Coм. Opera by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Acted at Covent Garden, 1775. This piece (the plot of which sens borrowed from Il Filosofo di Campagna, from Moliere's Sicilien, and from The Vonder of Mrs. Centlivre) 2 10. ceived with applause by crowded audiences through a run of sixty-five nights, during the first season of its appeare In the following year, it was repeated at least thirty times, and still continues a favourite with the public. so happy a mixture of true humour and musical excellence, that it deservedly stands second on the list of its kindred performances. The Beggar's Opera perhaps will always remain the first, says the Biographia Dramatica; but Lat Byron maintains that Sheridan wrote the best comedy (School for Scandal), the best Opera (Ducnna), the best fre (Critic), and the best speech (the famous Begum speech) in the English language; and calls the Beggar's Opera, a mut St. Giles's production.

That, though my sleeping love shall koow
Who sings-who sighs below,
Her rosy slumbers shall not fly?
Thus, may some vision whisper more
Than ever I dare speak before.

you awaked her.

Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you, [Singi.
The breath of morn bids hence the night,
Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair;
For till the dawn of love is there,
I feel no day, I own no light.

Enter LOPEZ, with a dark lantern. Lop. PAST three o'clock! soh! a notable hour for one of my regular disposition, to be 1 Mask. Antonio, your mistress will never strolling like a bravo through the streets of wake, while you sing so dolefully: love, like Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody. lover is the hardest-not that I am an enemy Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. to love; but my love, and my master's, differ 1 Mask. The reason is, because you know strangely-Don Ferdinand is much too gallant she does not regard you enough to appear, to eat, drink, or sleep-now, my love gives if me an appetite-then I am fond of dreaming of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her -This cannot be done without good sleep and good liquor; hence my partiality to a feather-bed and a bottle. What a pity now, that I have not further time for reflections! but my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his retreat from Donna Clara's window, as I guess [Music without] hey! sure, I heard music! So, so! who have we here? Oh, Don Antonio, my master's friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my young mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: soh! we shall have the old gentleman up presently--lest he should miss his son, I had best lose no time in getting to my post.

[Exit.

LOUISA replies from a Window.
Waking, I heard thy numbers chide,
Waking, the dawn did bless my sight;
'Tis Phoebus sure, that woos, I cried,
Who speaks in song, who moves in light

DON JEROME-from a Window.
What vagabonds, are these, I hear,
Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting,
Piping, scraping, whining, canting,
Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!

To such deceitful stuff?
Quick, from the window, fly!
Louisa. Adieu, Antonio!
Ant. Must you go?

Louisa.

Ant.

We soon, perhaps, may meet

again;

Ant. Yes, yes; he has a singular affection for music, so I left him roaring at his barred window, like the print of Bajazet in the cage. And what brings you out so early?

Ferd. I believe I told you, that to-morrow, was the day fixed by Don Pedro and Clara's

For though hard fortune is our unnatural stepmother, for her to enter a con

foe,

The god of love will fight for us.
Jerome. Reach me the blunderbuss.

Ant. et L. The god of love, who knows our
pain,

Jerome. Hence, or these slugs are through your brain.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II-A Piazza.
Enter FERDINAND and LOPEZ.
Lopez. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep,
once in a week or so-

vent, in order that her brat might possess her fortune: made desperate by this, procured a key to the door, and bribed Clara's maid to leave it unbolted; at two this morning, I entered, unperceived, and stole to her chamber-I found her waking and weeping.

Ant. Happy Ferdinand!

Ferd. 'Sdeath! hear the conclusion-I was rated as the most confident ruffian, for daring to approach her room at that hour of night. Ant. Ay, ay, this was at first?

Ferd. No such thing; she would not hear a word from me, but threatened to raise her mother, if I did not instantly leave her. Ant. Well, but at last?

Ferd. Peace, fool, don't mention sleep to me. Lopez. No, no, sir, I don't mention your low-bred, vulgar, sound sleep; but I can't help thinking that a gentle slumber, or half an the house, as I came in. hour's dozing, if it were only for the novelty of the thing

Ferd. At last! why, I was forced to leave

Ferd. Peace, booby, I say!-Oh Clara, dear, cruel disturber of my rest! Lopez. And of mine too.

Ferd. 'Sdeath! to trifle with me at such a juncture as this-now to stand on punctilios -love me! I don't believe she ever did.

Lopez. Nor I either.

Ferd. Or is it, that her sex never know their desires for an hour together?

Lopez. Ah, they know them oftener than they'll own them."

Ferd. Is there, in the world, so inconstant a' creature as Clara?

Lopez. I could name one.

Ferd. Yes; the tame fool, who submits to her caprice.

Ant. And did you do nothing to offend her?

Ferd. Nothing, as I hope to be saved-I believe, I might snatch a dozen or two of kisses.

Ant. Was that all? well, I think, I never heard of such assurance!

Ferd. Zounds! I tell you, I behaved with the utmost respect.

Ant. O Lord! I don't mean you, but in her —but, hark ye, Ferdinand, did you leave your key with them?

Ferd. Yes; the maid, who saw took it from the door.

me out,

Ant. Then, my life for it, her mistress elopes after you.

Ferd. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps—I am in a humour to suspect every body-you loved her once, and thought her an angel, as I do now.

Lopez. I thought he couldn't miss it. Ferd. Is she not capricious, teasing, tyrannical, obstinate, perverse, absurd? ay, a wil- Ant. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't derness of faults and follies; her looks are love me, and then I discovered that she hadn't scorn, and her very smiles-'Sdeath! I wish I a good feature in her face.

hadn't mentioned her smiles; for she does smile such beaming loveliness, such fascinating brightness-Oh, death and madness! I shall die if I lose her.

Lopez. Oh, those damned smiles have undone all!

presently.

Lopez. Ah, those cursed smiles!

Enter ANTONIO.

[Exit.

AIR.

I ne'er could any lustre see

In eyes that would not look on me;
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,
But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart
Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art?
I will own the colour true,
When yielding blushes aid their hue.
Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it, grateful, press again.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so, when I see

That heaving bosom sigh for me.

Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in my love for your sister; help me there, and I can never disturb you with Clara. Ferd. As far as I can, consistently with the chanting before our door-was my father honour of our family, you know I will; but waked? there must be no eloping.

Ferd. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you

Ant. And yet, now, you would carry off herence to what he has once said, you have Clara? formed this plan for my escape - But have Ferd. Ay, that's a different case-we never you secured my maid in our interest? mean that others should act to our sisters and Duenna. She is a party in the whole; but remember, if we succeed, you resign all right and title in little Isaac, the Jew, over to me. Ant. Well, and am not I so unfortunately Louisa. That I do with all my soul; get circumstanced? To-morrow, your father forces him, if you can, and I shall wish you joy, Louisa to marry Isaac, the Portuguese-but most heartily. He is twenty times as rich as come with me, and we'll devise something, I my poor Antonio.

wives, as we do to others'-But, to-morrow, Clara is to be forced into a convent.

A breach of social faith with thee, Or sacrilege to love and her? [Exit. Ferd. There is always a levity in Antonio's manner of replying to me on this subject that is very alarming-'Sdeath! if Clara should love him after all!

SONG.

AIR.

Thou canst not boast of fortune's store,

My love, while me they wealthy call:
But I was glad to find thee poor-
For with my heart I'd give thee all.
And then the grateful youth shall own
I loved him for himself alone.
But when his worth my hand shall gain,
No word or look of mine shall show
That I the smallest thought retain
Of what my bounty did bestow:
Yet still his grateful heart shall own
I loved him for himself alone.

Duenna. I hear Don Jerome comingQuick, give me the last letter I brought you from Antonio-you know that is to be the ground of my dismission-I must slip out to seal it up, as undelivered.

[Exit

Enter DON JEROME and FERDINAND. Jerome. What, I suppose, you have been serenading too! Eh, disturbing some peaceable neighbourhood with villanous catgut, and las civious piping! Out on't! you set your sister, here, a vile example; but I come to tell you, madam, that I'll suffer no more of these midnight incantations-these amorous orgies, that steal the senses in the hearing; as, they say, Egyptian embalmers serve mummies, extracting the brain through the ears; however, there's an end of your frolics-Isaac Mendoza will Ah! none but the jealous-the jealous can be here presently, and to-morrow you marry him.

Though cause for suspicion appears,
Yet proofs of her love, too, are strong;
I'm a wretch if I'm right in my fears,
And unworthy of bliss if I'm wrong.
What heart-breaking torments from jealousy
flow,

know!

When blest with the smiles of my fair,
I know not how much I adore:
Those smiles let another but share,
And I wonder I prized them no more!
Then whence can I hope a relief from my

Enter LOUISA and DUENNA. Louisa. But, my dear Margaret, my charming Duenna, do you think we shall succeed? Duenna. It tell you again, I have no doubt on't; but it must be instantly put to the trial -Every thing is prepared in your room, and for the rest, we must trust to fortune.

Louisa. My father's oath was, never to see me till I had consented to

shal

Louisa. Never, while I have life. Ferd. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can think of such a man for a son-inlaw.

Jerome. Sir, you are very kind, to favour me with your sentiments--and pray, what is your objection to him?

Ferd. He is a Portuguese, in the first place Jerome. No such thing, boy; he has forsworn his country.

Louisa. He is a Jew.

Jerome. Another mistake: he has been a Christian these six weeks.

Ferd. Ay, he left his old religion for an estate, and has not had time to get a new one. Louisa. But stands like a dead wall between church and synagogue, or like the blank leaves between the Old and New Testament.

Jerome. Any thing more?

Ferd. But the most remarkable part of s character is his passion for deceit and tricks of cunning.

Duenna. 'Twas thus I overheard him say to his friend, Don Gusman,-'I will demand Louisa. Though at the same time, the fool of her to-morrow, once for all, whether she predominates so much over the knave, that I will consent to marry Isaac Mendoza; if she am told he is generally the dupe of his own hesitates, I will make a solemn oath never to art. see or speak to her, till she returns to her duty'-These were his words.

Louisa. And on his known obstinate

Ferd. True, like an unskilful gunner, be usually misses his aim, and is hurt by the re ad-coil of his own piece.

Jerome. Any thing more? ness, and my father's anger will probably only Louisa. To sum up all, he has the worst increase her affection. In our intercourse with fault a husband can have he's not my choice. the world, it is natural for us to dislike those Jerome. But you are his; and choice on who are innocently the cause of our distress; one side is sufficient-two lovers should never but in the heart's attachment a woman never reet in marriage-be you sour as you please, likes a man with ardour till she has suffered he is sweet-tempered, and for your good fruit, for his sake. [Noise] Soh! what bustle is there's nothing like ingrafting on a crab. here! between my father and the Duenna too Louisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall -I'll e'en get out of the way. ten times more as a husband.

Jerome. I don't know that-marriage generally makes a great change-but, to cut the matter, short, will you have him or not?

Louisa. There is nothing else I could disobey you in.

[Exit. Enter DON JEROME with a Letter, pulling in the DUENNA.

ven

Jerome. I'm astonish'd! I'm thunderstruck! here's treachery and conspiracy with a geance! you, Antonio's creature, and chief Jerome. Do you value your father's peace? manager of this plot for my daughter's elopLouisa. So much, that I will not fasten on ing! you, that I placed here as a scare-crow? him the regret of making an only daughter Duenna. What? wretched. Jerome. A scare-crow-to prove a decoyJerome. Very well, ma'am, then mark me duck-what have you to say for yourself? -never more will I see or converse with you Duenna. Well, sir, since you have forced till you return to your duty-no reply this that letter from me, and discovered my real and your chamber shall be your apartments: sentiments, I scorn to renounce them. I am I never will stir (out, without leaving you Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that under lock and key, and when I'm at home your daughter should have served you as all no creature can approach you but through such old tyranuical sots should be served-I my library—we'll try who can be most obsti- delight in the tender passions, and would benate-out of my sight-there remain till you friend all under their influence. [Pushes her out. Jerome. The tender passions! yes, they Ferd. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations would become those impenetrable features! should be consulted in a matter of this kind, why, thou deceitful hag! I placed thee as a and some regard paid to Don Antonio, being guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's my_particular friend. beauty-I thought that dragon's front of thine Jerome. That, doubtless, is a very great would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry-steel recommendation I certainly have not paid traps and spring guns1) seemed writ in every sufficient respect to it. wrinkle of it-but you shall quit my house

know your duty.

Ferd. There is not a man living I would this instant-the tender passions, indeed! go, sooner choose for a brotherin-law. thou wanton sybil, thou amorous woman of Endor, go!

Jerome. Very possible; and if you happen to have e'er a sister, who is not at the same Duenna. You base, scurrilous, old — but I time a daughter of mine, I'm sure I shall have won't demean myself by naming what you no objection to the relationship-but pre-are-yes, savage, I'll leave your den; but I sent, if you please, we'll drop the subject. suppose you don't mean to detain my apparel Ferd. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my-I may have my things, I presume? sister makes me speak. Jerome. I took you, mistress, with your Jerome. Then pray, sir, in future, let your wardrobe on-what have you pilfered, heh? regard for your father make you hold your tongue.

are so severe to.

Duenna. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress; she has valuables of mine: besides, my cardinal and veil are in her room.

Ferd. I have done, sir-I shall only add a wish that you would reflect what at our age Jerome. Your veil forsooth! what, do you you would have felt, had you been crossed dread being gazed at? or are you afraid of in your affection for the mother of her you your complexion? well, go take your leave, and get your veil and cardinal! soh! you quit Jerome. Why, I must confess I had a great the house within these five minutes In-inaffection for your mother's ducats, but that quick. [Exit Duenna] Here was a precious was all, boy-I married her for her fortune, plot of mischief! these are the comforts daugh and she took me in obedience to her father, iers bring us! and a very happy couple we were-we never

expected any love from one another, and so

AIR.

your life,

we were never disappointed-if we grumbled If a daughter you have, she's the plague of a little now and then, it was soon over, for we were never fond enough to quarrel; and No peace shall you know, though you've buwhen the good woman died, why, why-I had

ried your wife!

as lieve she had lived, and I wish every wi- At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught dower in Seville could say the same - I shall

her

now go and get the key of this dressing-room Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! -so, good son, if you have any lecture in support of disobedience to give your sister, it must be brief; so make the best of your time, d'ye hear? [Exit.

Ferd. I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio has little to hope for-bowever, Louisa has firm

1) Steel-traps and spring-guns," is generally written on the doors of gardens near London, in order to deter thieves from entering the garden and stealing the fruit-these things have done a great deal of harm, and taken away the life of many an innocent person, accidentally walking in the garden.

father.

Enter LOUISA, dressed as the DUENNA, with Clara. Surprised indeed! and I should cer Cardinal and Veil, seeming to cry. tainly chide you must horridly, only that I Jerome. This way, mistress, this way-have just run away from mine. what, I warrant, a tender parting; soh! tears Louisa. My dear Clara! of turpentine down those deal cheeks-Ay, Clara. Dear sister truant! and whither are

[Embrace

you may well hide your head-yes, whine till you going? your heart breaks; but I'll not hear one word Louisa. To find the man I love, to be sure of excuse-so you are right to be dumb, this -And, I presume, you would have no averway, this way. [Exeunt. sion to meet my brother?

Enter DUENNA.

Clara. Indeed I should-be has behaved se ill to me, I don't believe I shall ever forgive

A 1 R.

Duenna. So speed you well, sagacious Don him. Jerome! Oh, rare effects of passion and obstinacy-now shall I try whether I can't play When sable night, cach drooping plant re the fine lady as well as my mistress, and if I succeed, I may be a fine lady for the rest of my life-I'll lose no time to equip myself.

[Exit. SCENE IV. The court before DON JEROME'S House.

Enter DON JEROME and LOUISA.

storing,

Wept o'er the flowers her breath did cheer,
As some sad widow o'er her babe deploring,
Wakes its beauty with a tear;
When all did sleep, whose weary hearts did
borrow

One hour from love and care to rest, Jerome. Come, mistress, there is your way My lover caught me to his breast; Lo! as I press'd my couch in silent orrow, -The world lies before you, so troop, thou He vow'd he came to save me antiquated Eve, thou original sin-hold, yon- From those who would enslave me! der is some fellow skulking; perhaps it is Antonio-go Then kngeling, to him, d'ye hear, and tell him to make you amends, and as he has got you Endless faith he swore; Kisses stealing, turned away, tell him I say it is but just he But soon I chid him thence, should take you himself; go. [Exit Louisa] For had his fond pretence Soh! I am rid of her, thank Heaven! and now Obtain'd one favour then, I shall be able to keep my oath, and confine And he had press'd again,

my daughter with better security. [Exit. I fear'd my treacherous heart might grant

SCENE V.-The Piazza.

Enter CLARA and her MAID. Maid. But where, madam, is it you intend to go?

Clara. Any where to avoid the selfish violence of my mother-in-law, and Ferdinand's insolent importunity.

him more.

Louisa. Well, for all this, I would have sent him to plead his pardon, but that I would not yet a while have him know of my flight And where do you hope to find protection!

Clara. The Lady Abbess of the convent of St. Catherine is a relation and kind friend of Maid. Indeed, ma'am, since we have pro- mine-I shall be secure with her, and you fited by Don Ferdinand's key, in making our had best go thither with me. escape, I think we had best find him, if it. Louisa. No; I am determined to find Anwere only to thank him. tonio first; and, as I live, here comes the very man I will employ to seek him for me. Clara. Who is he? he's a strange figure! Louisa. Yes; that sweet creature is the man whom my father has fixed on for my

Clara. No-he has offended me exceedingly. [Retire.

Enter LOUISA.

Clara. And will you speak to him? are

Louisa. So I have succeeded in being turn- husband. ed out of doors-but how shall I find Antonio? I dare not inquire for him, for fear of you mad? being discovered; I would send to my friend Louisa. He is the fittest man in the world Clara, but that I doubt her prudery would for my purpose-for, though I was to have married him to-morrow, he is the only man Maid. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to in Seville, who, I am sure, never saw me in try if your friend Donna Louisa would not

condemn me.

receive you.

his life.

Clara. And how do you know him?