ACT I.

SO! at laſt we are arriv'd in Don Leo⯑pold's caſtle.

Thank Heaven! for ſince we turn'd our horſes heads from the palace of Saragoſa, my Prince has not till this moment honour'd his faithful Frederick with a ſingle word.

I did imagine, my dear Frederick, that you wiſh'd to ſee me in love.

Without doubt—the darling of your Royal patents, the idol of the people; the blooming hope of every friend to his country, and the impending terror of her ſoes, adorn'd with every grace of nature, ſhining in each ac⯑compliſhment with all the glowing ſpirit of a hero, ready to burſt into action, I ſaw my Prince, my maſter, in the midſt of a brilliant court, ſurrounded with pleaſures, but a ſtranger to happineſs.

'Tis true, Frederick: I was amus'd, but never pleas'd.

I ſaw it. I dar'd, impell'd by duty, to pry into my Prince's thoughts, and from the ſtate of your heart, this languor, this apathy, this reſtleſs, joyleſs inquietude, I plainly ſaw that in the midſt of ſplendor, Love was wanting to make you happy.

Ay, Frederick; but if this love, which you imagine ſo eſſential to my happineſs, ſhould plunge me into unutterable woe, and render me for ever miſerable!

Love make a Prince miſerable! Im⯑poſſible.

Why not a Prince as well as another man?

Heir to the Crown of Arragon, who has only to aſk and obtain, to wiſh and be hap⯑py!

Ay, Fred'rick; but I wou'd have the fair one love me, not as the Heir of Arra⯑gon: I would owe nothing to the dignity of my ſtation.

Well, Sir, Fortune has arrang'd each circumſtance of your adventure here to the full extent of your wiſhes. Chance throws into your hands a Lady's picture; the features are, juſt what your fancy imagines to be the moſt beauti⯑ful [3] in the world; and for ſeven or eight days, by your orders, I ſearch'd the Court, the city, the country, for the charming original: my en⯑deavours proved fruitleſs, and you begin to de⯑ſpair of ever finding this lovely incognita; when one day, in hunting, led by the ardour of the chace, having ſtray'd from your ſuite, you find yourſelf near the park walls of this caſtle— hear the cry of diſtreſs, ſee women purſued by a huge and fierce boar. Fired with a gene⯑rous alarm at their danger, you fly to their aſ⯑ſiſtance; to kill this monſter, was but the work of a minute; but what a minute of delight, of tranſport! A young Lady from wearineſs and fright having fallen at the foot of a tree, pre⯑ſents to your eyes the very identical lovely ori⯑ginal of the picture. Thus, in ſaving her life, your firſt interview was the moſt auſpicious mo⯑ment of your's.

I own, my dear Frederick, hitherto I have reaſon to be content; as yet, 'tis certain, my quality is a ſecret to Don Leopold and his.daughter; and as I was firſt introduced to them. by your name, they ſtill imagine me to be Don Frederick. The amiable Seraphina liſtens to my vows with the moſt flattering complacency, approves my paſſion, anſwer's each gentle ſigh, each tender look, with the ſweet ſympathy of [4] dear affection; and, by her permiſſion, I made a formal demand to her father of her hand in marriage.

Which he readily granted, not know⯑ing you to be the Prince of Arragon.

The old Gentleman did not heſitate a moment; and this very day, the anniverſary of my Birth Day, Don Leopold has fixed for the celebration of our marriage.

Then nothing but the joy of the night can exceed the happineſs of the day.

Ah! Frederick, this day may be moſt unhappy! Seraphina loves me, but before I wed her I am reſolved to put her affection to the proof; if it cannot bear the trial, oh, Frede⯑rick! what a ſevere ſtroke to a heart ſo ten⯑der, ſo ſenſible, ſo paſſionate as mine!

Well, my Lord, I hope all for the beſt—Ha! ha! ha! I'm diverted even at the idea of Don Leopold's ſurprize and embar⯑raſſment when he finds that you're the Prince; I aſſure you he'll entertain you with ſuch things as never yet reached a royal ear.

Ay, that I ſuppoſe: for the charac⯑ter of my old Don, tho'rough, is noble, free and independent. Huſh, here he comes; remember I am Don Frederick, and you are my atten⯑dant.

Be quiets—hold your tongues—ſay no more, it's all in vain—ridicu⯑lous to propoſe it! No, no, no courts for me,

Ah! they did not tell me you were here.

But juſt arriv'd, Sir; you ſeem an⯑gry.

So I am, very angry.

What's the matter, Don Leopold?

My daughter wants to carry me to Court.

Why not, Sir? A nobleman of your birth and diſtinction ſhould not thus bury him⯑ſelf hi the country.

In the country! I live upon my own eſtate.

Yes, but from the character I have given of you, the Prince I'm ſure would wiſh to be known to you.

I tell you what, boy; I've as much reſpect for my Prince as you; I obey, I eſteem, I love him; and were there a cauſe, the laſt drop of my blood ſhould write my loyalty; I'd die to ſerve him. But I don't like new acquaintance: I am too old.

And yet I will aſſure you, Don Leo⯑pold, the Prince wiſhes for nothing more than to have you nearly attached to him.

Me! On what account?

To have in your rare and valuable character a man of candour and probity, incapa⯑ble of falſehood, on whoſe honor, whoſe friend⯑ſhip he might rely, and place an intire confi⯑dence in his fidelity—you laugh!

Yes: Ha! ha! very good! the Prince wiſhes to have me near him, me, whom he never ſaw; becauſe, forſooth, you have told him that I am a perſon of probity and candour!

Juſt ſo. I'll anſwer for your welcome, go when you pleaſe.

Will you? firſt anſwer for my going for go I will not; no, no, he ſees bad company enough already.

But—

None of your buts! you are going to be my Son-in-law; take it once for all, I was never made for a courtier; I am a fantaſtical, ridiculous old fellow, that thinks noble birth wants no decoration of title; that a ſtar upon a breaſt cannot give honor to a heart that's baſe, nor a ribbon dignity to a neck that per⯑haps deſerves a halter. Tho' I live at a great expence, I keep within my income; I have not uſe for more than half the ſervants I main⯑tain, but then the other half I conſider have uſe [7] for me; and tho' I am a Lord, I am as free from debt as the pooreſt commoner.

You would indeed be an extraordi⯑nary character at court.

Ay, ay, Don Frederick, but I prefer being lodged in this old caſtle of mine here, to the honor of being inconveniently ſituated near a Prince; in one word, I'd rather walk about my park, gardens, and my own improvements, than to ſlide and amble through an antichamber, like a cypher of great importance, in a groupe of idle buſy-bodies, female profligates, reverend atheiſts, mock patriots, and right honourable ſharpers, the whole forming a villainous picture, a curious court calendar.

Then 'tis impoſſible to perſuade you to accompany us.

Then don't attempt; aſk a lover to reſign his miſtreſs, a lady to praiſe her rival, a lawyer to tell truth, and a Doctor to return his fee; but never aſk me to go to court; you ſhall not change my mode of thinking, nor ſhall I try to alter your's.

Your attendants wait their orders.

Very well.

Florina, where's my daughter?

I left her in the garden, Sir; I fancy ſhe's reading in the jeſſamine alcove.

Hey, Don Frederick, don't you wiſh to ſee her? ay, ay, well, well, go—you hear ſhe is in the jeſſamine alcove.

Oh pray go, Sir, 'tis the ſweeteſt place to make love in! ſing her an amorous ditty, and the pretty little birds ſhall play up the ſymphonies.

Hark ye! I'll play up a ſymphony with you, huſſey, if you ſtrike up your amorous ditties in my daughter's hearing—But go to her, Frederick, while I go and prepare for your wedding and ſome little fancies of my own to honour the Birth Day of my Prince. This night Seraphina ſhall be your wife; and to-mor⯑row morning, if you will go, there lies your way to court, and here lies mine to my groves and gardens.

Then at laſt the delicious moment is at hand, when we ſhall bid adieu to this crazy caſtle, theſe, inſenſible trees, theſe diſmal groves, and melancholy gardens.

You are weary of this place, hey!

Weary of it?—that I am.

Variety pleaſes you.

Infinitely; I deteſt ſameneſs, order and odious method; I delight in noiſe, hurry, [10] ſhew, and rattling confuſion.—Oh heavens, I've conceiv'd the moſt charming ideas of a Court!

And you are a charming girl: you are form'd for a court—that graceful mien, this fine ſhape

that expreſſive ſenſibility of countenance, thoſe ſpeaking eyes, thoſe ruby lips

My lips are well enough: ſo let them alone, if you pleaſe,

With all your gaiety, ſprightlineſs and vivacity, ſuch ſhining qualifications for good company, you cannot fail of ſucceſs.

Yes, I flatter myſelf there is a little ſomething, a certain—inexpreſſive—that—ay, ay, my Je ne ſcai quoi will do the buſineſs.

You and I are going to live in the ſame houſe: come, let us be open and candid! do you reſolve to govern your maſter?

Moſt certainly I will.

Well, mind, take care that you do; for I am poſitively determined to govern my miſtreſs: 'en't I right?

Certainly; ay, and ſhe'll be Well governed!

Why yes, it isn't that I want to make a great fortune, that is, all at once; I'm not covetous or ambitious, but you know one muſt be a little vain, when one is plac'd with a lady [12] who is wife to the Prince's favourite; my education may have been limited, but for all that, I hope to play my cards with ſuch addreſs, that I ſhall ſoon have a little court of my own.

What a baggage!

I dare ſay you will, and from this moment I put myſelf under your patronage and protection.

Well, I ſhall take care of you; in⯑deed, at firſt you may be of ſome uſe to me.

As how pray?

Why, you muſt help me in collecting little intrigues, adventures, and anecdotes.

Then I find you have no averſion to ſcandal.

Why you know ſcandal is a waiting woman's moſt neceſſary qualification.

You are an ingenious pretty little ſoul, that's the truth on't—oh! here comes my maſter.

And my miſtreſs; hey! they ſeem to have had a wrangle.

Something's the matter indeed!

Well come along, it's none of our buſineſs; let's leave them to themſelves, for [13] when two lovers fall out, they can always decide the quarrel without ſeconds.

I was order'd by my maſter to attend him here.

What, two to one againſt my miſ⯑treſs? Oh, then I'll ſtand by to ſee fair play.

Cruel Frederick! why did your valour ſave my life; your merit win my heart; when now you make your Seraphina wretched, by ſeeming ſo unhappy on the very day of our union?

Oh heavens!

You ſeem alarm'd: I aſk the reaſon, you anſwer me with ſighs, and look to heaven: Explain the cauſe of theſe emotions, or I'll in⯑ſtantly acquaint my father.

Stay, Madam.

Speak then: why am I treated thus?

Juſt heaven, your indignation I de⯑ſerve, and with patience I ſubmit: Oh Ser⯑aphina!

Speak, my Frederick.

Dry your tears, they fall for a wretch unworthy of your pity.

Unworthy! You are worthy of my tendereſt regard, my affection, my love.

No more! this kindneſs but aggra⯑vates my guilt.

Guilt!

My perfidy.

How?

To you, Seraphina, I am a traitor; and when I diſcloſe my treachery, your tender⯑neſs of affection will turn to contempt and ab⯑horrence.

Betray'd by my Frederick?

Liſten to the ſtory of my falſhood, and then abandon me to the keen remorſe which muſt for ever puniſh and torment me. Yeſterday, having obtain'd the conſent of my Prince for our marriage, Frederick, ſays he, from the fidelity by which I know you are attached to me, I make no doubt of your con⯑cern at my late inquietude of mind, and of your anxiety to know, and if in your power to remove the cauſe; cou'd you imagine it poſſi⯑ble that the portrait of a young lady, whom I never ſaw nor know, has made ſuch a deep im⯑preſſion on my heart, that till I find her, till ſhe's mine, your Prince muſt be unhappy! Here, behold, examine; ſee if nature ever form'd any thing ſo lovely, altogether ſuch a combination of beauties! Here, take it, Frede⯑rick, I truſt this precious picture to your care. Reply not: fly, my dear friend; ſearch every where, and, if poſſible, find this adorable wo⯑man, this charming unknown! Judge, Sera⯑phina, judge of my aſtoniſhment, my grief, when I beheld—theſe, theſe are the features that have caught the Prince's heart; there is the picture that he truſted to my care.

Lord, Madam, this is your own pic⯑ture!

Frederick, I doubt her conſtancy: but deſire my attendants to be in readineſs.

'Tis indeed mine; the very picture that my father had drawn about a month after my return from the convent, and that he loſt a few days after.

And which fortune has thrown into the hands of the Prince; but inſtead of repay⯑ing his confidence with fidelity, inſtead of throw⯑ing myſelf at his feet and confeſſing that I was his rival, I endeavour'd to conceal my embar⯑raſſment, and turn his paſſion aſide; with a forc'd laugh I affected to rally his love for a perſon unknown; and, to cool his tranſport, urg'd that the picture might have flatter'd, that the original might not be living, that thoſe fine features perhaps never exiſted but in the paint⯑er's fancy. In ſhort, my perfidious jealouſy left nothing unſaid that might prevent his cu⯑rioſity [17] from any further attempt to diſcover you.

You had little to do I think.

Mad with the fear of having my treaſure ſnatch'd from me, I flew to your fa⯑ther and urg'd him to haſten our marriage; I ſummon'd all my diſſimulation to maſter my anxiety before him; but when I approach'd your preſence, that unſuſpecting innocence, that air of frankneſs and ſincerity, even tri⯑umph'd over your charms; the tender and in⯑genuous joy you expreſs'd at ſeeing me, when heaven itſelf had deſign'd you for a throne, confounded my intentions; I had no longer power to diſguiſe the cruel conflict that agitated my ſoul. You, lovely Seraphina, perceived my emotions; your kind ſolicitude has produced this explanation; there now remains no more for me but to quit your preſence, and for ever baniſh from your ſight my ſhame, my guilt, and my confuſion.

Ay do, go along, and ſend the Prince to us.

Sir, there's a courier arrived from court: he ſays he was ordered to make extraordinary haſte, as he comes to you with news of very great conſequence.

News! heaven! the Prince has not diſcover'd—

Go, Frederick, ſee what his buſineſs is.

Aye, I ſee her love is extin⯑guiſh'd. Oh Seraphina, I have nothing to hope, and fear the worſt.

Well, men are all foxes, ſo cunning and ſo falſe. Now wou'dn't any body in the world have ſworn that this Don Frederick's love was real?

And after ſuch a proof can I doubt the reality of his love?

A pretty way of fhewing it, to de⯑prive you of a crown! O fie! He ought to be aſham'd of himſelf. Dear Madam, at the firſt ſight of the picture, a real lover would have cried out in a tranſport of joy, " My Prince, I know it; that's the picture of Donna Seraphina de Quintana; ay, and not half ſo handſome as that beautiful young lady. Oh Sir, if you were but to ſee her! Such an air, ſuch a charming [19] face! you'd declare, Sir, that not a woman in the world would ſo well become a throne." There, Madam; that would be the language of a true lover.

Ceaſe, Florina; my mind is tortured with cruel reflections.

What an eſcape! what would have become of you if he had concealed his treach⯑ery till you were married? Dear Madam, I tremble to think of it.

Prythee, peace; no more of this.

You are right, Madam; I'm wrong; 'tis with the glory that awaits you I ought to entertain you. You'll ſoon be a Princeſs; after [20] that be a Queen. Charming, delightful, tranſporting! the very thought gives extacy!

Ah, Florina, you and I differ much in our opinion of the road to happineſs.

ACT II.

NOW, Frederick, now for the tri⯑al! and if I prove my Seraphina's mind, as pure as her perſon is charming, this day gives her my hand; and to-morrow, when preſented to the King, my father, her beauty and her vir⯑tue muſt juſtify my choice, and give an added ſplendor to the court of Saragoſſa.

Behold, my Lord, ſhe comes, and her little Governeſs too—Ah, her councils do no great ſervice to her miſtreſs's cauſe.

Madam, I am loſt, undone; you've, now ample revenge: a particular friend at Sara⯑goſſa [23] has given me notice that the Prince him⯑ſelf will be here in an hour.

The Prince!

Yes, my good, my royal maſter, having heard of my approaching marriage, ever ſolicitous for my welfare and happineſs, and lit⯑tle ſuſpecting how much I've abus'd his confi⯑dence, has ſignified his royal pleaſure that he'll honour the ceremony with his preſence.

What a ſtroke of fortune!

Ay, Madam, who can ſay that for⯑tune's blind, when ſhe has now hit the nail on the head ſo nicely?

To-day, do you ſay, Frederick?

This day, this hour; every moment. I expect him; drawn hither by his friendſhip for me, he forſakes the court, even at the time when a happy people rejoices at the auſpicious day that gave birth to their Prince, the darling of their hopes; and, as he imagines, to give me a more joyful ſurpriſe, I'm inform'd that he comes maſk'd, with a few ſelect friends, who Attend him from the palace.

Maſk'd! what a pity!—Oh, the dear, dear Prince, how I do long to ſee him!

In the diſtreſs this accident has thrown me, what can I ſay to alleviate your [24] grief? You know, Frederick, my will depends upon a father.

I underſtand you, Madam.

To him my duty obliges me to ſub⯑mit.

Certainly, Madam, and no doubt but he has already order'd you to think of me no more.

My father loves me tenderly; we have no reaſon to imagine but that he'll order every thing for the beſt; I'll go ſeek him, and immediately acquaint you with his determina⯑tion.

Confuſion!

Well, what's you opini⯑on of this affair?

Preſently we'll acquaint you with Our determination.

There, Frederick! what think you now?

As yet I cannot—

Oh, I ſee plainly what I'm to ex⯑pect! Yes, yes, ſhe's reſolv'd to reject me; and you ſee with what art ſhe endeavoured to pre⯑pare me for my diſmiſſion!—her father's deter⯑mination!—a mere excuſe for her caprice, and ſordid inconſtancy.

Nay, my Prince, my deareſt maſter, wait but a little, before your opinion totally condemns her.

No more, Frederick! in vain you attempt her juſtification; but I ſhall have the pleaſure of enjoying her confuſion, when ſhe comes to know me. Is my maſk and domino ready?

Ay, ay, to puniſh her infidelity, even if ſhe did love me ſpite of the violence I do myſelf by ſuch a'reſolution; by Heavens ſhe loſes me for ever.

Yes; I begin myſelf to think her con⯑ſtancy's a little ſhaken—oh, now we ſhall know more.

This is an unlucky accident for you maſter, young man!

Unlucky! not a happier Gentleman in all Spain, if he can but ſecure the Prince's favour, and keep your miſtreſs's heart.

How do you mean to keep her heart?

Why, if ſhe prefers him to the Prince.

And how can you think any wo⯑man capable of ſuch a folly

Folly! hasn't ſhe confeſt to Don Fre⯑derick that ſhe lov'd him?

Nay, didn't you yourſelf tell me how much the lov'd him?

Love! ha, ha, ha! I like you for that! What a boy is your maſter to catch at ſuch a bubble; and what a fool are you to talk of it! A young girl has fine notions of marriage, becauſe it releaſes her from the convent; there⯑fore, the firſt good match that offers, receives her approbation: but if a better than that good match shou'd after preſent itſelf, ſure that firſt approbation ſhou'd not be conſtrued into love. No ſuch thing, I tell you; and yet, you men exclaim, the perfidious woman! the falſe fair one! the cruel creature! Now that's ſo unrea⯑ſonable, abſurd, and ridiculous! ha, ha, ha!

So, women firſt love only to be mar⯑ried, and afterwards hate for the very ſame reaſon! Ah! you are pretty toys indeed! and yet it is in the power of that alabaſter face of your's to turn the head of the wiſeſt ſtateſman in Eu⯑rope.

Oh heavens! from that lamentable tone, one would imagine that your head was in ſome danger from my alabaſter face; oh! do ſay ſo, and you'l divert me; do, make me laugh, you creature!

Ha! ha! ha! oh lud! here comes Don Leopold.

Oh Sir! Sir! Sir!

Well, Sir! Sir! Sir! what the deuce is the matter with the girl?

Have you ſeen my miſtreſs, Sir? did ſhe tell you, Sir?

Very odd!

There, Sir! you find if you will not go to court, the court will come to you.

Yes, I have heard of the retinue I am to expect under my roof.

Yes, Sir, the Prince! the charming Prince!

Oh, where's your maſter?

Heaven knows, Sir; in his diſtracted ſtate of mind a man cannot ſtay long in any one place.

Yes, his mind can't be very eaſy, I ſuppoſe.

Why, Sir, do you think my maſter ſo very blameable?

Blameable! you'll ſee my friend, when the King's anger burſts upon him, that's all—you'll ſee—mark my words: now you will ſee the extent of court gratitude▪ Go find him, friend.

I will, Sir: I don't know what to think of the old Gentleman.

But ſeriouſly now, Sir, don't be angry with me—now would you not be very much diſ⯑pleaſed if Don Frederick had married my miſ⯑treſs?—yes, yes, I ſee your heart beat, your cheeks glow, your eyes twinkle at the thoughts of having your daughter a queen; oh, dear Sir! all your grandſons will be little Princes.

Princes! their Grandfather's maxim is this; the greateſt monarch that ever lived, will find ſufficient glory in ſupporting properly the character of a Gentleman.

Oh dear Sir! I have no patience! you that are as high in your notions as the beſt of them, ay, and as proud too as any Grandee in all Spain! Now Sir, confeſs: was not your ſole motive for retiring from the court, becauſe you would not ſtoop and cringe to thoſe that thought themſelves above you? but now, Sir, your pride will be gratified; inſtead of your making court to any body, now every body make court to you.

Girl, you are full of prate—go you to court: you are fit for no other place, juſt the thing, full of chat, with a vivacity that means nothing; you have articulations, tones, words, but not a ſcruple of common ſenſe; made for a little ſelf-important court gadder, to dangle, friſk, and hop about like an imper⯑tinent wag-tail as you are.

Now, Frederick, I hope and dread the fatal moment; it is with reluc⯑tance I put my Seraphina to this proof, which if I now decline, I feel that I ſhall ſtill ima⯑gine there is ſomething left undone, that might have enſured my lading felicity.

Sir, as you have begun, finiſh your part with your wonted reſolution.

Now I aſſume my own perſon here; a maſk I truſt will alter my voice ſufficiently, as they ſuſpect no deception—ſhe comes! we muſt not be ſeen together.

Where is Frede⯑rick?—but I preſume this is his charming bride.

What do I ſee! is it [32] poſſible! Are you, Madam, the Lady that Don Frederick is about to marry?

the dear original of the picture I truſted to his care? Perſidious traitor! 'Twas but yeſterday he undertook to find out the charming object, whoſe portrait captivated every ſenſe, and made an impreſſion on my heart never to be eraſed.

Sir! Can I believe—

Oh, Madam, do not doubt a paſ⯑ſion the moſt tender and ſincere.

Sir, I ſhou'd have thought that the purſuit of a great Prince, the heir of Arragon, would have taken a nobler courſe, than to ſeek an humble recluſe like me, and receive honour by conferring it, with his addreſſes, on ſome Princeſs, whoſe birth might dignify the throne that waits him; and whoſe alliance might ex⯑tend his fame, and add ſtrength to the intereſt of his kingdom.

'Tis for you that throne's reſerv'd, which muſt receive luſtre from your beauty. Doubtleſs 'twas providence that threw your picture in my way, that now ſent me hither in the very moment you were going to be loſt to me for ever! Heaven ordain'd you mine, and let your conſent confirm its diſpenſation.

Sir, it wou'd be an idle affectation in me, to plead inſenſibility to the merits of a Prince, exalted by his virtues, even above the ſplendor of his birth.

Amiable Lady! A thouſand, thou⯑ſand thanks for this generous frankneſs! But ſtop not there; oh, make me happy—declare that Frederick has not touch'd your heart, that you conſented to marry him without love as without repugnance, free from inclination, but as he was the choice of your father.

The choice of my heart.

Madam!

There my Frederick is enthron'd, ne⯑ver to be diſpoſſeſſed.

Oh rapture!

What, a ſub⯑ject preferr'd to me?

To worlds! I love him—let that excuſe a diſobedience to my Prince, ſo foreign, to my wiſh.

Suffer me, Sir, to retire, and acquaint my fa⯑ther, that you honour his caſtle with your pre⯑ſence.

One moment, Madam.

In pity, Sir, do not force me to vio⯑late the reſpect that your rank demands; what can I ſay more? The inſtant I heard of your arrival, at my father's feet I implor'd his protec⯑tion; declar'd if he receded from his promiſe of my hand to Don Frederick, I'd ſhut myſelf from the world for ever.

What, rather than renounce your lover, when a Prince—

Frederick's dearer to my ſoul than every earthly bleſſing; his preſence imparts more joy to me than the poſſeſſion of crowns and ſceptres could beſtow.

And all too little to repay a love, ſo pure, ſo generous.

What do I ſee!

Behold your Prince! who under the borrow'd name of Frederick, beguil'd you of your heart.

There comes the real. Don Frederick.

What's this!

On my knees I ſolicit your hand, with all the extatic raptures of a lover. Don Leopold, I claim your promiſe.

My Lord, I came hither to repreſent to you my prior engagement to Don Frederick, but little imagin'd 'twas to my Prince I had promis'd my daughter.

I hope my being a Prince is no ob⯑jection?

No, Sir; not the leaſt objection.

Ha, ha, ha! the wench has ſpoke my thoughts, my Lord.

Well, Madam, an't I right? for you know I ſaid all along that you ought to have a Prince for your huſband?

Yes, Florina; but if by your coun⯑ſel I had rejected Don Frederick, I had proba⯑bly loſt my Prince for ever.

My Lord, I muſt entreat your pardon for ſome things I have ſaid, which, on recollection. I think I might as well have left alone.

No pardon without a penance, my good father-in-law; and that is, to accompany us to the Court.

To Court! Oh, I'll anſwer for my master, my Lord, and we'll all go to Court.

Will you? Ah, my dear Lord, the Court now wou'd be a mortal reſtraint upon one of my age and humour. Peace, health, and an elbow chair, is all that an old man ought to wiſh for. I muſt only beg your Lordſhip's indul⯑gence to partake of the little amuſements that I had prepar'd to celebrate your Birth-day, and the wedding of my daughter.

I am honour'd by the affection of ſuch a father; and every Monarch muſt eſteem the loyalty of ſuch a ſubject.

Frank and free as I am, I am a true and loyal ſubject, Sir. I honour you, and love my Seraphina; and ſuch is your virtue, ſuch your filial affection, that I am ſure you will join [37] in the wiſh, with which I commence our feſti⯑val.

Expreſs your wiſh, and be aſſur'd of our concurrence.

May the preſent great and good poſ⯑ſeſſor of the throne, and his amiable conſort, reign for many, many years, the delight of his family, and a bleſſing to his People!