[]THE DOCTOR AND THE APOTHECARY.

What moping yet, my friend Guz⯑man?—For ſhame, you a ſailor, and carry ſor⯑row aboard! Zounds, if I had loſt a miſtreſs—nay, had it been my wife—

Well, Sir—

I think I cou'd have comforted my⯑ſelf. Ah Captain, how far preferable are the charms of peace, and a country life, to all the buſtle and danger of a campaign!

It may be ſo to you, Signor Tho⯑maſo, who ſlumber in the inglorious lap of peace—but war is my element; glory is my miſtreſs; and I have courted her amid the cannon's thunder.

Many men of many minds, Captain; for my part, I always prefered a more quiet kind of courtſhip; but i'faith you are a man of true gallantry to remain ſo partial to your miſtreſs, after having loſt the uſe of a leg and an eye in her ſervice.

A leg and an eye! Pſha—tri⯑fles! while my honour, a ſoldier's vital ſpark, [3] has eſcap'd unhurt.—You may be a very good apothecary, Signor Thomaſo, and may under⯑ſtand lotions and potions—but as to a ſoldier's honor—

Ah, very true, Captain. He is a moſt provoking man, tho' he is my huſband. For ſhame, after our good friend, Captain Sturmwald, has come all the way from Ger⯑many to marry our daughter Anna.

Nay, I'm ſure, the Captain knows, I mean no harm.—Anna, come hi⯑ther, child

Why don't you ſmile upon your huſband that is to be?

Do not, my dear father, perſiſt in this cruel ſolicitation.

Pſha! how can you be ſo obſtinate!—though the Captain is not very handſome, he is very rich. 'Tis true, he is rather old; but then you know you have the better chance of being a widow ſoon; and as to his having but one eye, it ought to be his recom⯑mendation, for you'll have no trouble in diſco⯑vering his blind ſide.

Lookee Anna—you know my way of arguing, and ſo does your father. It is my pleaſure that you marry Captain Sturmwald▪ and have him you ſhall!

Have a little patience with her, my dear madam.

Then you are reſoved to render me mi⯑ſerable.

Anna's reluctance is certainly owing to that impertinent ſlut, her couſin. I'm ſure ſhe doet not inherit her obſtinacy from me. When my mother propoſed a huſband to me, I gave my conſent without a moment's heſitation. Didn't I, my dear?

True, my love; but then I had not loſt any of my limbs in purſuit of glory, like the Captain.

I was thinking whether I had not better talk to the young lady myſelf.

To be ſure—how the deuce elſe are you to gain her conſent?

I'faith I will. She'll find me very entertaining.—I'll breakfaſt with her to-mor⯑row, and give her the hiſtory of my laſt cam⯑paign. I'll come early in the morning, that I may finiſh the ſtory before dinner.

Ha! ha! ha!

Well, Captain, now my wife is gone, I want to have a little talk with you about my new invented miraculous drops, as I call them, that cure all diſorders.

Do they cure gun-ſhot wounds?

Every thing.

I wiſh then I had had a bottle in that engagement where I was wounded by a French dragoon in the ſhoulder—I'll tell you how it happen'd:

Unfortunate man that I am! He'll talk like my wife.

We were fording a river, and I was about the middle of the ſtream—

He won't be out of the wa⯑ter this half hour.

A ſcoundrel French dragoon, upon a black horſe—

A grey horſe.

Black—black as jet.

I beg your pardon, Captain, it was a grey horſe. I have heard you tell the ſtory [6] twenty times, and you always ſaid the horſe was grey.—So much for that.—Now you muſt know my drops—

You have heard me tell the ſtory then?

Often.—So my drops—

And what d'ye think of it?

One of the beſt ſtories I ever heard in my life.—So—

I'm very glad you like it. I'll tell you another.

Curſe his ſtories.

To-mor⯑row, Captain, I ſhall be happy to hear it.

Well, if you are tir'd of my com⯑pany, I'll go and get a bottle of good wine, to make me ſleep ſoundly; and ſo adieu, my dear father-in-law.

Adieu, my dear ſon-in-law.

What a curſed bore he is for talking!

A good kind of a man enough; but can't bear to hear any body talk except him⯑ſelf.

Zounds! I ſee ſome one at the door. A rival perhaps!

Juan!

Carlos! my dear boy, how d'ye do?

I'm heartily glad to ſee you—no, i'faith, now I think again, I am not glad to ſee you, till I know what brought you hither!

I was going to tell you, I have an ap⯑pointment with a very pretty girl in this houſe—

Ah! my fears.

So I am ſure you will be complaiſant enough to wiſh me a good night.

Faith I am ſorry to deny you. But I happen to have an aſſignation here myſelf. You perceive a light in that window?

That light is my ſignal.

Egad 'tis my ſignal too! So I'm ſure you will be complaiſant enough to wiſh me a good night.

Sir, this inſult—

Inſult, Sir!

Though, now I recollect myſelf, per⯑haps we are going to cut throats, without any cauſe. There are two fair damſels in that houſe. What is the name of your miſtreſs?

Anna, the daughter of old Thomaſo, the Apothecary;—and your miſtreſs is—

Iſabella! her laughing little couſin.

Then I am glad to ſee you, after all—and yet I am an unlucky dog, Juan. They are going to marry my dear Anna, to old Sturm⯑wald, the German Captain. I dare not acquaint my father of my paſſion for her; you know he and Thomaſo are the bittereſt enemies. The [9] only reſource left is, to carry her off; and I have, for this week paſt, in vain ſought an op⯑portunity of ſeeing her.

Oh, the devil!—old Thomaſo's man to ſhut the ſhop up. Stand aſide—

Give me your hand, Carlos—you ſhall ſee Anna; ſpeak to her, and carry her off this night.

My dear Juan, how is this to be ac⯑compliſhed?

The firſt thing is to get the old fellow out of the houſe.

And how is that to be manag'd?

Very eaſily—as thus: I'll act an old woman, and bring him down I'll warrant you.

Say nothing, and ſtand aſide.

What the devil is all that noiſe for?

Pray, is this Signor Thomaſo's?

Why, what do you want with Signor Thomaſo, good woman?

The ſick gentleman, Signor, at the next inn, is much worſe.

I'm ſorry for it—I wiſh the gentle⯑man had been much worſe an hour ago; be⯑cauſe [10] then I cou'd have attended him—but at preſent I'm going to bed.

Dear Signor, you won't leave the poor man to the mercy of an ignorant phyſician?

Why, who attends him?

Dr. Bilioſo.

Then I give him over. Good night to you good woman.

Our plot is ruin'd.

Not yet, Carlos.

Zounds! what's the matter with the woman? Go about your buſineſs.

The ſick man has heard wonders related of your famous drops, Signor.

Eh! what!—Oh! ho! he has heard of my drops. Well, Madam?

And he wiſhes you would come to him directly, and bring a bottle in your pocket.

Aye, that I will—poor ſoul! poor ſoul!—I'll cure him in ſpite of his Phyſician.

Hallo! Pedro!

I'll go with you, good woman, and as we walk, I'll tell you ſome of the cures I have performed.—I'll wait on you inſtantly.

This is a proſperous beginning, Juan.

Huſh, not a word—we muſt retire.

And ſo, good woman, you ſay—Hey day, ſhe is gone! The poor gentleman's caſe is urgent, I ſuppoſe—ſo I'll loſe no time. What a pleaſure it is to attend ſenſible patients! I dare ſay he is a ſhrewd fellow, by his wiſhing to try my drops.

Ha! ha! ha! The old fox is fairly unkennel'd.

But how are we to get into the houſe?

The door is faſt.—Eh! i'faith this ſhut⯑ter is unbolted,

ſo we will e'en get in at the ſhop window.

My beſt friend!

Hold! let me reconnoitre firſt. I know every part of the houſe—follow me.

Kind Cupid light us on our way.

Pſha! Zounds! a lantern would light us much better. So rot your heroics, and follow me.

Tol de rol, de rol—halt!—Stand to your arms, Captain Sturmwald. Do my eyes [12] deceive me, or have the enemy beſieged my fa⯑ther-in-law's houſe, and made a practicable breach in the ſhop window? Who the devil are they?—Thieves! No, i'faith, that can't be.—Who'd think of ſtealing any thing out of an Apothecary's ſhop? Perhaps they are gallants—have at you, my boys;—I muſt enter and de⯑fend my father-in-law.

but hold! a prudent general ſhould know what force he has to contend with—beſides, I forget,—old Bolus is not at home—I remember I met him juſt now—Egad I'll go and fetch him, and we'll ſurprize the enemy to⯑gether. How lucky it is that I am ſober. If I had taken the other bottle, my ſenſes might have been confus'd; but now I am cool and col⯑lected. Ah! there is nothing like drinking in moderation.

Huſh! tread ſoftly, for your life.

Why, what are you afraid of?

If Thomaſo ſhould return! and then perhaps—

Perhaps what? Why, your whole con⯑verſation is compoſed of Ifs—Buts—Perhapſes—and Suppoſes—a mere vocabulary of doubts.

Hark! I hear Anna's voice—the ſound tranſports me. Oh, Juan, I ſcarcely know where I am.

Why, then I'll tell you—This is an apothecary's ſhop; it is dark, and you are ſur⯑rounded with phials, therefore take care you break none—Thoſe are ſtairs before us, and lead to the room where our dear girls are—I ſhall go up firſt, and you may follow, unleſs you prefer ſtaying here—I have now given you full informa⯑tion, and ſo come along.

Iſabella, 'tis a whole week ſince I ſaw my Carlos; how can he ſay he loves me, and yet ſuffer them to marry me to this hateful Ger⯑man officer?

Anna, why don't you go to your chamber, child?

Heavens! your mother is not gone to bed yet.

And do you think my Carlos has really forſaken me? My Carlos, did I ſay—Yes, will repeat it—My heart yields to the fond elu⯑ſion of my tongue, and I think I love him better every time I call him mine.

Poor Anna; I love her ſincerely, and yet I am not ſorry ſhe is gone—I think Juan muſt be here ſoon—and—and perhaps our converſation would be very unintereſting to her.

Oh, Iſabella, I'm frightened out of my wits. Two men have got into the houſe, and I think it is your lover and mine.

Well, my dear, and what is there ſo alarming in all that?

My dear Anna!

Ah!

My dear Iſabella!

Huſh! you'll wake your mother.

Anna! What's the matter, child?

My couſin was frighten'd at ſome⯑thing, but I am ſure there was no reaſon to be afraid.

Do you know, Iſabella, this unreaſon⯑able creature has brought me a marriage con⯑tract, and would have me ſeize this moment to elope with him.

And do you know, Ma⯑dam, this unreaſonable creature heſitates, though ſhe promiſed me long ago to elope, whenever I could find an opportunity.

Pſha! Marry firſt, and diſpute after⯑wards; that would be much more in the common order of things.—Come, my dear Iſabella, let us ſet them a good example;—leave diſſimulation to knaves and coquettes, and lead up the dance of Hymen as firſt couple—

Why, if I were ſure you wou'd never wiſh to change partners.

Conſider, my dear Anna, the moments fly.

I vow, your mother is not in bed yet—

Away! away inſtantly, and leave me to keep her quiet—I'll follow you directly.

I'll ſing, that ſhe may ſuſpect nothing.

Hey! Guzman! Pedro! where the devil are ye?

Oh, Iſabella, my father is come home; all the doors are lock'd.

And our retreat cut off.

Then we are all loſt.

No, faith, I'm afraid we are all found. Where can we hide ourſelves?

Go into our chamber.

My father is now at the chamber door.

In here then.

That's my mother's room.

We are in luck—My uncle, in his hurry to viſit his patient, has left the door of his ſtudy open—In—In—directly.

Here comes your father.

Anna! Thereſa! Iſabella! there are thieves in the houſe!

Thieves! bleſs me, Sir, what ſhall we do?

Take 'em, to be ſure—Take 'em, dead or alive.

What's that you ſay—Thieves in our houſe?

The Captain ſaw them get in.—He'll tell you the whole ſtory.

That I will, with a great deal of pleaſure. As I was coming from the tavern, where I had been drinking a glaſs in moderation, as ſober as I am now—I ſaw two men getting into my father-in-law's houſe.—What's to be done, thought I—For this was enough to ſtagger me, you may ſuppoſe—

Oh! certainly,

that you had enough to ſtagger you, I believe.

Yes, and here is enough to ſtagger us all—This paper explains to me, that theſe thieves are of Cupid's gang; gentlemen who commit ſentimen⯑tal robberies on the hearts of young ladies.—There, Thomaſo, read that!

What do I ſee! a contract of mar⯑riage, between my daughter and Carlos!

Carlos! What the devil! the ene⯑my ſurprize us in our own camp—Egad, we'll hold a council of war immediately; I have ſome⯑thing in my head—

Yes, rather more than you ought to have.

I tell you, I am ſure young Carlos is in the houſe.

Is he? Why then we'll break up the council.—Bella! horrida bella! is our reſolve; and ſo let us ſearch for the enemy.

Bleſs me, Captain Sturmwald—do you know that is my chamber?

Well, my dear mother-in-law—and is not a lady's chamber the moſt likely place to find a man of gallantry? However, I'll wheel to the right about, if you pleaſe.

Stop, Captain; no perſon ever enters that cloſet but myſelf—'Tis here where I com⯑poſe my miraculous drops.

Aye, aye, I underſtand you—'Tis your hocus pocus ſhop.

No, Sir, 'tis my miracle ſhop.

Your magazine for the deſtruc⯑tive ammunition of phyſic.

My laboratory for the arcana of the Materia Medica. 'Tis the Temple of Health; and the roſy Goddeſs herſelf preſides over my peſtle and mortar.

A ſmall room for the Temple of Health, I think, and rather dark—Suppoſe, father-in-law, inſtead of confining the poor Goddeſs of Health to her room, you were to let her viſit ſome of your patients.

You may ſneer as you pleaſe, Captain Sturmwald; I have the key of that cloſet in my pocket, and there it ſhall remain—So let us finiſh a fooliſh adventure, by wiſhing each other a good night.

I ſhall take you with me, young ladies, to prevent further accidents. Captain Sturm⯑wald, where will you ſleep?

No where, Madam—I ſuſpect the enemy is in ambuſcade. I will be the centinel of the night—Reſt ſecurely, while I guard you—Here I take my poſt, and ſhall be on the watch, in caſe the enemy ſhou'd make a ſally.

Well, Captain, I have no objection—Here is the key of the houſe, in caſe you chuſe to refreſh yourſelf with a walk in the morn⯑ing.

Softly, ſoftly—Firſt let us ſecure the key of the ſhop door, to let ourſelves out.

That this old remnant of mortality ſhou'd think of rivalling a young fellow, with his five ſenſes in perfection!

But to our plot, good Juan—our plot—We have no time to loſe.

Faith, that's very true—So in you muſt go, my old commander.

BUT pray, Perez, is Doctor Bilioſo inform'd of his ſon's attachment to my couſin, Anna?

Oh dear, no. My old maſter hates Signor Thomaſo to that degree, that he would ra⯑ther ſee his ſon hanged than married into the fa⯑mily.

Though unacquainted with poor Carlos, I ſympathize with him—had my Leonora lived—

Ah! but ſhe is gone—and your honour has been doleful and dumpiſh, as one may ſay, ever ſince you came home from ſea! Oh! I love to hear you talk of old ſtories—you make me ſo melancholy, and ſo happy, that I cry by the hour together.

Poor fellow!

And pray good Signor Guzman, when you was voyaging about on the ſtormy main, and fighting the Algerines, was not you now and then frightened too much to think of your love?

No, Perez.—True love purifies the ſoul from every baſe alloy.

Here comes my maſter—and as croſs as uſual.

What a curſed neighbourhood is this for a phyſician to live in. No ſuch thing as an aſthma, or a fit of the gout, to be met with from year's end to year's end. All the villagers are ſuch a ſet of d—n'd vulgar, healthy dogs—never have the pleaſure of ſeeing a meagre, bi⯑lious, [26] gentleman-like man within ten miles of the place.—How comfortable it would be to live at Conſtantinople, where the plague rages all the year.—And then people laugh more here, than in all Spain beſides.—Ah! I don't like laughing. Well, Perez—any body ill this morn⯑ing?

No, Sir—all well.

Aye—and will remain ſo as long as this plaguy fine weather laſts—no chance of another influenza.—I, who am the phyſician, am the only ſick man in the pariſh.

Yes, your worſhip ſeems ſtuck up here by way of a medical ſcarecrow, to frighten away ſickneſs.

Or rather like an electrical con⯑ductor—I ſave the neighbourhood from danger, by attracting it to myſelf.—Ah! I loſt the only good patient I had, in my friend Alvarez—as fine a corpulent—inactive ſubject as a phyſician would wiſh for. What with repletion, and want of exerciſe, the good ſoul was always ailing. I had great expectations from him—but he grew ſtingy as he grew rich—avarice produced abſtinence, and he ſtarved away the only hopes I had left.

There's the traveller who was taken ill at the next inn—

Aye, the only perſon I have at preſent under my care, and he is a foreigner—no native would have behaved ſo civilly as to be taken ill—Not got well, I hope?

Yes, ſo they ſay—the apothecary, Tho⯑maſo, was ſent for to him laſt night.

What! ſend for my enemy—my antagoniſt, Thomaſo, the apothecary? A man of honour wou'd have ſooner died under his phyſi⯑cian's hands, than have played him ſuch a trick.

And he took ſome of Thomaſo's quack medicine.

O curſe his quack medicine—I hate all violent remedies—they make an end of a buſineſs ſo ſoon;—they either kill or cure; and then either way one loſes the patient.

And ſo Thomaſo—

Oh rot him—I'll go to the raſ⯑cally quack directly; my patients are my pro⯑perty—and ſhall I tamely ſuffer my property to be taken from me? I'll trounce the dog. No, no, if a Doctor's patients are permitted to ſlip through his fingers, and get well by ſtealth, there's an end to all law and juſtice.

Ah ha! the Captain off already—I did'n't expect he had ſhaken off the effects of laſt night's doſe quite ſo ſoon. I can hardly re⯑concile it to myſelf to ſacrifice poor Anna to ſuch a ſot. My conſcience revolts againſt it, and whiſpers—Aye: but then my wife talks ſo much louder than my conſcience; and ſo there's an end of the matter.

Father-in-law, good morning to you.

Eh! what! bleſs my ſoul, ſon-in-law, how do ye do? There ſeems to be a won⯑derful change in your voice.

All the effects of laſt night.

I ſuppoſe ſo—a violent cold no doubt—my drops are remarkably good for the voice.

No, no, never mind—I'll tell you a ſtory—

I'd rather you'd let it alone.—Come now—one ſpoonful will be enough.—'Tis a moſt wonderful remedy—I have it here in this cloſet.

Curſe your drops.—I am ſure the lo⯑vers of your daughter and niece are now in the houſe.

Well, Captain, perhaps you know beſt—but upon my ſoul I don't believe a word of the matter. Now let me fetch a bottle of drops.

My jealouſy is alarm'd, Sir—and I muſt be your ſon-in-law this morning, or not at all—No reply! I have brought this gentleman with me; he is my notary, and has drawn up a marriage contract. So call your wife and the bride; let us ſign and ſeal, and then to church immediately.

Well, but Captain—

I'm commanding officer to-day. So no more words, father-in-law.

Ha! ha! ha! Well Carlos, how have I imitated the old German Captain?

—To a miracle. I wiſh I may play my part half as well.

Pſha! what difficulty is there in it—t [...]e old folks will take you for the notary who h [...]s prepared the contract of marriage between A [...]na and Sturmwald; inſtead of that you will [30] ſubſtitute the other contract, in which your own name is inſerted. But here they come.

No, nothing ſhall ſhake my conſtancy—every obſtacle you raiſe, ſerves but to increaſe my affection.

Well Signor Thomaſo, have you looke [...] over the contract?

I have; and find it perfectly rig [...]t.

Very well; but where's Iſabella?

Oh, I'll call her.—Iſabella!—but I aſſure you I would not truſt her with any body elſe.

My dear Juan, what means—

Huſh, my love—aſk no queſtions—perſuade Anna to ſign that paper—it is a contract of marriage between her and Carlos, who you ſee perſonates the notary.

No, nothing ſhall induce me to ſign this hated paper. Oh Carlos, why are you not here to ſnatch me from impending ruin!

Daughter, do not oblige me to exert my authority.

Let her beware of my authority, which is much greater.

Pſha, pſha! perſuaſion is better than authority.—Let her couſin talk to her.

Theſe girls know the way to each others hearts; there—mother-in▪law, you ſee, ſhe hangs out a ſmile of truce already.

My dear daughter, you tranſport me.

Come ſign your conſent to the marriage.

Sign it—aye, that I will—Come huſ⯑band—

Egad, Captain, I don't underſtand that notary's whiſpering my daughter, I—

'Tis his way—come ſign your name.

No Sir—

—I inſiſt upon knowing what you mean?

What I mean?

If you put him in a paſſion, take care of yourſelf; he is the moſt choleric fellow—you had better ſign at once.

Come, come, now all's finiſh'd, let us away to church.

Well, I'll be with you in a mo⯑ment.

For heaven's ſake, Juan, let us be gone. If Sturmwald ſhould wake, we are ruin'd.

I beg your pardon for de⯑taining you.—Mr. Notary, conduct theſe la⯑dies to my houſe, and I'll follow you immedi⯑ately.

Stop! ſtay—What! without my wife's leave!

Halloo! death and fury! where am I?

Eh! what's that?

Thieves! thieves!

I'm loſt in amazement.

Did not I tell you one of the rogues was hid there?—I'll run and fetch an Alguazil.

You run.—Why, you forget you are lame.

Egad ſo I do—but I am ſo intereſted in this buſineſs.

And you have recover'd your voice too.

No, faith, I think I'm as hoarſe as ever.

Thomaſo! Signor Thomaſo!

'Tis the Captain's voice. Egad I'll fetch an Alguazil myſelf, and make ſure of one of ye.

Signor Thomaſo!

Have a little patience.

What's to be done! If I attempt the door, I meet the Alguazil. I muſt e'en try this chamber-win⯑dow.

An Alguazil will be here preſently, and then, Mr. Scoundrel.—

Hey dey! what's all this?

Will nobody hear me!

It is Sturmwald! Oh, my mind miſgives me.

All my phials of drops broken! Let me tell you, Captain Sturmwald—

Zounds! Sir, you ſhall tell me no⯑thing but what I deſire to know. I ſay, Sir, how did I come in that cloſet?

That's the very queſtion I want to aſk you; and, if we both aſk the ſame queſtion, how the devil are we to get an anſwer?

Why, you dirty ſcrap of an Apo⯑thecary, how dare you laugh at me thus?

I laugh! Look at the bottles you've broke—I believe I ſhall never laugh again.

You are all in the plot—'tis a trick to abuſe me; but I'll be reveng'd. S'blood and thunder! to make a jeſt of me, who have fought in ſixteen different battles! Did you know that?—

Yes, you have often told me the names of them all. But do hear me, Captain.

I'll hear nothing but revenge.—To cram me up in a dark cloſet, among pickled ſnakes, and ſtuffed alligators; me, who have liv'd amidſt fire and ſmoke, who have fought for every Prince in Europe by turns, and always had the honour to be wounded! Who, to this hour, bear the trophies of war in every limb, and rejoice in the aches, the cramps, and the twinges of glory!

I am ſure, Captain, I don't wonder at your being angry with my huſband—he's a poor blundering creature, as I often tell him.

Nay, the Captain knows I never mean to offend him. I've done all I can—

Pſha! ſo you always ſay. Go, get an Alguazil, and ſeek for the rogues that have ſtolen our two girls, do.

Come, Cap⯑tain, ſuppoſe you and I follow him. For my ſake be patient.—The brave never refuſe the re⯑queſts of the fair.

Never; and to prove it, I'll tell you a ſtory of what happen'd when I was in Germany.

This confounded window is too cloſely barr'd even for a mouſe to creep through. How⯑ever, in this diſguiſe, I think I ſhall get off un⯑diſcovered;—or, if I ſhould be queſtioned, I'll paſs for a patient, come to aſk Thomaſo's ad⯑vice.

Don't tell me—I ſay he is at home, and I will ſee him.

Who comes here?—Dr. Bilioſo him⯑ſelf!

But I beg pardon; you want ad⯑vice, I preſume;—let me feel your pulſe.

Zounds! I ſhall be diſco⯑vered.

Dear Sir, pray let me alone—my nerves are ſo weak—and you agitate me ſo.—

Why, really Madam, you have rather agitated me. I think I never yet met with a Lady ſo ſtrong in the arm. Pray, what is your complaint, Ma'am?

My complaint is againſt Thomaſo, who has killed a poor friend of mine.

Oh, he has done worſe than that—he has taken a patient away from me, after I had given him over. So if he recovers the man, he ruins my reputation.—There's an unfeeling ſcoundrel, for you!

Ah, you and I mean the ſame perſon—the poor gentleman at the next inn.—But Tho⯑maſo's drops have done for him—my poor friend is no more.

I'm heartily glad of it—very ſorry for it, I mean. I thank you for the news, how⯑ever. Now I have that rogue, Thomaſo, in my gripe.

Loſe no time, Sir, but get an officer immediately, and ſecure Thomaſo.

That I will.—Aye, aye—

Surely, Sir, you will have the gallantry to conduct me ſafe out of this houſe.—If I ſhould be inſulted!

Inſulted! Lord, Ma'am, there's no danger of that. Nature has furniſh'd you with ſuch powers of defence; united the charms of your ſex, to the ſtrength of ours. You are a glaſs of Nature's choiceſt cordial, Madam; ſweet and ſtrong at the ſame time.

Conſider, my dear Anna, we have your father's ſignature to our contract of marriage.

But will he give his voluntary conſent, to what has been procur'd by artifice?

Fear nothing, my dear; truſt to me.

Well, Iſabella, any news of Juan?

Alas! none—Every human being that paſſed at a diſtance, did my pliant fancy conjure up into a likeneſs of Juan.

The riſing ground, on the left hand, commands a proſpect of the road—Let me try, whether friendſhip may not ſee more clearly than love.

Are not we a couple of wild girls, Iſa⯑bella?

Not incorrigible, my dear couſin, how⯑ever; we have purſued a very effectual mode of taming ourſelves, by getting married.

To be ſure, we have utter'd the fatal, Yes.

The fatal, Yes. Why, my dear, do you think our lovers are ſuch fools, as to think [40] the better, or the worſe of our affection for them, becauſe we have ſaid, Yes.

Here is Juan—So all we have to do, is to mount our horſes and gallop off.

Hold! you're miſtaken—You've ſome⯑thing elſe to do, I aſſure you. We have cer⯑tainly been traced from the village—Doctor Bi⯑lioſo, and Signor Thomaſo, are both coming up the hill, different ways, and will moſt likely meet at this ſpot.—But they are here.

Oh! you vile quack! Where's my patient?

Where is my daughter, you old rogue—You have aſſiſted your ſon to run away with her—Lay hold of him, Alguazil.

What! Why, I brought an officer to ſeize you. Here, do your duty.

Dear gentlemen, what's the matter?

Why, Sir, that fellow is a quack, and has killed one of my patients.

That's impoſſible; for though he calls himſelf a phyſician, he has no patients to kill.

What! Do you forget the poor gentleman at the inn?

Well, he was fair game—You had given him over.

Zounds, Sir, what does that ſigni⯑fy—I have given over fifty people in my time, who have recovered afterwards.

My plot has taken, I perceive—they believe him dead yet.—

I'faith, this is a ſerious affair. You had better com⯑pound this buſineſs.

He won't agree to it—He hates me ſo.

Let me talk to him.

Sir, when I ſee ſo valuable a life as your's in danger—

My life in danger!

From that bloody minded apothecary—I find, your ſon has cloped with his daughter, and he is reſolved to be revenged, by aſſaſſinating you and your whole family. See, how he looks at you!

Ratſbane and arſenic in his coun⯑tenance!

Did you ever ſee ſuch a determin'd dog. He is reſolved to hang you!

I dare ſay he has the rope in his pocket. Pray, mollify him.

I'faith, I don't half like him—Tell him, I'll forgive him.

Diſmiſs your Alguazils.

You bind yourſelves to ſtand by my determina⯑tion.

We do.

Then, I believe, all parties are ſatisfied. Appear, appear!

My dear father!

Zounds, what is all this!

A general muſter of the whole corps, egad; deſerters and all. You are my priſoner, Madam.

No, Sir, not while I can defend her.

Oh, Sir! hear me—the brave are ever generous; do not attempt a life ſo dear to me—

Bullets and gunpowder! why don't you love me then—I thought you told me, mother-in-law, it was all maiden coyneſs in her.

Stuff and nonſenſe—Take her, Cap⯑tain Sturmwald, ſhe is your's—Defend your ho⯑nour.

And that my honor may be worth defending, I'll take care it ſhall not be tarniſhed [44] by an unjuſt action.—Anna, your mother ſays you are mine.—If ſo, I diſpoſe of what is mine—thus:—

Come, come, we have by miſtake oppoſed the union of hearts on their march to form a junction, and we are defeated. So much the better—who wou'd wiſh to conquer in a bad cauſe? You muſt conſent to unite theſe turtles.

Has my wife any objection?

I'll have nothing to do with it—ſo act as you pleaſe.

Why then give me your hand, Doc⯑tor

and here's an end of old quarrels.—Take my daughter, young man,

and you take my niece (to Juan); and you

take my wife if you will▪ Egad, I am in ſuch a good humour, I cou'd give away any thing.