuſion!

It is not me he wants.

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 the Window, if his Buſineſs does not lye with you, your Converſation may be heard—This, and only this, can take of my Suſpicion—What do you pauſe! Oh Guilt! Guilt! Have I caught you, Nay then I'll leap the Balcony, If I remember, this Way leads to it.

Oh Heavens! What ſhall I do now, hold, hold, [24] hold, hold, not for the World—You enter there—Which way ſhall I preſerve his Siſter from his Know⯑ledge?

What have I touch'd you; do you fear your Lover's Life?

I fear for none but you—For goodneſs Sake, do not ſpeak ſo loud my Felix. If my Father hear you I am loſt for ever, that Door opens into his Apart⯑ment, What ſhall I do if he enters? There he finds his Siſter—If he goes out he'll quarrel with the Stran⯑ger—Nay do not ſtruggle to be gone my Felix—If I open the Window he may diſcover the whole In⯑trigue, and yet of all Evils we ought to chuſe the leaſt. Your Curioſity ſhall be ſatisfied. Whoe'er you are that with ſuch Inſolence dare uſe my Name, and give the Neighbourhood Pretence to reflect upon my Conduct. I charge you inſtantly be gone, or expect the Treatment you deſerve.

I ask your Pardon Madam, and will obey; but when I left this Houſe to Night.

Good!

It is moſt certainly the Stranger, what will be the Event of this Heaven knows.

you are mi⯑ſtaken in the Houſe I ſuppoſe, Sir.

No, no, he is not miſtaken—Pray Madam let the Gentleman go on.

Wretched Misfortune, pray be gone Sir, I know of no Buſineſs you have here.

I wiſh I did not know it neither—But this Houſe contains my Soul, then can you blame my Body for hovering about it!

Excellent!

Diſtraction! He will infallibly diſcover Iſabella. I tell you again you are miſtaken; however for your own Satisfaction call To-Morrow.

Matchleſs Impudence! An Aſſignation before [25] my Face—No he ſhall not live to meet your wiſhes.

Ah!

hold I conjure you.

To-morrow's an Age Madam! May I not be ad⯑mitted to Night?

If you be a Gentleman I command your Abſence. Unfortunate! What will my Stars do with me?

I have done—Only this—Be careful of my Life, for it is in your keeping.

Pray obſerve the Gentleman's Requeſt Madam.

I am all Confuſion.

You are all Truth, all Love, all Faith; Oh thou all Woman!—How have I been deceiv'd? S'Death, cou'd not you have impos'd upon me for this one Night? Cou'd neither my faithful Love, nor the Hazard I have run to ſee you, make me worthy to be cheated on?

Can I bear this from you?

When I left this Houſe to Night—to Night the Devil! Return ſo ſoon!

Oh Iſabella! What haſt thou involv'd me in?

This Houſe contains my Soul.

Yet I reſolve to keep the Secret.

Be careful of my Life, for 'tis in your keeping.—Damnation!—How ugly ſhe appears?

Do not look ſo ſternly on me, but believe me Felix, I have not injur'd you, nor am I falſe.

Not falſe, not injur'd me! Oh Violante, loſt and abandon'd to thy Vice! Not falſe, Oh monſtrous!

Indeed I am not—There is a Cauſe which I muſt not reveal—Oh think how far Honour can oblige your Sex—Then allow a Woman may be bound by the ſame Rule to keep a Secret.

Honour, what haſt thou to do with Honour, thou that canſt admit plurality of Lovers, a Secret? Ha, ha, ha, his Affairs are wondrous ſafe, who truſts his Secret to a Womans keeping, but you need give your ſelf no Trouble about clearing this Point Madam, for you are become ſo indifferent to me, that your Truth, and Falſhood are the ſame!

My Love!

My Torment!

So I have deliver'd my Letter to the Colonel, and receiv'd my Fee.

Madam, your Father bad me ſee what Noiſe that was—For Goodneſs ſake Sir, why do you ſpeak ſo loud!

I underſtand my cue Miſtreſs, my Abſence is Neceſſary, I'll oblige you.

Oh let me undeceive you firſt!

Impoſſible!

'Tis very poſſible if I durſt.

Durſt! Ha, ha, ha, durſt quotha.

But another time I'll tell thee all.

Nay, now or never.—

Now it cannot be.

Then it ſhall never be—Thou moſt ungrate⯑ful of thy Sex, farewel.

Oh exquiſite Tryal of my Friendſhip! Yet not even this, ſhall draw the Secret from me,

The Scene changes to the Street.

Well, tho' I cou'd not ſee my fair Incognita, Fortune, to make me amends, has flung another In⯑trigue in my way. Oh! How I love theſe pretty, kind, coming Females, that won't give a Man the trouble of wracking his Invention to deceive them.—Oh, Portugal! Thou dear Garden of Pleaſure—Where Love drops down his Mellow Fruit, and every Bough bends to our Hands, and ſeems to cry come, Pull and Eat, how deliciouſly a Man lives here without ſear of [28] the Stool of Repentance?—This Letter I receiv'd from a Lady in a Vail—Some Duanna! Some neceſſary Im⯑plement of Cupid; I ſuppoſe the Stile is frank and ea⯑ſie, I hope like her that writ it.

‘"Sir, I have ſeen your Perſon, and like it—Very Conciſe.—And if you'll meet at five a Clock in the Morning upon the Terriero de paſſa, half an Hours Converſation will let me into your Mind.—"’ Ha, ha, ha, a Philoſophical Wench: This is the firſt time I ever knew a Woman had any Buſineſs with the Mind of a Man.—‘"If your Intellects anſwer your outward Appearance, the Ad⯑venture may not diſpleaſe you. I expect you'll not at⯑tempt to ſee my Face, nor offer any thing unbecoming the Gentleman I take you for:—"’Humph, the Gentle⯑man ſhe takes me for, I hope ſhe takes me to be Fleſh and Blood, and then I am ſure I ſhall do nothing un⯑becoming a Gentleman. Well, if I muſt not ſee her Face, it ſhall go hard if I don't know where ſhe lives.—Gibby,

Here, an like yer Honour.

Follow me at a good Diſtance, do you hear Gibby?

In troth dee I, weel eneugh, Sir.

I am to meet a Lady upon the Terriero de paſſa.

The Deel an min Eyn gin I keen her, Sir.

But you will when we come there, Sirrah

Like eneugh, Sir, I have as ſharp an Eyn tul a Bony Laſs, as ere a Lad in aw Scotland, an what mun I dee wi her, Sir?

Why, if ſhe and I part, you muſt watch her Home, and bring me Word where ſhe lives.

In troth ſal I Sir, gin the Deel tak her not.

Come along then, 'tis pretty near the time.—I like a Woman that riſes early to perſue her Inclination.

Scene changes to Frederick's Houſe.

Your Lady run away, and you not know whe⯑ther! Say you?

She never greatly car'd for me after finding you and I together; but you are very Grave, methinks, Liſſardo.

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 hold of, he may make his Fortune.

Ha! What, do I ſee a Diamond-Ring! Where the duce had he that Ring? You have got a very pretty Ring there, Liſſardo.

Ay, the Trifle is pretty enough.—But the La⯑dy which gave it me is a Bona Roba in Beauty, I aſſure you.

I can't bear this—The Lady! What Lady pray?

Oh fy! There's a Queſtion to ask a Gentleman.

A Gentleman! Why, the Fellow's ſpoil'd; is this your Love for me? Ungrateful Man, you'll break my Heart, ſo you will.

Poor tender hearted Fool.—

If I knew who gave you that Ring, I'd tear her Eyes out, ſo I wou'd.

So, now the Jade wants a little Coaxing; why, what doſt thou weep for now, my Dear? Ha!

I ſuppoſe Flora gave you that Ring; but I'll—

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: I did but Joke, the Ring is none of mine, it is my Maſters; I am to give it to be new Set, that's all, therefore prithy dry thy Eyes, and kiſs me come.

And do you really ſpeak Truth now?

Why, Do you doubt it?

So, ſo, very well! I thought, there was an In⯑trigue between him and Inis, for all he has forſworn it ſo often.

Nor han't you ſeen Flora ſince you came to Town.

Ha! How dares ſhe Name my Name?

No, by this Kiſs I han't.

Here's a diſſembling Varlet.

Nor don't you love her at all?

Love the Devil, why did not I always tell thee ſhe was my Averſion.

Did you ſo, Villain!

Zounds ſhe here! I have made a fine ſpot of Work on't.

What's that for? Ha.

I ſhall tell you by and by, Mrs Frippery, if you don't get about your Buſineſs.

Who do you call Frippery, Mrs. Trolup? Pray get about your Buſineſs: if you go to that, I hope you pretend to no Right and Title here.

What the Devil do they take me for, an Acre of Land, that they quarrel about Right and Title to me?

Pray, what right have you, Miſtreſs, to ask that Queſtion?

No matter for that, I can ſhow a better Title to him than you, I believe.

What, has he given thee Nine Months earneſt for a living Title? Ha, ha.

Don't fling your flearing Jeſts at me, Mrs. Boldface, for I won't take 'em, I aſſure you.

So! Now am I as great as the fam'd Alexander. But my dear Statira and Roxana, don't exert your ſelves ſo much about me: Now, I fancy, if you wou'd agree lovingly together, I might in a modeſt way ſa⯑tisfie both your Demands upon me.

You ſatisfie! No, Sirrah, I am not to be ſatis⯑fy'd ſo ſoon as you think, perhaps.

No, nor I neither.—What do you make no difference between us?

You pitiful Fellow you; what you fancy, I warrant, that I gave my ſelf the trouble of dogging you, out of love to your filthy Perſon, but you are miſtaken, 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 Chear ſhe gave you; but that you could never like a Woman with crooked Legs, you ſaid.

How, how, Sirrah, crooked Legs! Ods, I cou'd find in my Heart.

Here's a Lying young Jade now! Prithy, my Dear, moderate thy Paſſion.

I'd have you to know, Sirrah, my Legs was never—your Maſter, I hope, underſtands Legs bet⯑ter than you do, Sirrah.

My Maſter, ſo ſo.

I am glad I have done ſome Miſchief, how⯑ever.

Art thou really ſo fooliſh to mind what an enrag'd Woman ſays! Do'nt you ſee ſhe does it on Purpoſe to part you and I,

cou'd not you find the Joke without putting your Self in a Paſſion! You ſilly Girl you; why, I ſaw you follow us plain enough, Mun, and ſaid all this, that you might not go back with only your Labour for your Pains—But you are a revengeful young Slut tho'. I tell you that, but come Kiſs, and Friends.

Don't thing to Coax me, hang your Kiſſes.

Liſſardo.

Odſheart, here's my Maſter, the Devil take both theſe Jades, for me, what ſhall I do with them?

Ha! 'Tis Don Felix's Voice; I wou'd not have him find me here, with his Foot-Man, for the World.

Why, Liſſardo, Liſſardo!

Coming Sir, What a Pox will you do?

Bleſs me, which way ſhall I get out!

Nay, nay, you muſt e'en ſet your Quarrel aſide, and be content to be mew'd up in this Cloaths Preſs together, or ſtay where you are, and Face it out—There is no help for it!

Put me any where, rather than that; come, come, let me in.

I'll ſee her hang'd, before I'll go into the Place where ſhe is.—I'll truſt Fortune with my deliverance: Here us'd to be a pair of back Stairs, I'll try to find them out.

Was you aſleep, Sirrah, that you did not hear me call?

I did hear you, and anſwer'd you, I was com⯑ing, Sir.

Go get the Horſes ready, I'll leave Lisbon to Night, never to ſee it more.

Hey day! What's the Matter now?

Pray tell me, Don Felix! What has ruffled your Temper thus?

A Woman—Oh Friend, who can name Wo⯑man, and forget Inconſtancy!

This from a Perſon of mean Education were excuſable, ſuch low Suſpicions have their ſource from vulgar Converſation; Men of your politer Taſte ne⯑ver raſhly Cenſure.—Come, this is ſome groundleſs Jealouſie.—Love raiſes many Fears.

No, My Ears convey'd the Truth into my Heart, and Reaſon juſtifies my Anger: Violante's falſe [33] and I have nothing left, but thee, in Lisbon, which can make me wiſh ever to ſee it more, except Revenge up⯑on my Rival, of whom I am ignorant. Oh, That ſome Miracle wou'd reveal him to me, that I might thro' his Heart puniſh my Infidelity.

Oh! Sir, here's your Father Don Lopez com⯑ing up.

Do's he know that I am here?

I can't tell, Sir, he ask'd for Don Frederick.

Did he ſee you?

I believe not, Sir; for as ſoon as I ſaw him, I ran back to give my Maſter Notice.

Keep out of his Sight then.—And dear Frede⯑rick, permit me to retire into the next Room, for I know the Old Gentleman will be very much diſplea⯑ſed at my return without his leave.

Quick, quick, begon, he is here.

Mr. Alguzil, wait you without till I call for you. Frederick, an Affair brings me here—which—requires Privacy.—So that if you have any Body with⯑in Ear ſhot, pray order them to retire.

We are private, my Lord, ſpeak freely.

Why then, Sir, I muſt tell you, that you had better have pitch'd upon any Man in Portugal to have injur'd, than my ſelf.

What means my Father?

I underſtand you not, my Lord!

Tho', I am Old, I have a Son.—Alaſs! Why Name I him? He knows not the Diſhonour of my Houſe.

I am confounded! The diſhonour of his Houſe▪

Explain your ſelf my Lord! I am not conſcious of any diſhonourable Action, to any Man much leſs to your Lordſhip.

'Tis falſe! you have debauch'd my Daughter.

Debauch'd my Siſter! Impoſſible! He cou'd not, durſt not be that Villain.

My Lord, I ſcorn ſo foul a Charge.

You have debauch'd her Duty at leaſt, there⯑fore inſtantly reſtore her to me, or by St. Anthony I'll make you.

Reſtore her my Lord! Where ſhall I find her?

I have thoſe that will ſwear ſhe is here in your Houſe.

Ha! In this Houſe?

You are miſinform'd my Lord, upon my Re⯑putation I have not ſeen Donna Iſabella, ſince the Abſence of Don Felix.

Then pray Sir—If I am not too inquiſitive, What Motive had you for thoſe Objections you made againſt her Marriage with Don Guzman Yeſterday?

The Diſagreeableneſs of ſuch a Match, I fear'd, wou'd give your Daughter cauſe to curſe her Duty, if ſhe comply'd with your Demands, that was all my Lord!

And ſo you help'd her thro' the Window to make her diſobey.

Ha, my Siſter gone! Oh Scandal to our Blood!

This is inſulting me my Lord, when I aſſure you I have neither ſeen, nor know any thing of your Daughter—If ſhe is gone, the Contrivance was her own, and you may thank your Rigour for it.

Very well, Sir, however my Rigour ſhall make bold to ſearch your Houſe, here call in the Alguzile—

The Alguzile! What in the Name of Wonder will become of me!

The Alguzile! My Lord you'l repent this.

No Sir, 'tis you that will repent it, I charge you in the King's Name to aſſiſt me in finding of my Daugh⯑ter—Beſure you leave no Part of the Houſe un⯑ſearch'd; come, follow me.

Sir, I muſt firſt know by what Authority you pretend to Search my Houſe, before you enter here.

How! Sir, dare you preſume to draw your Sword, upon the Repreſentative of Majeſty! I am Sir, I am his Majeſty's Alguzile, and the very Quinteſſence of Authority—therefore put up your Sword, or I ſhall order you to be knock'd down—for know Sir, the Breath of an Alguzile, is as dangerous, as the Breath of a Demy-Culverin.

She is certainly in that Room, by his Guarding the Door—if he Diſputes your Authority, knock him down I ſay.

I ſhall ſhow you ſome Sport firſt; the Woman you look for is not here, but there is ſomething in this Room, which I'll preſerve from your ſight at the Ha⯑zard of my Life.

Enter I ſay, nothing but my Daughter can be there—force his Sword from him.

Villains ſtand off! Aſſaſſinate a Man in his own Houſe.

Oh, oh, oh, Miſericordia, what do I ſee my Son!

Ha, his Son! Here's five hundred Pounds good, my Brethren, if Antonio dies, and that's in the Sur⯑geons Power, and he's in love with my Daughter you know—Don Felix! I command you to ſurrender your ſelf into the Hands of Juſtice, in order, to raiſe [36] me and my Poſterity, and in Conſideration you loſe your Head to gain me five hundred Pounds, I'll have your Generoſity recorded on your Tomb-Stone—at my own proper Coſt, and Charge—I hate to be un⯑grate-ful.

Here's a generous Dog now—

Oh that ever I was born—Hold, hold, hold.

Did I not tell you, you wou'd repent my Lord, What ho! Within there

arm your ſelves, and let not a Man in, or out, but Felix—Look ye Alguzile when you wou'd betray my Friend for filthy Lucre, I ſhall no more regard you as an Officer of Juſtice, but as a Thief and Robber thus re⯑ſiſt you.

Gen'rous Frederick! Come on Sir, we'll ſhow you Play for the five hundred Pounds.

Fall on, ſeize the Money right or wrong ye Rogues.

Hold, hold, Alguzile! I'll give you the five hundred Pound, that is, my Bond to pay it upon An⯑tonio's Death, and twenty Piſtoles however things go, for you and theſe honeſt Fellows to drink my Health.

Say you ſo my Lord! Why look ye my Lord, I bear the young Gentleman no ill Will my Lord If I get but the five hundred Pounds, my Lord—why look ye my Lord—'Tis the ſame thing to me whether your Son be hanged or not my Lord,

Scoundrels.—

Ay, well, thou art a good natur'd Fellow that is the Truth on't—Come then we'll to the Tavern, and ſign and ſeal this Minute, Oh Felix be careful of thy ſelf, or thou wilt break my Heart;

Now Frederick, tho' I ought to thank you for your Care of me, yet till I am ſatisfied about my Fa⯑ther's Accuſation, I can't return the Acknowledgments I owe you: Know you aught relating to my Siſter?

I hope my Faith, and Truth, are known to you—And here by both I ſwear, I am ignorant of every Thing relating to your Father's Charge.

Enough, I do believe thee! Oh Fortune! Where will thy Malice end!

Sir, I bring you joyful News, I am told that Don Antonio is out of Danger and now in the Palace.

I wiſh it be true, then I'm at Liberty to watch my Rival, and perſue my Siſter; prithy Frederick, in⯑form thy ſelf of the Truth of this Report.

I will this Minute—Do you hear, let no body in to Don Felix till my return.

I'll obſerve Sir.

They have almoſt frighted me out of my Wits—I'm ſure—Now Felix is alone, I have a good Mind to pretend I came with a Meſſage from my Lady; but then how ſhall I ſay I came into the Cup⯑board.

I tell you Madam Don Felix is not here.

I tell you Sir he is here, and I will ſee him.

You are as difficult of Acceſs Sir, as a firſt Miniſter of State.

My Stars! My Lady here!

If your Viſit was deſign'd to Frederick, Madam, he is abroad,

No Sir, the Viſit is to you.

You are very punctual in your Ceremonies Ma⯑dam.

Tho' I did not come to return your Viſit, but to take that which your Civility ought to have brought me.

If my Ears, my Eyes and my Underſtanding ly'd, then I am in your Debt, elſe not Madam.

I will not charge them with a Term ſo groſs, to ſay they ly'd, but call it a Miſtake, nay call it any thing to excuſe my Felix—Cou'd I, Think ye, cou'd I put off my Pride ſo far, poorly to diſſemble a Paſſion which I did not feel? Or ſeek a Reconciliation, with what I did not love? Do but conſider, If I had entertain'd another, ſhou'd I not rather embrace this Quarrel, pleas'd with the Occaſion that rid me of your Viſits and gave me Freedom to enjoy the Choice which you think I have made; have I any Intereſt in thee but my Love? Or am I bound by aught but Inclination to ſubmit and follow thee—No Law whilſt ſingle binds us to obey, but you by Nature, and Education, are oblig'd to pay a Deference to all Woman kind.

Theſe are fruitleſs Arguments: 'Tis moſt cer⯑tain thou wert dearer to theſe Eyes then all that Heaven e'er gave to Charm the Senſe of Man, but I wou'd rather tear them out, than ſuffer 'em to delude my Reaſon, and enſlave my Peace.

Can you love without Eſteem? And where is the Eſteem for her you ſtill ſuſpect? Oh Felix! There is a Delicacy—in Love, which equals even a religious Faith; true Love ne'er doubts the Object it adores, and Scepticks there, will disbelieve their Sight.

Your Notions are too refin'd for mine Madam. How now, what do you want?

Only my Maſter's Cloak out of this Preſs Sir, that's all, Oh! The Devil,—The Devil,

Ha, a Woman conceal'd! Very well Felix!

Diſcover'd! Nay then Legs befriend me.

A Woman in the Preſs!

[39]How the Devil came a Woman there, Sirrah?

What ſhall I ſay now?

Now Liſſardo ſhew your Wit to brin gyour Maſter off.

Off Madam! Nay, nay, nay, there, there needs no great Wit to, to, to, to bring him off Madam, for ſhe did, and ſhe did not come as, as, as, as a, a a Man may ſay directly to, to, to, to ſpeak with my Maſter Madam.

I ſee by your Stammering, Liſſardo, that your Invention is at at a very low Ebb.

S'Death Raſcal, ſpeak without Heſſitation, and the Truth too, or I ſhall ſtick my Stilletto in your Guts.

No, no, your Maſter miſtakes, he wou'd not have you ſpeak the Truth.

Madam my Sincerity wants no excuſe.

I am ſo confounded between one and the other, that I can't think of a Lye—

Sirrah fetch me this Woman back inſtantly, I'll know what Buſineſs ſhe had here!

Not a Step; your Maſter ſhan't be put to the Bluſh—Come a Truce Felix! Do you ask me no more Queſtions about the Window, and I'll forgive this.

I ſcorn Forgiveneſs where I own no Crime, but your Soul conſcious of its Guilt, wou'd fain lay hold of this Occaſion to blend your Treaſon with my Inno⯑cence.

Inſolent! Nay, if inſtead of owning your Fault you endeavour to inſult my Patience, I muſt tell you Sir, you don't behave your ſelf like that Man of Ho⯑nour you wou'd be taken for, you ground your Quar⯑rel with me upon your own Inconſtancy; 'tis plain you are falſe your ſelf, and wou'd make me the Agreſ⯑ſor—It was not for nothing the Fellow oppos'd my Entrance—This laſt Uſage has given me back my [40] Liberty, and now my Father's Will ſhall be obey'd without the leaſt Reluctance.

Oh, ſtubborn, ſtubborn Heart, what wilt thou do? Her Father's Will ſhall be obey'd! Ha, That carries her to a Cloyſter, And cuts of all my Hopes at once—By Heaven ſhe ſhall not, muſt not leave me. No ſhe is not falſe, at leaſt my Love now repreſents her true, becauſe I fear to loſe her, Ha! Villain, art thou here!

tell me this Moment who this Woman was, and for what Intent ſhe was here conceal'd—Or▪

Ah, good Sir forgive me, and I'll tell you the whole Truth.

Out with it then—

It, it it, was Mrs. Flora Sir. Donna Violante's Woman—you muſt know Sir, we have had a ſneak⯑ing Kindneſs for one another a great while—She was not willing you ſhould know it, ſo when ſhe heard your Voice, ſhe ran into the Cloaths Preſs, I wou'd have told you this at firſt, but I was afraid of her La⯑dy's knowing it, this is the Truth as I hope for a whole Skin, Sir.

If it be not, I'll not leave you a whole Bone in it Sirrah—fly, and obſerve if Violante goes directly home.

Yes Sir, yes.

I muſt convince her of my Faith, Oh! How irreſolute is a Lovers Heart! My Reſentments cool'd when hers grew high—Nor can I ſtruggle longer with my Fate, I cannot quit her, no I cannot, ſo abſo⯑lute a Conqueſt has ſhe gain'd—Woman's the great⯑eſt ſovereign Power on Earth.

Scene, the Terreiro de paſſa.

Then you ſay, it is impoſſible for me to wait of you home Madam.

I ſay it is inconſiſtent with my Circumſtance Colonel, and that Way impoſſible for me to admit of it.

Conſent to go with me then—I lodge at one Don Fredericks's a Merchant juſt by here, he is a very honeſt Fellow and I dare confide in his Secrecy.

Ha, does he lodge there? Pray Heaven I am not diſcover'd.

What ſay you my Charmer? Shall we break⯑faſt together; I have ſome of the beſt Bohea in the Univerſe.

puh! Bohea! Is that the beſt Treat you can give a Lady at your Lodgings—Colonel!

Well hinted—No, no, no, I have other Things at thy Service Child.

What are thoſe Things pray?

My Heart, Soul, and Body into the Bargain.

Has the laſt no Incumbrance upon it, can you make a clear Title, Colonel?

all Free-hold Child, and I'll afford the a very good Bargain.

Au my Sol, they mak muckle Wards about it, Iſe ſeer weary with ſtanding, Iſe e'en tak a Sleep.

If I take a Leaſe, it muſt be for Life, Colonel.

Thou ſhalt have me as long, or as little Time as thou wilt; my Dear, come lets to my Lodging, and we'll Sign and Seal this Minute.

Oh, not ſo faſt, Colonel, there are many Things to be adjuſted before the Lawyer and the Par⯑ſon comes.

The Lawyer, and the Parſon! No, no, ye lit⯑tle Rogue, we can finiſh our Affairs without the help of the Law—or the Goſpel.

Indeed but we can't, Colonel.

Indeed! Why haſt thou then trappan'd 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.

If you can find in your Heart to ſay Grace, Colonel, you ſhall keep the Key.

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—

I dare not risk my Reputation upon your Ifs, Colonel—and ſo Adieu.

Nay, nay, nay, we muſt not part.

As you ever hope to ſee me more, ſuſpend your Curioſity now; one Step farther looſes me for ever.—Show your ſelf a Man of Honour, and you ſhall find me a Woman of Honour.

Well, for once, I'll truſt to a Blind Bargain, Madam.—

But I ſhall be too Cunning for your Ladyſhip, if Gibby obſerves my Orders: Methinks theſe Intrigues, which relate to the Mind, are very inſipid.—The Converſation of Bodys is much more diverting.—Ha! What do I ſee, my Raſcal aſleep? Sirrah, did I not charge you to watch the Lady? And is it thus you obſerve my Or⯑ders, ye Dog.

That's Treu, an lik your Honour; but I thought that when ence ye had her in yer awn Honds, yee mite a orderd her yer ſal weal eneugh without me, an ye keen, an like yer Honour.

Sirrah, hold your impertinent Tongue, and make haſte after her; if you don't bring me ſome Ac⯑count of her, never dare to ſee my Face again.

Ay! This is bony Wark indeed to run three hun⯑red Mile to this wicked Town, an before I can weel fill my Wem, to be ſent a Whore hunting after this black ſhee Devil.—What Gat ſal I gang to ſpeer for this Wutch now? Ah, for a ruling Elder—or the Kirks Treaſerer—or his Mon.—Id gar, my Maſter mak twa oh this;—But I'm ſeer there's na ſike honeſt People here, or there wou'd na be ſo muckle Sculdudrie.^†

Geud Mon, did yee ſee a Woman, a Lady ony gate here away enow?

Yes, a great Many. What kind of a Woman is it you inquire after.

Geud troth, ſhe's ne Kenſpekle, ſhe's aw in a Clowd.—

What, it's ſome High-land Monſter which you brought over with you I ſuppoſe, I ſee no ſuch not I, kenſpekle quotha!

Huly, huly, Mon, the Deel pike out yer Eyn, and then you'll ſee the barer, yee Engliſh bag Pudin Tike.

What ſays the Fellow?

Say! I ſay I am a better Fellow than e'er ſtude upon yer Shanks—an gin I heer meer a yer din, deal a my Sol, Sir, but Iſe crack your Crown.

Get you gone you Scotch Raſcal, and thank your Heathen Dialect, which I don't under⯑ſtand, that you han't your Bones broke.

Ay! An ye do no underſtond a Scots Man's Tongue—Iſe ſe gin yee can underſtond a Scots Man's Gripe: Wha's the bater Man now Sir?

I vow, Madam, but I am glad that yee, and I are foregather'd.

What wou'd the Fellow have?

Nothing, away Madam, wo worth yer Heart, what a muckle deel a Miſchief had yee like to bring upon poor Gibby.

The Man's Drunk.—

In troth am I not.—An gin I had not fond ye, Madam, the Laird knows when I ſhou'd; for my Ma⯑ſter bad me nere gang Heam, without Tydings of yee, Madam.

Sirrah, get about your Buſineſs, or I'll have your Bones drub'd.

Geud Faith, my Maſter has e'en dun that te yer Honds, Madam.

Who is your Maſter? Friend.

Mony e'en Spiers the gat, they ken right weel.—It is no ſo long ſen yee parted wi him, I wiſh he kent yee haafe as weel as yee ken him.

Pugh, the Creature's mad, or miſtakes me for ſome Body elſe; and I ſhou'd be as Mad as he, to talk to him any longer.

So, ſhe's gone Home I ſee. What did that Scotch Fellao want with her? I'll try to find it out, perhaps I may diſcover ſomething that may make my Maſter Friends with me again.

Are ye gaune, Madam, a Deel ſcope in yer Company, for I'm as weeſe as I was; but I'll bide and ſee whaſe Houſe it is, gin I can meet wi ony Civel Body to Spier at.—Weel of aw Men in the Warld, I think our Scots Men the greateſt Feuls, to leave their weel favour'd honeſt Women at Heam, to rin wallop⯑ing [45] after a pack of Gyrcarlings here, that ſhame to ſhow their Faces, and peer Men, like me, are forc'd to be their Pimps; a Pimp! Godſwarbit, Gibby's ne'er be a Pimp.—An yet in troth it is a threving Trade; I rememmer a Country-Man aw mi ean, that by gang⯑ing a ſike like Errands as I am now, come to grat Preferment: My Lad, Wot yee wha lives here?

Don Pedro de Mendoſa.

An did yee ſe a Lady gang in but now?

Yes, I did.

An dee yee ken her te?

It was Donna Violante his Daughter; what the Devil makes him ſo inquiſitive? Here is ſomething in it, that's certain: 'Tis a cold Morning Brother, what think you of a Dram?

In troth, very weel Sir.

You ſeem an honeſt Fellow, prithy lets Drink to our better Acquaintance.

Wi aw my Heart, Sir, gang yer gate to the next Houſe, and Iſe follow ye.—

Come along then.

Don Pedro de Mendoſa.—Donna Violante his Daughter, that's as right as my Leg now.—Iſe need na meer, I'll tak a Drink an then to my Maſter.—

SCENE, Violante's Lodgings.

MY Dear, I have been ſeeking you this half Hour, to tell you the moſt lucky Adven⯑ture.

And you have pitch'd upon the moſt unlucky Hour for it, that you cou'd poſſibly have found in the whole four and Twenty.

Hang unlucky Hours, I won't think of them; I hope all my Misfortunes are paſt.

And mine all to come.

I have ſeen the Man I like.

And I have ſeen the Man that I cou'd wiſh to hate.

And you muſt aſſiſt me in diſcovering whe⯑ther he can like me, or not.

You have aſſiſted me in ſuch a Diſcovery alrea⯑dy, I thank ye.

What ſay you my Dear?

I ſay I am very unlucky at Diſcoveries Iſabella; I have too lately made one pernicious to my Eaſe, your Brother is falſe.

Impoſſible!

Moſt true.

Some Villain has traduc'd him to you.

No, Iſabella, I 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 Ocu⯑lar Proof of his Ingratitude.

Then I am moſt unhappy; my Brother was the only Pledge of Faith betwixt us, if he has forfeited your Favour, I have no Title to your Friendſhip.

You wrong my Friendſhip, Iſabella; Your own Merit intitles you to every thing within my Power.

Generous Maid—But may I not know what Grounds you have to think my Brother Falſe.

Another time.—But tell me, Iſabella, how can I ſerve you?

Thus then—The Gentleman that brought me hither, I have ſeen and talk'd with, upon the Terreiro de paſſa this Morning, and find him a Man of Senſe Generoſity, and good Humour, in ſhort he is every Thing that I cou'd like for a Husband, and I have diſ⯑patch'd Mrs. Flora to bring him hither; I hope you'll forgive the Liberty I have taken.

Hither, to what Purpoſe?

To the great univerſal Purpoſe Matrimony.

Matrimony! Why do you deſign to ask him?

No, Violante, you muſt do that for me.

I thank you for the Favour you deſign me, but deſire to be excus'd: I manage my own Affairs too ill, to be truſted with thoſe of other People; beſides, if my Father ſhou'd find a Stranger here, it might make him hurry me into a Monaſtery immediately; 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 Inconveni⯑ency you have already drawn upon me.

I am not inſenſible how far my Misfortunes have embarrraſt you; and if you pleaſe, ſacrifice my Quiet to your own.

Unkindly urg'd—Have I not preferr'd your Happineſs to every Thing that's dear to me.

I know thou haſt—Then do not deny me this laſt Requeſt, which in a few Hours perhaps, may ren⯑der [48] my Condition, able to clear thy Fame, and bring my Brother to thy Feet for Pardon.

I wiſh you don't repent of this Intrigue. I ſuppoſe he knows you are the ſame Woman that he brought in here laſt Night.

Not a Syllable of that, I met him vail'd, and to prevent his knowing the Houſe, I order'd Mrs. Flora to bring him by the back Door into the Garden.

The very Way which Felix comes, If they ſhould meet, there would be fine Work—Indeed my Dear I can't approve of your Deſign.

Madam the Colonel waits your Pleaſure.

How durſt you go upon ſuch a Meſſage Miſtreſs without acquainting me.

'Tis too late to diſpute that now, dear Violante, I acknowledge the Raſhneſs of the Action—But con⯑ſider the Neceſſity of my Deliverance.

That is indeed a weighty Conſideration, well, what am I to do.

In the next Room I'll give you Inſtructions, in the mean time Mrs. Flora ſhow the Colonel into this.

The Lady will wait on you preſently Sir,

Very well—This is a very fruitful Soil, I have not been here quite four and twenty Hours, and I have three Intrigues upon my Hands already, but I hate the Chaſe, without partaking the Game.

Ha, a fine ſiz'd Woman—Pray Heaven ſhe proves Handſome—I am come to obey your Lady⯑ſhip's Commands.

Are you ſure of that, Colonel?

If you be not very unreaſonable indeed, Ma⯑dam; a Man is but a Man.

Nay, We have no Time for Compliments, Co⯑lonel.

I underſtand you, Madam—Montre moy votre Chambre.

Nay, nay, hold Colonel, my Bed-Chamber is not to be enter'd without a certain Purchaſe.

Purchaſe! Humph, This is ſome kept Miſtreſs, I ſuppoſe; who induſtriouſly lets out her leiſure Hours.

Look ye, Madam, you muſt conſider we Sol⯑diers are not over ſtock'd with Money.—But we make ample Satisfaction in Love; we have a world of Cou⯑rage upon our Hands now, you know:—Then prithy uſe a Conſcience, and I'll try if my Pocket can come up to your Price.

Nay, don't give your ſelf the trouble of draw⯑ing your Purſe Colonel, my Deſign is level'd at your Perſon, if that be at your own diſpoſal.

Ay, that it is Faith Madam, and I'll ſettle it as firmly upon thee.—

As Law can do it.

Hang Law in love Affairs, thou ſhalt have Right and Title to it out of pure Inclination.—A Ma⯑trimonial Hint again! Gad, I fancy the Women have a Project on foot to tranſplant the Union into Portugal.

Then you have an averſion to Matrimony, Co⯑lonel; did you never ſee a Woman, in all your Tra⯑vels, that you cou'd like for a Wife?

A very odd Queſtion.—Do you really expect that I ſhou'd ſpeak Truth now?

I do, if you expect to be ſo dealt with, Co⯑lonel.

Why then,——Yes.

Is ſhe in your own Country, or this?

This is a very pretty kind of a Catechiſm; but I don't conceive which way it turns to Edification: In this Town I believe Madam.

Her Name is.—

Ay, How is ſhe call'd, Madam!

Nay, I ask you that, Sir.

Oh, ho, why ſhe is call'd—Pray Madam, how is it you Spell your Name?

Oh, Colonel, I am not the happy Woman, nor do I wiſh it.

No, I'm ſorry for that.—What the Devil does ſhe mean by all theſe Queſtions?

Come Colonel, for once be Sincere.—Perhaps you may not repent it.

Faith Madam, I have an Inclination to Since⯑rity, but I'm afraid you'll call my Manners in Queſti⯑on: This is like to be but a ſilly Adventure, here's ſo much Sincerity required.

Not at all; I prefer Truth before Compliment in this Affair.

Why then to be plain with you, Madam, a Lady laſt Night wounded my Heart by a Fall from a Window, whoſe Perſon I cou'd be contented to take, as my Father took my Mother, till Death us doth part:—But who ſhe is, or how diſtinguiſh'd, whether Maid, Wife, or Widow I can't inform you, perhaps you are ſhe.

Not to keep you in ſuſpence, I am not She, but I can give you an Account of Her; that Lady is a Maid of Condition, has ten Thouſand Pounds; and if you are a ſingle Man, her Perſon, and Fortune are at your Service.

I accept the Offer with the higheſt Tranſports; but ſay my charming Angel, art thou not ſhe.

This is a lucky Adventure.

Once again, Colonel, I tell you I am not ſhe.— [51] But at Six, this Evening you ſhall find her on the Terriere de paſſa, with a white Handkerchief in her Hand; get a Prieſt ready, and you know the reſt.

I ſhall infallibly obſerve your Directions, Ma⯑dam.

Ha Felix, croſſing the Garden, ſay you, what ſhall I do now?

You ſeem ſurpriz'd Madam.

Oh, Colonel, my Father is coming hither, an if he finds you here I am ruin'd!

Odſlife Madam, thruſt me any where, can't I go out this way?

No, no, no, he comes that way, how ſhall I prevent their Meeting? Here, here, ſtep into my Bed-Chamber 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.

On that Condition I'll not breath.

I wonder where my Dog of a Servant is all this while.—But ſhe's at Home I find.—How coldly ſhe regards me.—You look Violante as if the ſight of me were troubleſome.

Can I do otherways, when you have the Aſſu⯑rance to approach me, after what I ſaw to Day.

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 ſuſ⯑pected, nor ſuffer you to entertain falſe Notions of my Truth, without endeavouring to convince you of my Innocence, ſo much good Nature have I more than you Violante.—Pray give me leave to ask your Wo⯑man [52] man one Queſtion; my Man aſſures me ſhe was the Perſon you ſaw at my Lodgings.

I confeſs it, Madam, and ask your Pardon.

Impudent Baggage, not to undeceive me ſoon⯑er, what Buſineſs cou'd you have there?

Liſſardo and ſhe it ſeems imitate You and I.

I love to follow the Example of my Betters, Madam.

I hope I am juſtify'd.—

Since we are to part, Felix, there needed no Juſtification.

Methinks you talk of parting, as a Thing in⯑different to you; can you forget how I have lov'd?

I wiſh I cou'd forget my own Paſſion; I ſhou'd with leſs Concern remember yours.—But for Mrs. Flora.—

You muſt forgive her;—Muſt did I ſay? I fear I have no Power to Impoſe, tho' the Injury was done to me.

'Tis harder to Pardon an Injury done to what we love than to our ſelves, but at your Requeſt, Felix, I do forgive her; go watch my Father, Flora, leaſt he ſhou'd wake, and ſurprize us.

Yes, Madam.

Doſt thou then love me, Violante?

What need of Repetition from my Tongue, when every Look confeſſes what you ask?

Oh! Let no Man judge of Love but thoſe who feel it, what wondrous Magick 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, woud'ſt thou but clear that one Suſpicion!

Prithy no more of that, my Felix, a little time ſhall bring thee perfect Satisfaction.

Well Violante, on that Condition you think no more of a Monaſtery.—I'll wait with Patience for his Mighty Secret.

Ah Felix, Love generally gets the better of Re⯑ligion in us Women▪ Reſolutions made in heat of Paſ⯑ſion, ever diſſolve upon Reconciliation.

Oh Madam, Madam, Madam, my Lord your Fa⯑ther has been in the Garden, and lock'd the back Door, and comes muttering to himſelf this way.

Then we are caught: Now Felix we are un⯑done.

Heavens forbid, this is moſt unlucky; let me ſtep into your Bed-Chamber, he won't look under the Bed; there I may conceal my ſelf.

My Stars! If he goes in there he'll find the Colonel.—No, no, Felix, that's no ſafe Place, my Fa⯑ther often goes thither; and ſhou'd you Cough, or Sneeze, we are loſt.

Either my Eyes deceiv'd me, or I ſaw a Man within, I'll watch him cloſe.—She ſhall deal with the Devil, if ſhe conveys him out without my Know⯑ledge.

what ſhall I do then?

Bleſs me, how I tremble!

Oh, Invention, Invention!—I have it Madam, here, here, here Sir, off with your Sword, and I'll fetch you a Diſguiſe.

Ay, ay, any Thing to avoid Don Pedro.

Oh! Quick, quick, quick, I ſhall die with Ap⯑prehenſion.

Beſure you don't ſpeak a Word!

Not for the Indies.—But I ſhall obſerve you cloſer than you imagine.

Violante where are you, Child,

Why, how came the Garden. Door open? Ha! how now, who have we here?

Humph, he'll certainly diſcover him.

'Tis my Mother, and pleaſe you, Sir.

Your Mother! By St. Anthony ſhe's a ſtrap⯑per; why, you are a Dwarf to her.—How many Children have you good Woman?

Oh! If he ſpeaks we are loſt.

Oh! Dear Senior, ſhe can't hear you, ſhe has been Deaf theſe twenty Years.

Alas poor Woman.—Why, you Muffle her up as if ſhe were Blind too.

Wou'd I were fairly off.

Turn up her Hood.

Undone for ever.—St. Anthony forbid: Oh Sir, ſhe has the dreadfulleſt unlucky Eyes.—Pray don't look upon them, I made her keep her Hood ſhut on Purpoſe.—Oh, oh, oh!

Eyes! Why, what's the Matter with her Eyes?

My poor Mother, Sir, is much afflicted with the Cholick; 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 caus'd ſuch a De⯑fluxion in her Eyes, that ſhe cou'd never ſince bear the Day-Light.

Say you ſo.—Poor Woman!—Well, make her ſit down, Violante, and give her a Glaſs of Wine.

Let her Daughter give her a Glaſs below, Sir, for my Part, ſhe has frighted me ſo, I ſhan't be my ſelf theſe two Hours. I am ſure her Eyes are evil Eyes.

Well hinted.

Well, well, do ſo, evil Eyes, there is no evil Eyes Child.

I'm glad he's gone.

Haſt thou heard the News, Violante?

What News, Sir?

Why, Vaſquez tells me that Don Lopez's Daughter Iſabella, is run away from her Father, that Lord has very ill Fortune with his Children.—Well, I'm glad my Daughter has no Inclination to Man⯑kind, that my Houſe is plagu'd with no Suitors.

This is the firſt Word I ever heard of it, I pity her Frailty.—

Well ſaid Violante.—Next Week I intend thy Happineſs ſhall begin.

I don't intend to ſtay ſo long, I thank you, Pa, pa.

My Lady Abbeſs writes Word ſhe longs to ſee thee, and has provided every Thing in order for thy Reception.—Thou wilt lead a happy Life my Girl.—Fifty times before that of Matrimony, where an extra⯑vagant Coxcomb might make a Beggar of thee, or an ill Natur'd ſurly Dog break thy Heart.

Break her Heart! She had as good have her Bones broke as to be a Nun; I am ſure I had, rather of the two.—You are wondrous kind, Sir, but if I had ſuch a Father, I know what I wou'd do.

Why, what wou'd you do Minx, ha?

I wou'd tell him I had as good Right and Title to the Laws of Nature, and the End of the Creation, as he had.—

You wou'd Miſtreſs, who the Devil doubts it! A good Aſſurance is a Chamber-Maid's Coat of Arms; and lying, and contriving the Supporters.—Your Inclinations are on Tip-toe it ſeems.—If I were your Father, Houſewife, I'd have a Penance enjoyn'd you, ſo ſtrict, that you ſhou'd not be able to turn you in your Bed for a Month.—You are enough to ſpoil your Lady Houſewife, if ſhe had not abundance of Devotion.

Fye Flora, Are not you aſham'd to talk thus to my Father? You ſaid Yeſterday you wou'd be glad to go with me into the Monaſtery.

She go with thee! No, no, ſhe's enough to Debauch the whole Convent.—Well Child, remem⯑ber what I ſaid to thee, next Week.—

Ay, and what am I to do this too.—

I am all Obedience, Sir, I care not how ſoon I change my Condition.

But little does he think what Change ſhe means.

Well ſaid Violante.—I am glad to find her ſo willing to leave the World, but it is wholly owing to my Prudent Management; did ſhe know that ſhe might command her Fortune when ſhe came at Age, or upon Day of Marriage, Perhaps ſhe'd change her Note.—But I have always told her that her Grand-Father left it with this Proviſo, That ſhe turn'd Nun, now a ſmall Part of this twenty Thouſand Pounds provides for her in the Nunnery, and the reſt is my own; there is nothing to be got in this Life without Policy.

Well Child, I am going into the Country for two or three Days, to ſettle ſome Affairs with thy Unkle.—And then.—Come help me on with my Cloak, Child.

Yes Sir.

So now for the Colonel.

Hiſt, hiſt Colonel.

)

Is the Coaſt clear?

Yes, if you can Climb, for you muſt get over the Waſh-Houſe, and Jump from the Garden-Wall into the Street.

Nay, nay, I don't value my Neck if my Inco⯑gita Anſwers but thy Lady's Promiſe.

Good bye Violante, take Care of thy ſelf, Child.

I wiſh you a good Journey, Sir.—Now to ſet my Priſoner at Liberty.

I have lain Perdue under the Stairs, till I watch'd the old Man out.

Sir, Sir, you may appear.

May he ſo, Madam.—I had Cauſe for my Suſ⯑picion, I find, treacherous Woman.

Ha, Felix here! Nay then, all's diſcover'd.

Villain, who e'er thou art, come out I charge thee, and take the Reward of thy Adulterous Errand.

What ſhall I ſay.—Nothing but the Secret which I have Sworn to keep can reconcile this Quar⯑rel.

A Coward! Nay, then I'll fetch you out, think not to hide thy ſelf; no, by St. Anthony, an Altar ſhould not Protect thee, even there I'd reach thy Heart, tho' all the Saints were arm'd in thy De⯑fence.

Defend me Heaven! What ſhall I do? I muſt diſcover Iſabella, or here will be Murder.

I have help'd the Colonel off clear, Madam.

Say'ſt thou my Girl? Then I am arm'd.

Where has the Devil in Complaiſance to your Sex convey'd him from my juſt Reſentments?

Him, who do you mean my dear inquiſitive Spark? Ha, ha, ha, ha, will you never leave theſe Jealous Whims?

Will you never ceaſe to Impoſe upon me?

You impoſe upon your ſelf, my Dear, do you think I did not ſee you? Yes, I did, and reſolv'd to put this Trick upon you; I knew you'd take the Hint, and ſoon relapſe into your wonted Error: how eaſily your Jealouſy is fir'd, I ſhall have a bleſſed Life with you.

Was there nothing in it then, but only to try me?

Won't you believe your Eyes?

No, becauſe I find they have deceiv'd me; well, I am convinc'd 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 but what ſhe'd have him.

And as ſoon as that Man finds his Love re⯑turn'd, ſhe becomes as errant a Slave, as if ſhe had already ſaid after the Prieſt.

The Prieſt, Violante, wou'd diſſipate thoſe Fears which cauſe theſe Quarrels; when wilt thou make me Happy?

To-Morrow I will tell thee, my Father is gone for two or three Days to my Uncles, we have time enough to finiſh our Affairs.—But prithy leave me now, for I expect ſome Ladies to Viſit me.

If you Command it.—Fly ſwift ye Hours, and bring to-Morrow on.—You deſire I wou'd leave you, Violante.

I do at preſent.

I am glad my Brother and you are reconcil'd my Dear, and the Colonel eſcap'd without his know⯑ledge; I was frighted out of my Wits when I heard him return.—I know not how to expreſs my Thanks Woman.— [59] for what you ſuffer'd for my Sake, my grateful Ac⯑knowlegements ſhall ever wait you; and to the World proclaim the Faith, Truth, and Honour of a Woman—

Prithy don't Compliment thy Friend, Iſabella.—You heard the Colonel I ſuppoſe.

Every Syllable, and am pleas'd to find I do not Love in vain.

Thou haſt caught his Heart it ſeems; and an Hour hence may ſecure his Perſon.—Thou haſt made haſty Work on't, Girl.

From thence I draw my Happineſs, we ſhall have no Accounts to make up after Conſummation.

SCENE, Frederick's Houſe.

THIS Hour has been propitious, I am re⯑concil'd to Violante, and you aſſure me An⯑tonio is out of Danger.

Your Satisfaction is doubly mine.

What Haſte you made Sirrah, to bring me Word if Violante went home?

I can give you very good Reaſons for my ſtay Sir.—Yes Sir, ſhe went home.

O! Your Maſter knows that, for he has been there himſelf Liſſardo.

Sir, may I beg the Favour of your Ear.

What have you to ſay?

Ha, Felix changes Colour at Liſſardo's News. What can it be?

A Scots Footman, that belongs to Colonel Brit⯑ton, an Acquaintance of Frederick's ſay you; the Devil! If ſhe be falſe, by Heaven I'll trace her. Prithy Frede⯑rick do you know one Colonel Britton a Scotſman?

Yes, why do you ask me?

Nay no great Matter, but my Man tells me that he has had ſome little Difference with a Servant of his, that's all.

He is a good harmleſs innocent Fellow, I am [61] ſorry for it; the Colonel lodges in my Houſe, I knew him formerly in England, and met him here by Acci⯑dent laſt Night, and gave him an Invitation home, he is a Gentleman of a good Eſtate, beſides his Com⯑miſſion; of excellent Principles, and ſtrict Honour I aſſure you.

Is he a Man of Intrigue?

Like other Men I ſuppoſe, here he comes.—

Colonel, I began to think I had loſt you.

—And not without ſome Reaſons if you knew all.

There's no Danger of a fine Gentleman's being loſt in this Town, Sir.

That Compliment don't belong to me Sir. But I aſſure you I have been very near being run away with.

Who attempted it?

Faith I know her not—Only that ſhe is a charming Woman, I mean as much as I ſaw of her.

My Heart ſwells with Apprehenſion.—Some accidental Rencounter.—

A Tavern I ſuppoſe adjuſted the Matter.—

A Tavern! No, no Sir, ſhe is above that Rank I aſſure you, this Nymph ſleeps in a Velvet Bed, and Lodgings every Way agreeable.

Ha, a Velvet Bed!—I thought you ſaid but now Sir, you knew her not.

No more I don't Sir.

How came you then ſo well acquainted with her Bed?

Ay, ay, come, come, unfold.

Why then you muſt know Gentleman, that I was convey'd to her Lodgings, by one of Cupids Emiſ⯑ſaries, call'd a Chambermaid, in a Chair, thro' fifty blind Alleys, who by the help of a Key let me into a Garden.

S'Death, a Garden, this muſt be Violante's Garden.

From thence conducted me into a ſpacious Room, then dropt me a Courteſie, told me her Lady would wait on me preſently, ſo without unvailing modeſtly withdrew.

Damn her Modeſty; this was Flora.

Well, how then Colonel?

Then Sir, immediately from another Door iſſued forth a Lady, arm'd at both Eyes, from whence ſuch Showers of Darts fell round me, that had I not been cover'd with the Shield of another Beauty, I had infallibly fall'n a Martyr to her Charms; for you muſt know I juſt ſaw her Eyes, Eyes did I ſay? No, no, hold, I ſaw but one Eye, tho' I ſuppoſe it had a Fellow, equally as killing.

But how came you to ſee her Bed Sir? S'Death this Expectation gives a thouſand Racks.

Why upon her Maid's giving Notice her Fa⯑ther was coming ſhe thruſt me into the Bed-Chamber.

Upon her Father's coming?

Ay, ſo ſhe ſaid, but putting my Ear to the Key⯑hole of the Door, I found it was another Lover.

Confound the Jilt! 'Twas ſhe without diſpute.

Ah poor Colonel, ha, ha, ha.

I diſcover'd they had had a Quarrel, but whe⯑ther they were reconcil'd or not, I can't tell, for the ſecond Alarm brought the Father in good earneſt, and had like to have made the Gentleman and I acquaint⯑ed, but ſhe found ſome other Stratagem to convey him out.

Contagion ſeize her, and make her Body ugly as her Soul. There's nothing left to doubt of now,—'Tis plain 'twas ſhe,—Sure he knows me, and takes this Method to inſult me, S'Death I cannot bear it.

So when ſhe had diſpatch'd her old Lover, ſhe [63] paid you a Viſit in her Bed-Chamber, ha, Colonel?

No, Pox take the impertinent Puppy, he ſpoil'd my Diverſion, I ſaw her no more.

Very fine! Give me Patience Heaven, or I ſhall burſt with Rage.

That was hard.

Nay, what was worſe, the Nymph that intro⯑duc'd me convey'd me out again over the Top of a high Wall, where I ran the Danger of having my Neck broke, for the Father it ſeems had lock'd the Door by which I enter'd.

That Way I miſs'd him:—Damn her Inven⯑tion.

Pray Colonel was this the ſame Lady you met upon the Terrerio de paſſa this Morning?

Faith I can't tell Sir, I had a Deſign to know who that Lady was, but my Dog of a Footman, whom I had order'd to watch her home, fell faſt a Sleep—I gave him a good beating for his Neglect, and I have never ſeen the Raſcal ſince.

Here he comes.

Where have you been Sirrah?

Troth Iſe been ſeeking yee an like yer Honor theſe twa Hoors an meer, I bring yee glad Teedings Sir.

What have you found the Lady?

Geud Faith ha I Sir—an Shee's call'd Donna Violante, and her Parent Don Pedro de Mendoſa, an gin yee wull gang wa mi, an't like ye'r honor, Iſe mak yee ken the Huſe right weel.

Oh, Torture! Torture!

Ha! Violante! That's the Lady's Name of the Houſe where my Incognita is, ſure it could not be her, at leaſt it was not the ſame Houſe I'm confident.

Violante! 'Tis falſe, I wou'd not have you cre⯑dit him Colonel.

The Deel bruſt my Blader, Sir gin I lee.

Sirrah, I ſay you do lye, and I'll make you eat it you Dog.

and if your Maſter will juſtify you—

Not I faith Sir—I anſwer for no body's Lyes, but my own, if you pleaſe kick him again.

But gin he dus, Iſe ne tak it Sir, gin he was a thouſand Spaniards.

I ow'd you a beating Sirrah, and I'm oblig'd to this Gentleman for taking the Trouble off my Hands, therefore ſay no more, d'ye hear Sir?

Troth de I Sir, and feel tee.

This muſt be a Miſtake Colonel, for I know Violante perfectly well, and I'm certain ſhe would not meet you upon the Terriero de paſſa.

Don't be too poſitive Frederick, now I have ſome Reaſons to believe it was that very Lady.

You'd very much oblige me Sir, if you'd let me know theſe Reaſons.

Sir.

Sir, I ſay I have a right to enquire into thoſe Reaſons you ſpeak off.

Ha, ha, really Sir I cannot conceive how you, or any Man can have a right to enquire into my Thoughts.

Sir I have a Right to every Thing that relates to Violante—And he that traduces her Fame, and refuſes to give his Reaſons for't is a Villain.

What the Devil have I been doing; now Bli⯑ſters on my Tongue, by Dozens.

Prithy Felix don't quarrel till you know for what, this is all a Miſtake I'm poſitive.

Look ye Sir, that I dare draw my Sword I think will admit of no Diſpute.—But tho' fighting's my Trade, I'm not in Love with it, and think it more honourable to decline this Buſineſs, than purſue it. This may be a Miſtake, however I'll give you my [65] Honour never to have any Affair directly, or indirectly with Violante provided ſhe is your Violante; but if there ſhou'd happen to be another of her Name I hope you wou'd not engroſs all the Violantes in the Kingdom.

Your Vanity has given me ſufficient Reaſons to believe I'm not miſtaken, I'm not to be impos'd upon Sir.

Nor I bully'd Sir.

Bully'd! S'Death, ſuch another Word, and I'll nail thee to the Wall.

Are you ſure of that Spaniard.

Say ne meer Mon, aw my Sol here's Twa, to Twa, dona fear Sir, Gibby ſtonds by yee for the Honor a Scotland.

By St. Anthony you ſhan't fight

on bare Suſpicion, be certain of the Injury, and then.—

That I will this Moment, and then Sir—I hope you are to be found—

When ever you pleaſe Sir.

S'bleed Sir, there neer was Scotſman yet that ſham'd to ſhew his Face.

[...] Quarrels ſpring up like Muſhrooms, in a Minute: Violante, and he, was but juſt reconcil'd, and you have furniſh'd him with freſh Matter for falling out again, and I am certain Colonel, Gibby is in the Wrong.

Gin I be Sir, the Mon that tald me leed, and gin he dud, the Deel be my Landlard, Hell my Win⯑ter Quarters, and a Rope my Winding Sheet, Gin I dee no lik him as lang as I can hold a Stick in my Hond, now ſee yee.

I am ſorry for what I have ſaid, for the Lady's Sake, but who could divine, that ſhe was his Miſtreſs, prithy who is this warm Spark?

He is the Son of one of our Grandees, nam'd Don Lopez de Pementell, a very honeſt Gentleman, but ſomething paſſionate in what relates to his Love.—He [66] is an only Son, which perhaps may be one Reaſon for indulging his Paſſion.

When Parents have but one Child, they either make a Madman, or a Fool of him.

He is not the only Child, he has a Siſter, but I think thro' the Severity of his Father, who would have married her againſt her Inclination, ſhe has made her eſcape, and notwithſtanding he has offer'd five hundred Pounds, he can get no Tydings of her.

Ha! How long has ſhe been miſſing?

Nay, but ſince laſt Night, it ſeems.

Laſt Night! The very Time! How went ſhe?

No body can tell, they conjecture thro' the Window.

I'm tranſported! This muſt be the Lady I caught; What ſort of a Woman is ſhe?

Middle ſiz'd, a lovely brown, a fine pouting Lip, Eyes that roul and languiſh, and ſeem to ſpeak the exquiſite Pleaſure that her Arms could give!

Oh! I'm fir'd with his Deſcription—'Tis the very ſhe—What's her Name?

Iſabella—You are tranſported Colonel.

I have a natural Tendency in me to the Fleſh, thou know'ſt, and who can hear of Charms ſo exquiſite, and yet remain unmov'd? Oh, how I long for the ap⯑pointed Hour! I'll to the Terreiro de paſſa, and wait my Happineſs, if ſhe fails to meet me, I'll once more attempt to find her at Violante's in ſpite of her Brother's Jealouſy.

Dear Frederick I beg your Pardon but I had forgot, I was to meet a Gentleman upon Buſi⯑neſs at Five, I'll endeavour to diſpatch him, and wait on you again as ſoon as poſſible.—

Your humble Servant Colonel.

Gibby I have no Buſineſs with you at preſent.

That's weel—naw will I gang and ſeck this Loon, and gar him gang with me to Don Pedro's [67] Huſe—Gin he will no gang of himſel, Iſe gar him gang by the Lug Sir; Godſwarbit Gibby hates a Lear.

Scene changes to Violante's Lodgings.

The Hour draws on Violante, and now my Heart begins to fail me, but I reſolve to venture for all that.

What does your Courage ſink Iſabella?

Only the Force of Reſolution a little retreated, but I'll rally it again for all that.

Don Felix is coming up Madam!

My Brother! Which way ſhall I get out—Diſpatch him as ſoon as you can dear Violante.

I will.

Felix, what brings you back ſo ſoon, did not I ſay to-morrow?

My Paſſion choaks me, I cannot ſpeak, oh I ſhall burſt!

Bleſs me! are you not well my Felix?

Yes,—No,—I don't know what I am.

Hey Day! What's the Matter now? Another jealous Whim!

With what an Air ſhe carries it.—I ſweat at her Impudence.

If I were in your Place, Felix, I'd chuſe to ſtay at home, when theſe Fits of Spleen were upon me, and not trouble ſuch Perſons as are not oblig'd to bear with them.

I am very ſenſible Madam of what you mean: I diſturb you no doubt, but were I in a better Humour I ſhou'd not incommode you leſs. I am but too well convinc'd, that you could eaſily diſpence with my Viſit.

When you behave your ſelf as you ought to do no Company ſo welcome—But when you reſerve me for your ill Nature, I wave your Merit, and con⯑ſider [68] what's due to my ſelf—And I muſt be ſo free to tell you Felix, that theſe Humors of yours will abate, if not abſolutely deſtroy the very Principles of Love.

And I muſt be ſo free to tell you Ma⯑dam, that ſince you have made ſuch ill Returns to the Reſpect that I have paid you, all you do ſhall be indiffe⯑rent to me for the Future, and you ſhall find me aban⯑don your Empire with ſo little Difficulty, that I'll con⯑vince the World your Chains are not ſo hard to break as your Vanity would tempt you to believe—I cannot brook the Provocations you give.

This is not to be born—Inſolent! You aban⯑don! You! Whom I have ſo often forbad ever to ſee me more! Have you not fall'n at my Feet? Implor'd my Favour and Forgiveneſs—Did you not trembling wait, and wiſh, and ſigh, and ſwear your ſelf into my Heart? Ingrateful Man! If my Chains are ſo eaſily broke as you pretend, then you are the ſillieſt Cox⯑comb living, you did not break 'em long ago; and I muſt think him capable of brooking any thing on whom ſuch Uſage could make no Impreſſion.

A Duce take your Quarrels ſhe'll never think on me.

I always believed, Madam, my Weakneſs was the greateſt Addition to your Power, you would be leſs Imperious, had my Inclination been leſs forward to oblige you.—You have indeed forbad me your Sight, but your Vanity even then aſſured you I would re⯑turn, and I was Fool enough to feed your Pride.—Your Eyes, with all their boaſted Charms, have acqui⯑red the greateſt Glory in conquering me.—And the brighteſt Paſſage of your Life is, wounding this Heart with ſuch Arms as pierce but few Perſons of my Rank.

Matchleſs Arrogance! True Sir, I ſhould have kept Meaſures better with you, if the Conqueſt had been worth preſerving, but we eaſily hazard what [69] gives us no Pain to looſe.—As for my Eyes, you are miſtaken if you think they have vanquiſhed none but you; there are Men above your boaſted Rank who have confeſs'd their Power, when their Misfortune in pleaſ⯑ing you made them obtain ſuch a diſgraceful Victory.

Yes Madam, I am no Stranger to your Victories.

And what you call the brighteſt Paſſage of my Life, is not the leaſt glorious Part of yours.

Ha, ha, don't put your ſelf into a Paſſion, Ma⯑dam, for I aſſure you after this Day I ſhall give you no Trouble.—You may meet your Sparks on the Terriero de Paſſa at Four in the Morning, without the leaſt Regard of mine.—For when I quit your Chamber, the World ſhan't bring me back.

I am ſo well pleas'd with your Reſolution, I don't care how ſoon you take your leave.—But what you mean by the Terreiro de paſſa at Four in the Morn⯑ing I can't gueſs.

No, no, no, not you.—You was not upon the Terriero de paſſa at Four this Morning.

No, I was not; but if I was, I hope I may Walk where I pleaſe, and at what Hour I pleaſe without asking you leave.

Oh, doubtleſs Madam! And you might meet Colonel Britton there, and afterwards ſend your Emiſ⯑ſary to fetch him to your Houſe.—And upon your Father's coming in, thruſt him into your Bed-Cham⯑ber—without asking my leave. 'Tis no Buſineſs of mine if you are expoſed among all the Foot-Men in Town.—Nay, if they Ballad you, and cry you about at a half-Penny a piece.—They may without my Leave.

Audacious! Don't provoke me—Don't; my Reputation is not to be ſported with

at this rate.—No Sir, it is not.

In⯑human Felix!—Oh Iſabella, what a Train of Ills haſt thou brought on me?

Ha! I cannot bear to ſee her Weep.—A Wo⯑man's [70] Tears are far more Fatal than our Swords.

Oh Violante.—S'Death! What a Dog am I? Now have I no Power to ſtir:—Doſt not thou know ſuch a Perſon as Colonel Britton? Prithy tell me, did'ſt not thou meet him at Four this Morning upon the Ter⯑reiro de paſſa?

Were it not to clear my Fame, I would not anſwer thee thou black Ingrate!—But I cannot bear to be reproach'd with what I even Bluſh to think of, much leſs to act; by Heaven I have not ſeen the Ter⯑reiro de paſſa this Day.

Did not a Scots Foot-Man attack you in the Street neither Violante?

Yes, but he miſtook me for another, or he was Drunk, I know not which.

And do not you know this Scots Colonel?

Pray ask me no more Queſtions, this Night ſhall clear my Reputation, and leave you without Excuſe for your baſe Suſpicions; more than this I ſhall not ſatisfie you, therefore Pray leave me.

Didſt thou ever love me, Violante?

I'll anſwer nothing.—You was in haſte to be gone juſt now, I ſhould be very well pleas'd to be alone, Sir.

I ſhall not long interrupt your Contemplati⯑on.—Stubborn to the laſt.

Did ever Woman involve her ſelf as I have done?

Now wou'd I give one of my Eyes to be Friends with her, for ſomething whiſpers to my Soul ſhe is not guilty.—

Give me your Hand at parting however Violante, won't you,

won't you—won't you—won't you?

Won't I do what?

You know what I wou'd have, Violante, Oh my Heart!

I thought my Chains were eaſily broke.

Too well thou knoweſt thy Strength.—Oh my charming Angel, my Heart is all thy own, forgive my haſty Paſſion, 'tis the tranſport of a Love ſincere!

Bid Sancho get a New Wheel to my Chariot preſently.

Bleſs me! My Father return'd! What ſhall we do now Felix? We are ruin'd, paſt Redemption.

No, no, no, my Love, I can leap from thy Cloſet Window.

Say you ſo, But I ſhall prevent you.

Confuſion! Some Body bolts the Door within ſide, I'll ſee who you have conceal'd here if I dye for't; Oh Violante! Haſt thou again ſacrific'd me to my Ri⯑val?

By Heaven thou haſt no Rival in my Heart, let that ſuffice—nay ſure you will not let my Father find You here—Diſtraction!

Indeed but I ſhall—except You command this Door to be open'd, and that way conceal me from his Sight.

Hear me Felix—tho' I were ſure the refuſing what you ask would ſeparate us for ever, by all that's powerful You ſhould not enter here, either You do love me, or You do not, convince me by Your Obe⯑dience.

That's not the Matter in debate—I will know who is in this Cloſet, let the Conſequence be what it will. Nay, nay, nay, You ſtrive in vain, I will go in.

You ſhall not go in—

Hey day! What's here to do! I will go in, and You ſhan't go in,—and I will go in—why who are you Sir?

'Sdeath! What ſhall I ſay now!

Don Felix, pray what's your Buſineſs in my Houſe? Ha Sir?

Oh Sir, what Miracle return'd you home ſo ſoon? Some Angel 'twas that brought my Father back to ſuccour the Diſtreſs'd—this Ruffian here I can⯑not call him Gentleman—has committed ſuch an un⯑common rudeneſs, as the moſt profligate Wretch wou'd be aſham'd to own—

Ha, what the Devil does ſhe mean!

As I was at my Devotion in my Cloſet, I heard a loud knocking at our Door, mix'd with a Woman's Voice, which ſeem'd to imply ſhe was in Danger—

I am confounded!

I flew to the Door with utmoſt ſpeed, where a Lady vail'd ruſhed in upon me, who falling on her Knees begg'd my Protection, from a Gentleman whom ſhe ſaid perſued her, I took Compaſſion on her Tears, and locked her into this Cloſet, but in the Surprize ha⯑ving left open the Door, this very Perſon whom You ſee, with his drawn Sword ran in; proteſting, if I refu⯑ſed to give her up to his Revenge, he'd force the Door.

What in the Name of Goodneſs, does ſhe mean to do! Hang me.

I ſtrove with him till I was out of Breath, and had You not come as You did he muſt have enter'd—but he's in Drink I ſuppoſe, or he could not have been guilty of ſuch an Indecorum.

I am amazed!

The Devil never fail'd a Woman at a Pinch, what 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.

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 Cha⯑racter of a Gentleman, I aſſure You.

Who, I aſſault a Lady—upon Honour the Lady aſſaulted me Sir, and would have ſeiz'd this Body Politick upon the King's High-way—let her come out, and deny it if ſhe can—pray Sir command the Door to be open'd, and let her prove me a Lyar if ſhe knows how—I have been drinking right French Claret Sir, but I love my own Country for all that.

Ay, ay, who doubts it Sir?—Open the Door Violante, and let the Lady come out,—come I war⯑rant thee, he ſhan't hurt her.

Ay, now which way will ſhe come off!

come forth Madam, none ſhall dare to touch your Vail—I'll convey You out with Safety, or looſe my Life—I hope ſhe under⯑ſtands me.

Excellent Girl!

The Devil! A Woman! I'll ſee if ſhe be really ſo.

Not a Step Sir till the Lady be paſt your Recovery.—I never ſuffer the Laws of Hoſpi⯑tality to be violated in my Houſe Sir.—I'll keep Don Felix here till you ſee her ſafe out Violante.

Get clear of my Father, and follow me to the Terreiro de Paſſa, where all Miſtakes ſhall be rectifyed.

Come Sir, you and I will take a Pipe and a Bottle together.

Damn your Pipe Sir, I won't ſmoak—I hate Tobacco—Nor I, I, I, I won't drink Sir—No [74] nor I won't ſtay neither, and how will you help your ſelf?

As to ſmoaking, or drinking, you have your Liberty, but you ſhall ſtay Sir.

Shall I ſo Sir—But I tell you old Gentleman I am in haſte to be married—And ſo God be with you.

Go to the Devil—In haſte to be married quotha, thou art in a fine Condition to be married truly!

Here's Don Lopez de Pimmentel to wait on you Senior.

What the Devil does he want? Bring him up he's in purſuit of his Son I ſuppoſe.

I am glad to find you at Home, Don Pedro, I was told that you was ſeen upon the Road to——this Afternoon.

That might be my Lord, but I had the Mis⯑fortune to break the Wheel of my Chariot, which oblig'd me to return—What is your Pleaſure with me my Lord?

I am inform'd that my Daughter is in your Houſe, Don Pedro.

That's more than I know my Lord, but here was your Son juſt now as drunk as an Emperor.

My Son drunk! I never ſaw him in Drink in my Life, where is he pray Sir?

Gone to be married.

Married! To whom? I don't know that he courted any Body.

Nay I know nothing of that—Within there! [75]

bid my Daughter come hither ſhe'll tell you another Story my Lord.

She's gone out in a Chair Sir.

Out in a Chair, what do you mean Sir?

As I ſay Sir, and Donna Iſabella went in ano⯑ther juſt before her.

Iſabella!

And Don Felix follow'd in another, I overheard them all, bid their Chairs go to the Terreiro de paſſa.

Ha! What Buſineſs has my Daughter there? I am confounded, and know not what to think.—Within there.

My Heart miſgives me plaguely—Call me a Alguzile, I'll perſue them ſtrait.

SCENE changes to the Street before Don Pedro's Houſe.

I wiſh I could ſee Flora—Methinks I have an hankering Kindneſs after the Slut——We muſt be reconcil'd.

Aw my Sol, Sir, but Iſe blithe to find yee here now.

Ha! Brother! Give me thy Hand Boy.

Notſe faſt, ſe ye me—Brether me ne Brethers, I ſcorn a Lyar as muckle as a Theife, ſe ye now, and yee muſt gang intu [...] this Houſe with me, and juſtifie to Donna Violante's Face, that ſhe was the Lady that gang'd in here this Morn, ſe yee me, or the Deel ha my Sol, Sir, but ye and I ſhall be twa Folks.

Juſtify it to Donna Violante's Face, quotha, for what? Sure you don't know what you ſay.

Troth de I, Sir, as weel as yee de, therefore come along, and mak no mear Words about it.

Why what the Devil do you mean? Don't you conſider you are in Portugal. Is the Fellow mad?

Fallow! Iſe none of yer Fallow, Sir, and gin this Place were Hell, id gar ye de me Juſtice,

nay the Deel a Feet ye gang.

How now! What makes you knock ſo loud?

Gin this be Don Pedro's Houſe, Sir, I wou'd ſpeak with Donna Violante his Doughter.

Ha! Don Pedro himſelf, I wiſh I were fairly off.

Ha! What is it you want with my Daughter pray?

An ſhe be your Doughter, an lik yer Honer, command her to come out, and anſwer for herſel now, and either juſtify or diſprove what this Shield told me this Morn.

So, here will be a fine Piece of Work.

Why what did he tell you, ha?

Be me Sol, Sir, Iſe tell you aw the Truth, my Maſter got a pratty Lady upon the how de yee call't—Paſſa—Here at Five this Morn, and he Gar me watch her heam—And in Troth I lodg'd her here, and meeting this ill favour'd Theife, ſe ye me, I ſpierd wha ſhe was—And he told me her Name was Donna Violante, Don Pedro de Mendoſa's Daughter.

Ha! My Daughter with a Man abroad at Five in the Morning, Death, Hell, and Furies, by St. Antho⯑ny I'm undone.

Wunds Sir, ye put yer Saint intul bony Com⯑pany.

Who is your Maſter ye Dog you? Adſheart I ſhall be trick'd of my Daughter, and my Money too, that's worſt of all.

Ye Dog you! Sblead, Sir, don't call Names—I wont tell you wha my Maſter is, ſe ye me now.

And who are you Raſcal, that knows my Daughter ſo well? Ha!

What ſhall I ſay to make him give this Scots Dog a good beating?

I know your Daughter, Senior. Not I, I never ſaw your Daughter in all my Life.

Deel ha my Sol, Sar, gin ye get no your Carich for that Lye now.

What hoa! Where are all my Servants?

Raiſe the Houſe in purſuit of my Daughter.

Here ſhe comes, Senior.

Hey Day! What is here to do?

This is the Loon lik Tik, and lik yer Honor, that ſent me Heam with a Lye this Morn.

Come, come, 'tis all well Gibby, let him riſe.

I am Thunder-ſtruck—and have not Power to ſpeak one Word.

This is a Day of Jubilee, Liſſardo; no quarel⯑ling with him this Day.

A Pox take his Fits.—Egad, theſe Brittons are but a Word and a Blow.

So, have I found your Daughter; then you have not hang'd your ſelf yet I ſee.

But ſhe is married, my Lord.

Married, Zounds to whom!

Even to your humble Servant, my Lord, if you pleaſe to give us your Bleſſing.

Why hark ye Miſtreſs, are you really married?

Really ſo, my Lord.

And who are you Sir?

An honeſt North Britton by Birth, and a Co⯑lonel by Commiſſion, my Lord.

A Heretick! The Devil!

She has play'd you a ſlippery Trick indeed my Lord.—Well my Girl thou haſt been to ſee thy Friend married.—Next Week thou ſhalt have a better Hus⯑band, my Dear.

Next Week is a little too ſoon Sir, I hope to live longer than that.

What do you mean Sir? You have not made a Rib of my Daughter too, have you?

Indeed but he has, Sir, I know not how, but he took me in an unguarded Minute,—when my Thoughts were not over ſtrong for a Nunnery, Father.

Your Daughter has play'd you a ſlippery Trick too, Senior.

But your Son ſhall be never the better for't my Lord, her twenty Thouſand Pounds was left on certain Conditions, and I'll not part with a Shilling.

But we have a certain Thing call'd Law, ſhall make you do Juſtice, Sir.

Well we'll try that,—my Lord, much good may it do you with your Daughter in Law.

I wiſh you much Joy of your Rib.

Frederick, Welcome!—I ſent for thee to be Witneſs of my good Fortune, and make one in a Country-Dance.

Your Meſſenger has told me all, and I ſincere⯑ly ſhare in all your Happineſs.

To the Right about Frederick, wiſh thy Friend Joy.

I do with all my Soul;—and Madam I congra⯑tulate your Deliverance.—Your Suſpicions are clear'd now, I hope Felix.

They are, and I heartily ask the Colonel Par⯑don, and wiſh him Happy with my Siſter; for Love has taught me to know, that every Man's Happineſs conſiſts in chuſing for himſelf.

After that Rule, I fix here.

That's your Miſtake, I prefer my Lady's Ser⯑vice, and turn you over to her that pleaded Right and Title to you to Day.

Chuſe proud Fool, I ſhan't ask you twice.

What ſay ye now Laſs, will ye ge yer Maiden-Head to poor Gibby.—What ſay you, will ye Dance the Reel of Bogye with me?

That I may not leave my Lady,—I take you at your Word.—And tho' our Wooing has been ſhort, I'll by her Example love you dearly.

Hark! I hear the Muſick, ſome Body has done us the Favour to ſend them, call them in.

Waunds this is bony Muſick.—How caw ye that Thing that ye pinch by the Craig, and tickle the Weam, and make it cry Grum, Grum.

Oh! that's a Guittar, Gibby.

Now my Violante, I ſhall Proclaim thy Vertues to the World.