BY

OUR author's wit and raillery to-night
Perhaps might please, but that your stage delight
No more is in your minds, but ears and sight.
With audiences composed of belles and beaux,
The first dramatic rule is, have good clothes,
To charm the gay spectator's gentle breast;
In lace and feather, tragedy's express'd,
And heroes die unpity'd, if ill-dress'd.

The other style you full as well advance;
If 'tis a comedy, you ask- -Who dance?

For, oh! what dire convulsions have of late
Torn and distracted each dramatic state,
On this great question, which house first should
sell

The new French steps, imported by Ruelle !
Desbarques cann't rise so high, we must agree,
They've half a foot in height more wit than we.
But though the genius of our learned age
Thinks fit to dance and sing, quite off the stage,
True action, comic mirth, and tragic rage;
Yet, as your taste now stands, our author draws

Some hopes of your indulgence and applause.
For that great end, this edifice he made,
Where humble swain at lady's feet is laid;
Where the pleased nymph her conquer'd lover
spies,

Then to glass pillars turns her conscious eyes,
And points a-new each charm, for which he dies.
The muse, before nor terrible nor great,
Enjoys by him this awful gilded seat:
By him, theatric angels mount more high,
And mimic thunders shake a broader sky.

Thus all must own, our author has done more
For your delight, than ever bard before.
His thoughts are still to raise your pleasures fill'd;
To write, translate, to blazon, or to build.
Then take him in the lump, nor nicely pry
Into small faults, that 'scape a busy eye;
But kindly, sirs, consider, he to-day
Finds you the house, the actors, and the play :
So, though we stage-mechanic rules omit,
You must allow it in a wholesale wit.

SCENE I.-The Street.

Enter CARLOS and SANCHO. Car. I tell thee, I am satisfied; I'm in love enough to be suspicious of every body.

San. And yet methinks, sir, you should leave

me out.

Car. It may be so; I cann't tell: But I'm not at ease. If they don't make a knave, at least they will make a fool of thee.

San. I don't believe a word on't: But good faith, master, your love makes somewhat of you: I don't know what 'tis; but methinks when you suspect me, you don't seem a man of half those parts I used to take you for. Look in my face, 'tis round and comely, not one hollow line of a villain in it: men of my fabric don't use to be suspected for knaves; and when you take us for fools, we never take you for wise men. For my part, in this present case, I take myself to be mighty deep. A stander-by, sir, sees more than | a gamester. You are pleased to be jealous of your poor mistress without a cause; she uses you but too well, in my humble opinion; she sees you, and talks with you, till I'm quite tired on't sometimes; and your rival, that you are so scared about, forces a visit upon her, about once in a fortnight. Car. Alas! thou art ignorant in these affairs; he that's the civilest received, is often the least cared for women appear warm to one, to hide a flame for another. Lorenzo, in short, appears too composed of late to be a rejected lover, and the indifference he shews upon the favours I seem to receive from her, poisons the pleasure I else should taste in them, and keeps me upon a perpetual rack. No-I would fain see some of his jealous transports, have him fire at the sight of me, contradict me whenever I speak, affront me wherever he meets me, challenge me, fight meSan. Run you through the guts.

Car. But he's too calm, his heart's too much at ease, to leave me mine at rest.

San. But, sir, you forget that there are two ways for our hearts to get at ease; when our mistresses come to be very fond of us, or we-not to care a fig for them. Now, suppose, upon the rebukes you know he has had, it should chance to be the latter.

dearly, I have good thoughts enough of my person never to doubt the truth on't. See here the baggage comes.

Enter JACINTA with a letter. Hist! Jacinta! my dear.

Jac. Who's that, Blunderbuss? Where's your master?

San. Hard by.

[Shewing him.

Jac. O, sir, I'm glad I have found you at last; I believe I have travelled five miles after you, and could neither find you at home, nor in the walks, nor at church, or at the opera, nor▬▬▬

San. Nor any where else, where he was not to be found: If you had looked for him where he was, 'twas ten to one but you had met with him. Juc. I had, Jack-a-dandy!

Car. But, pr'ythee, what's the matter? Who sent you after me?

Jac. One who's never well but when she sees you, I think; 'twas my lady.

Car. Dear Jacinta, I fain would flatter myself, but am not able; the blessing's too great to be my lot; yet 'tis not well to trifle with me; how short soc'er I am in other merit, the tenderness I have for Leonora claims something from her generosity. I should not be deluded.

Jac. And why do you think you are? Methinks she's pretty well above board with you: What must be done more to satisfy you?

San. Why Lorenzo must hang himself, and then we are content.

Jac. How! Lorenzo?

San. If less will do, he'll tell you.

Juc. Why, you are not mad, sir, are you? Jealous of him! Pray which way may this have got into your head? I took you for a man of sense before. Is this your doings, log? [To SANCHO.

San. No, forsooth, Pert, I'm not much given to suspicion, as you can tell, Mrs ForwardIf I were, I might find more cause, I guess, than your mistress has given our master here. But I have so many pretty thoughts of my own person, hussy, more than I have of yours, that I stand in dread of no man.

San. For my part, master, I'm not so great a philosopher as you be, nor (thank my stars) so bitter a lover, but what I see-that I generally believe; and when Jacinta tells me she loves me

man's falling off, you fall a-plaguing her to bring her on again, attack her with reason and a sour face: 'udslife, sir, attack her with a fiddle, double your good-humour-give her a ball-powder your periwig at her-let her cheat you at cards a little, and I'll warrant all's right again. But to come upon a poor woman with the gloomy face of jealousy, before she gives the least occasion for't, is to set a complaisant rival in too favour

able a light. Sir, sir, I must tell you, I have seen those who have owed their success to nothing else. Cur. Say no more; I have been to blame, but there shall be no more on't.

Jac. I should punish you but justly however for what's past, if I carried back what I have brought you; but I'm good-natured, so here 'tis; open it, and see how wrong you timed your jealousy.

Car. [Reads.]" If you love me with that tenderness you have made me long believe you do, this letter will be welcome; 'tis to tell you, you have leave to plead a daughter's weakness to a father's indulgence: and if you prevail with him to lay his commands upon me, you shall be as happy as my obedience to them can make you. LEONORA."

Then I shall be what man was never yet. [Kissing the letter.] Ten thousand blessings on thee for thy news; I could adore thee as a deity. [Embracing JAC. Jac. True flesh and blood, every inch of her, for all that.

Car. [Reads again.] "And if you prevail with him to lay his commands upon me, you shall be as happy as my obedience to them can make you." O happy, happy Carlos! But what shall I say to thee for this welcome message? [To JACINTA.] Alas! I want words-But let this speak for me, and this, and this, and—

[Giving her his ring, watch, and purse. San. Hold, sir; pray leave a little something for our board-wages. You cann't carry 'em all, I believe: [To JACINTA.] Shall I ease thee of this? [Offering to take the purse. Jac. No; but you may carry-that, sirrah. [Giving him a box on the ear. San. The jade's grown purse-proud already. Car. Well, dear Jacinta, say something to your charming mistress, that I am not able to say myself: But, above all, excuse my late unpardonable folly, and offer her my life to expiate my

crime.

Car. I'll let him see at last I can be cheerful too. Your servant, Don Lorenzo; how do you do this morning?

Lor. I thank you, Don Carlos; perfectly well

both in body and in mind.

Car. What! cured of your love then?

Car. Increasing every hour: we are very constant both.

Lor. I find so much delight in being so, I hope I never shall be otherwise.

Car. Those joys I am well acquainted with ;— but should lose them soon, were I to meet a cool reception.

Lor. That's every generous lover's case, no doubt; an angel could not fire my heart but with an equal flame.

Car. And yet you said you still loved Leonora.
Lor. And yet I said I loved her.
Car. Does she then return you-
Lor. Every thing my passion can require.
Car. Its wants are small I find.
Lor. Extended as the heavens.
Car. I pity you.

Lor. He must be a deity that does so.

Car. Yet I'm a mortal, and once more can pity you. Alas, Lorenzo, 'tis a poor cordial to an aching heart, to have the tongue alone announce it happy; besides 'tis mean; you should

be more a man.

Lor. I find I have made you an unhappy one, so can forgive the boilings of your spleen.

Car. This seeming calmness might have the effect your vanity proposes by it; had I not a testimony of her love would (should I shew it) sink you to the centre.

Lor. Yet still I'm calm as ever.

Cur. Nay, then have at your peace. Read that, and end the farce.

[Gives him LEONORA's letter. Lor. [Reads.] I have read it. Car. And know the hand? Lor. 'Tis Leonora's; I have often seen it. Car. I hope you then at last are satisfied. Lor. I am. [Smiling.] Good-morrow, Carlos. [Exit LOR.

San. Sure he's mad, master. Cur. Mad! sayest thou? San. And yet, by'r lady, that was a sort of a dry sober smile at going off.

Car. A very sober one! had he shewn me such a letter, I had put on another countenance. San. Ay, o' my conscience had you.

Car. Here's mystery in this--I like it not. San. I see his man and confidant there, Lopez. Shall I draw him on a Scotch pair of boots, master, and make him tell all?

Car. Some questions I must ask him; call him hither.

San. Hem, Lopez, hem!

Enter LOPEZ.

Lop. Who calls?

San. I, and my master.
Lop. I cann't stay.
San. You can indeed, sir.

[Laying hold on him. Car. Whither in such haste, honest Lopez? What! upon some love-errand?

Lop. Sir, your servant; I ask your pardon,

Car. I guess where, but you need not be shy

of me any more; thy master and I are no longer rivals; I have yielded up the cause; the lady will have it so, so I submit.

Lop. Is it possible, sir? shall I then live to see my master and you friends again?

San. Yes, and what's better, thou and I shall be friends too. There will be no more fear of Christian bloodshed. I give thee up Jacinta; she's a slippery hussy, so master and I are going to match ourselves elsewhere.

Lop. But is it possible, sir, your honour should be in earnest? I'm afraid you are pleased to be merry with your poor humble servant.

Cur. I'm not at present much disposed to mirth; my indifference in this matter is not so thoroughly formed: but my reason has so far mastered my passion, to show me, 'tis in vain to pursue a woman whose heart already is another's. 'Tis what I have so plainly seen of late, I have roused my resolution to my aid, and broke my chains for ever.

Lop. Well, sir, to be plain with you, this is the joyfullest news I have heard this long time; for I always knew you to be a mighty honest gentleman; and, good faith, it often went to the heart o' me to see you so abused. Dear, dear, have I often said to myself (when they have had a private meeting just after you have been gone)

Car. Ha!

San. Hold, master, don't kill him yet.

[To CAR. aside. Lop. I say I have said to myself, what wicked things are women, and what pity it is they should be suffered in a Christian country; what a shame they should be allowed to play will-in-the-wisp with men of honour, and lead them through thorns and briars, and rocks, and rugged ways, till their hearts are all torn to pieces, like an old coat in a fox-chace! I say, I have said to myself

Car. Thou hast said enough to thyself, but say a little more to me: where were these secret meetings thou talk'st of?

Lop. Nor I-at present, sir.

Car. Speak then the truth, as thou wouldst do it at the hour of death.

Lop. Yes, at the gallows, and be turned off as soon as I've done. [Aside.

Car. What's that you murmur? Lop. Nothing but a short prayer. Car. I am distracted, and fright the wretch from telling me, what I am upon the rack to know. [Aside.] Forgive me, Lopez; I am to blame to speak thus harshly to thee: let this obtain my pardon. [Gives him, money.] Thou see'st I am disturbed.

Lop. Yes, sir, I see I have been led into a snare; I have said too much.

Cur. And yet thou must say more; nothing can lessen my torment, but a farther knowledge of what causes my misery. Speak then! have I any thing to hope?

Lop. Nothing; but that you may be a happier bachelor, than my master may probably be a married man.

Car. Married, sayʼst thou?

Lop. I did, sir, and I believe he'll say so too in a twelvemonth.

Car. O torment!-But give me more on't: when, how, to whom, where?

Lop. Yesterday to Leonora, by the parson, in the pantry.

Car. Look to it; if this be false, thy life shall pay the torment thou hast given me: be gone. Lop. With the body and the soul of me. [Exit LOPEZ.

San. Base news, master. Cur. Now my insulting rival's smile speaks out: O cursed, cursed woman !

Enter JACINTA.

Juc. I'm come in haste to tell you, sir, that, as soon as the moon's up, my lady will give you a meeting in the close-walk by the back-door of the garden; she thinks she has something to propose to you will certainly get her father's consent to marry you.

but the place where the kiss of kisses was given

Car. In hell. Lop. Sir!

Cur. Speak, fury, what dost thou mean by the kiss of kisses?

Lop. The kiss of peace, sir, the kiss of union, the kiss of consummation.

Car. Thou liest, villain!

Lop. I don't know but I may, sir-What the devil's the matter now? [Aside.

Car. There's not one word of truth in all thy cursed tongue has uttered.

Lop. No, sir, I-1-believe there is not.
Car. Why then didst thou say it, wretch?
Lop. 0- -only in jest.

Car. I am not in a jesting condition.

[Exit CAR. Jac.Won't you explain? what's this storm

strong. for?

San. And darest thou ask me questions, smooth-faced iniquity, crocodile of Nile, siren of the rocks? Go carry back the too gentle answer thou hast received; only let me add with the poet :

We are no fools, trollop, master nor me; And thy mistress may go-to the devil with thee. [Exit SANCHO.

JACINTA sola.

Jac. Am I awake!--I fancy not; a very idle dream this. Well, I'll go talk in my sleep to my lady about it; and when I awake, we'll try what interpretation we can make on't. [Exit.

SCENE I.

Enter CAMILLO and ISABELLA.

Isa. How can you doubt my secrecy? have you not proofs of it?

Cam. Nay, I am determined to trust you; but are we safe here? can nobody overhear us? Isa. Safer much than in a room. Nobody can come within hearing, before we see them. Cam. And yet how hard 'tis for me to break silence!

Isa. Your secret sure must be of great impor

tance.

Cam. You may be sure it is, when I confess 'tis with regret I own it e'en to you, and were it possible, you should not know it.

Isa. 'Tis frankly owned indeed: but 'tis not kind, perhaps not prudent, after what you know I already am acquainted with. Have not I been bred up with you? and am I ignorant of a secret, which, were it known

Cam Would be my ruin; I confess it would. I own you know why both my birth and sex are thus disguised; you know how I was taken from my cradle to secure the estate, which had else been lost by young Camillo's death; but which is now safe in my supposed father's hands, by my passing for his son; and 'tis because you know all this, I have resolved to open farther wonders to you. But, before I say any more, you must resolve one doubt, which often gives me great disturbance; whether Don Alvarez ever was himself privy to the mystery which has disguised my sex, and made me pass for his son?

Isa. What you ask me is a thing has often perplexed my thoughts as well as yours, nor could my mother ever resolve the doubt. You know, when that young child Camillo died, in whom was wrapt up so much expectation, from the great estate his uncle's will (even before he came into the world) had left him; his mother made a secret of his death to her husband Alvarez, and readily fell in with a proposal made her to take you, (who then was just Camillo's age,) and bring you up in his room. You have heard how you were then at nurse with my mother, and how your own was privy and consenting to the plot; but Don Alvarez was never let into it by them.

Cam. Don't you then think it probable his wife might after tell him?

Isa. 'Twas ever thought nothing but a deathbed repentance could draw it from her to any one; and that was prevented by the suddenness of her exit to t'other world, which did not give her even time to call Heaven's mercy on her. And yet, now I have said all this, I own the correspondence and friendship I observe he holds with your real mother, gives me some suspicion, and the presents he often makes her (which

people seldom do for nothing) confirm it. But since this is all I can say to you on that point, pray let us come to the secret, which you have made me impatient to hear.

Cam. Know then, that though Cupid is blind, he is not to be deceived: I can hide my sex from the world, but not from him: his dart has found the way through the manly garb I wear, to pierce a virgin's tender heart-I loveIsa. How!

Cam. Nay, ben't surprised at that; I have other wonders for you.

Isa. Quick, let me hear 'em.

Cam. I love Lorenzo.

Isa. Lorenzo! most nicely hit. The very man from whom your imposture keeps this vast estate; and who, on first knowledge of your being a woman, would enter into possession of it. This is indeed a wonder.

Cam. Then wonder farther still-I am his wife.
Isa. Ha! his wife!

Cam. His wife, Isabella; and yet thou hast not all my wonders; I am his wife without his knowledge: he does not even know I am a woman.

Isa. Madam, your humble servant; if you please to go on, I won't interrupt you, indeed I won't.

Cam. Then hear how these strange things have past: Lorenzo, bound unregarded in my sister's chains, seemed in my eyes a conquest worth her care. Nor could I see him treated with contempt, without growing warm in his interest; I blamed Leonora for not being touched with his merit; I blamed her so long, till I grew touched with it myself: and the reasons I urged to vanquish her heart, insensibly made a conquest of my own: 'twas thus, my friend, I fell. What was next to be done my passion pointed out; my heart I felt was warmed to a noble enterprise; I gave it way, and boldly on it led me. Leonora's name and voice, in the dark shades of night, I borrowed to engage the object of my wishes. I met him, Isabella, and so deceived him; he cannot blame me sure, for much I blest him. But, to finish this strange story: in short, I owned I long had loved, but, finding my father most averse to my desires, I at last forced myself to this secret correspondence; I urged the mischiefs would attend the knowledge on't, I urged them so, he thought them full of weight, so yielded to observe what rules I gave him: they were to pass the day with cold indifference, to avoid even signs or looks of intimacy, but gather for the still, the secret night, a flood of love to recompence the losses of the day. I will not trouble you with lovers' cares, nor what contrivances we formed to bring this toying to a solid bliss. Know only, when three nights we thus had passed, the fourth, it was agreed, should make us one for ever; each kept their promise, and last night has joined us.