SCENE I.

Come cavaliers, our confines are low, yet our hearts are high:—Charge your glasses—Bac­chus gives the word; 'tis wine makes us mortals noble as the Gods.—Fire!

Oh! this is noble firing indeed! I like a volley of grape shot; but pray will you let us have any sky lights in this cave?

Oh! No, no, no!

Come, put about the toast:—a good booty to us to night.

A good booty to us to night.

Oh! I love to rob a fat priest!—stand! says I—priest! and then I knocks him down!

My nose bleeds; I wonder what colour the blood of a coward is?

Why? don't you see?

Hah! do you call me a coward? I'll stab him; but the scar on my forehead contradicts that.

The scar on your forehead; when you run away you know, you always look behind you.

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I'll stab him!

Don't hurt little Spado; I meant no harm.

Armies have confess'd my valour; the time has been—but no matter.

Come, come away, with reflections; hand us that red wine.

Hark! Hark!

How soon we hear the thunder thro' this vast body of earth and rock;—Rapino—is all safe above?

Yes.

Spado? it's your turn to relieve the cen­tinel.

Relieve him! what's the matter with him?

Come, sir! it's your watch.

My watch! let the wolves watch—I only wish to watch the bottle.

Come, come, no jesting; to your duty.

What the devil! do you take me for a sa­lamander?

Don't you hear.

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I've taken up with the first swine's hovel I could find, upon such a night as this.

Oh! there will be no sport I fear to night, cavaliers! therefore lock down the trap-doors.

This being a night of peace; we'll have a dish of olives.

No, no! peace: we'll cut and scour the forest; there is a rich old fellow, call'd Don Scipio, lives at the skirts of it: what say you to plundering him to night?

Not to night! I have my reasons; but where is our prisoner?

There he lies; with his face so innocent, and yet he took some devilish hard knocks.

One man; and alone.

One man, and alone! that's odd: will he fight?

He seems to be drawing near: his hat bespeaks him noble.

Get my arms; our carabines, quick; and remove the table.

We will not all go to the attack of one man: leave Spado and me alone, the rest prepare for a general excursion.

Our prisoner seems a good natur'd looking man; if my brother rooks will but fly off, I shall have the pigeon all to myself.

Spado! Spado!

O Captain! you'd better not let me [...] first, because I'm always so rash.

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Come on sirrah: leave buffoonery, and to your duty. Hallo! Spado: come along you rascal.

Well, I'm coming;

I find myself very unhappy; to have fallen into the hands of these ruffians: while my rival Don Ferdinand, (I fear,) if he once reaches Don Scipio's castle, wins my charming Victoria, and I loose her for ever! but if I could procure an interview, love should plead my cause.

What is it I see? Our prisoner!

Thou art a poor bird that sings in this cage! (I'll have a little talk with him now they are out of hearing:) Ha, ha, ha! I know more of his affairs than he thinks of; I overheard a servant at an inn speak of him.

How shall I escape these rascals?

O here's one of the gentlemen I see! Pray sir, may I take the liberty?

No, truly, you'll not take any liberty here, but upon certain conditions: come, suppose you be­come [Page 8]one of us; I think you'll make a devilish good thief: nay, I don't flatter you; and by good luck, we have just got a vacancy; having lately lost one of our troop, a fine bold youth, he now hangs upon a gibbet, and you shall take his post.

What! upon the gibbet?

No: soft and fair, that is a very high post indeed; though I don't doubt your merit. Your ingenuity, in time, may exalt you: give me your hand.

Infamous scoundrel.

Sir! I've a mind to do you a favour, therefore will ask you in the pious spirit of a holy inquisitor.

That is a very pious abjuration.

In the devil's name, who are you?

Sir, my name is Alphonzo: I am son of an eminent banker at Madrid.

Oh, ho! I thought he sung like a gold­finch, I'll convince him, I know all his affairs, and then—I'll hold his purse.

If I trust him, perhaps I may es­cape by his means, —you wont betray me.

Oh, no, there is honour amongst thieves.

I was going—

To Don Scipio's castle, upon the confines of this forest.

Then you know my business.

Yes, to Donna Victoria, who is contracted.

Then you know she is contracted.

Yes, to Don Ferdinand; to the destruction of your hopes: she now waits for nothing but his arrival.

While I am penn'd up in this curs'd ca­vern: —How got you my story?

Oh, that is nothing at all; I could let you out of this cavern.

[Page 9]

But will you?

Oh, that is another thing; our trap-door requires a golden key.

Your comrades have not left me one pi­astre.

Give me an order on your father's bank for 50 pieces, and I will secure your escape.

I will.

Oh! you impudent dog, I'll secure your escape; what the devil! do you offer me a bribe? would you corrupt my honesty? do you think I will betray my trust; what, corrupt my honesty, that I inherit from my chaste mother. Oh! captain, I did not see you, I did not know you was here.

What's the matter?

Oh! I can hardly speak! he is a little mis­taken in your man.—Let you escape.

Here is a rascal—

This rascal has been calling me names this half hour, only because I wont let him out with­out your knowledge: Oh, what offers I have refus­ed! I may safely swear my integrity is secure against galleons, or the mines of Peru or Mexico. What, offer to bribe me: I will cut your head off you dog; never let me catch you out.

Get you gone, and leave us.—

You have no occasion to tamper with my men, you shall owe your liberty to none but me. Your story, told me by Spado, has en­gaged me to your interest, I will convey you to the cottage of the vines, which belongs to one Phillipo, a peasant not far from Don Scipio's castle.—There you may pursue your whole desires, and do what­ever [Page 10]love may inspire to obtain your wishes.

A thousand thanks to you, kind fir; time moves on leaden pinions, till I again behold my charming Victoria.

SCENE II.— A forest: all dark, hail and rain.

What a dreadful horrid place is this— Pedrillo? I've lost my servant, I believe, since I lest Cales; by the pace I have rode, I think Don Scipio's castle can't be far off: this was to have been my wed­ding night, Pedrillo.

Here, Sir.

Where are you?

Here Sir.

Which way?

Any body's way; for I have lost my own;—do you see me, sir?

No.

Do you see me now, Sir?

No, Sir.

How it thun­ders!

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All this will frighten the poor mules, they will break their bridles, I have tied them to a tree; how shall we escape the banditti.

Oh, we shall find them in the morning,

Hark! I hear a gun; somebody is in trouble.

No, Sir, their trouble's over by this time.

Who can deny assistance, to a fellow crea­ture in distress?

What fine creatures these gentlemen are, but for me, I am a poor rascally servant; so I'll e'en take my chance with the mules.

Down with him, down with him.

Oh! Don't fire!

I have not fought so much these twenty years.

I think I cou'd see but one man come to the assistance of the old gentleman.

Where are you?

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Here, approach my brave deliverer.

I shall—

Here is a victory, and nobody to claim it: I'll go and pick up the laurels.

Who is this stranger that is come to my assistance?

I may pass for this angel in the dark: they may be asham'd to attack a man in the king's highway: I made the dogs scamper.

Who is this I hear?

Are you the honest old gentleman I rescu'd from the Banditti?

I am so much beholden to you.—

Say nothing about it, I've sav'd your life: a good action rewards itself.

Are you the gallant fellow? I faith, as well as I cou'd distinguish in the dark, you look'd much higher just now.

O that was whilst I was fighting, I always appear six foot high, when I'm in a passion, besides my hat and feather added to my height.

Why the rascals have run off without my purse.

Have I sav'd your purse? I think, of a poor fellow, I am the luckiest dog in all Spain.

Poor fellow! Pray valiant stranger accept this purse, as a small token of my gratitute.

No, no, no! Sir.

You shall take it, you shall have it.

Lord! Sir, I am so aukward at taking a purse.

If I cou'd but find my cane now.—

Here is somebody else coming, perhaps this is the real conqueror.

It was the darkness of the night that fa­vour'd their escape.

Aye, you made them fly like pigeons; my little game-cock.

Perhaps you was the old gentleman that was attack'd?

Pray seel if you don't find a ring; it was a relique of my deceas'd la­dy.

What ring, Sir?

A ring that you'll find in the purse.

This old gentleman has been robb'd, and perhaps wishes me to reimburse him.

Come, come along with me, my little hero: Why Zounds! Signior, you are not in a pas­sion now sure; for me thinks you look six foot high agian;—come along with me to the castle, and our daughter Victoria shall welcome you.

Your daughter Victoria! then perhaps, you are my intended father-in-law?

Is it possible! you can be my expected son-in-law, Don Ferdinando de Zelves!

The same, Sir, and just now come from Cales; and upon my journey to the castle, was be­nighted upon this forest; and upon hearing some per­sons were attack'd by the Banditti, went to their rescue.

It was damn'd mean tho' to take my purse.

O then he is Don Alphonzo's rival, and they have never met before.

What! you was resolv'd to touch some of [Page 15]your wife's fortune beforehand; you have got the money, aye, and the ring too—it is not gone out of the family: come, come along, my brave valiant—

Damn'd paltry of him to take my purse.

This purse has put a fine thing into my head—how to delay Ferdinando's wedding—assist my new master Alphonzo, and procure a handsome reward;—I shall have a good reception at the castle, by means of this ring.—I will raise a fine confusion in Don Scipio's family; the clearing up of which, I will be well paid for.—I have lost part of my time aheady; I must get away by a cross road to the cas­tle: there I will provide a whimsical reception for the son-in-law,

Hark! they are calling up to supper, —I thank you kindly, gentlemen, I am very much oblig'd to you—but I happended to be engag'd.

SCENE III.

Nay, dear madam, never submit to go into [...]n nunnery.

Yes, I must; the trouble I feel from my parents slights, invite me to forsake the transitory joys of a bad world.

Bad world! I'm sure it's good enough for me: what, in the name of wonder, wou'd your religious folks have? it is well enough for me. Here are fine flower gardens, sun beams and refreshing gales to walk in, and there are good natur'd men, and kind men. What a thing it is for a fair and [Page 16]lovely woman, to think of living among the nuns, who turn their backs to each other, and go stalking to their separate cells, and never marry: La ma'am! to marry, is the whole intent of the crea­tion.

You know nothing of what I feel.

Lord! ma'am, I wish I cou'd see you once in love.

You talk of love, Catalina: I wonder what fort of a man this Ferdinando is, that is ex­pected at the castle!

He is a fine man, I can assure you, he rejoices at the very name of Victoria: then here is your father, tho' you are the daughter and sole heiress of all this castle, obliges you to resign it to Signora Lorenza, because he has taken it into his head to marry her mother; and this Italian coquette is so be-dizen'd out in fine clothes and jewels, and you to be sent to a convent! I wish I may die, if I was to be serv'd so—if I cou'd not put my best foot first, and go to Madrid, and tell the king of it.

Depriv'd by death of a tender mother, and the affections of my father alienated from me, has depriv'd me of every joy and hope:—I shall there­fore quit the world without regret.

[Page 17]

My poor dear young lady! Oh; deuce take Dame Isabel and her upstart minx of a daugh­ter— she be my mistress? no, that she shan't: I'll quit the castle the moment Donna Victoria goes into a nunnery; shall I go with her? Oh, no;— I was never design'd for a nun; I will go back to our village where my dear Phillipo is; I dare say, he is as fond as ever:—I'll warrant he has the hearts of all the girls:—then he can flute and fiddle, and oboe, and all the rest of the things.

[Page 18]

Inform your Lady, that I am here.

Are you Don Ferdinand?

Tell her I'm here.

I will inform her of your arrival.

Then you will oblige me very much— She is supreme directress of this castle.—

And as I'm inform'd, rules the roast: she is my mark—but the story is up, if I tell her one word of truth:

This is the same widow Lady that ran away with an old master of mine to Italy: I can remember some anecdotes of her, that do more credit to my memory than her reputation, which I will take care to re­mind her of in due time—she don't recollect my face, I hope.

Don Scipio not return'd yet, where can he stay? where is this strange, ugly fellow, who wanted to speak with me?

I did not say he was ugly.

Go along, young man!

Well, Sir, who are you?

I've the honour to be confidential secretary to Don Ferdinando.

Is he arriv'd? Here, Vasquez, Lopez, Diego.

Hold! Ma'am, my young master is not arriv'd: (most sagacious of all women)

My young master is coming incog.

Incog!

Yes, incog. You shall hear, Ma'am. (Now for a good lie.) The morning before his departure, he calls me into the closet, and locking the door— Spado, says he, —you must know Ma'am, my name is Spado.

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Well, Sir.

Spado, says he, you know this obstinate father of mine has engag'd me to marry a lady I have never seen. To-morrow I set off for her castle, but (striking his breast with one hand so—twisting his mustaches, and turning up his eyes!) if when I see her, she don't please my fancy, I will not mar­ry her by—I don't care to mention his oath before you, Madam.

O no! pray don't.

Says he, I mean to dress up Pedrillo—he shall personate me in Don Scipio's Castle:—If I like the lady I throw off the livery, and Pedrillo waits upon her.—If I do not like her, the deceit conti­nues, and Pedrillo has the lady.—I will learn them to clap up marriages without consulting me.

So it was to have been my poor daughter, that was to have fallen into this snare.

Says he, I mean to employ you as my spy, to cover the secret; let it be done by imposing some damn'd lie or other, (which your genius may sug­gest) upon a very ignorant ordinary woman, that you'll see there—nam'd Donna Isabella.

Impose upon the stupid woman, that you'll find there—but he shall not find me so stupid.

Does he think you'd not find me out if I was to tell you a lie?

Aye! that I shou'd.

My master is arriv'd, and one Don Fer­dinando with him.

You must know, ma'am, Pedrillo's mo­ther was a Gipsey woman, his father a merry-an­drew to a mountebank, and himself five years a trumpeter to a company of strolling players.

[Page 20]

So I was only to have a trumpeter for my son-in-law!—Good Sir! how much I'm beholden to you for this timely notice.

I have only done the duty of an honest man;—I have liv'd a good while in the family, and cou'd not bear my young master should be run­ning about making such a fool of himself, especially under such circumstances.

Pray, Sir, be at home; want for nothing the house affords.

Want for nothing—

By no means.

Then I will want for nothing I can lay my fingers on.

Heaven's! what an honest fellow this is! what a lucky discovery.—Oh! here comes my darling Lorenza.

Oh mother, don't you think I look char­mingly to-day?

Yes, child; the toilette has done it.

Oh! signora—the delicious hopes of an expected lover.—

New graces, &c.

I am very glad to see you in such spirits.

Oh spirits! I am as sprightly and chearful as a lapwing, when I expect a lover;—but when does Don Ferdinando come?

You forget you are to pass for Donna Victoria, Don Scipio's daughter, it was for that purpose I had you brought here.

I don't think about a husband—but a new lover.

It is fit you shou'd, of Don Ferdinando, who is coming.

Madam—here is my master, and Don Ferdinando.

Has he a servant with him?

No, madam.

Oh! my dainty dame, and delicate daughter! you may bless your stars that you see me alive again! behold my son-in-law and the pre­server of my life, Don Ferdinando! that is your spouse, and this is Donna Isabella;—a lady of vast merit, of which my heart is sensible.

What an impudent fellow—

Don Ferdinando—you are welcome to this Castle—as flattery to a lady:—There she is, embrace and caress her.

What a charming husband I shall have!

Come, enjoy yourself and be happy, while I take possession of this noble tenement—Hark' [Page 22]you dame!—don't you think Don Ferdinando a fine noble fellow?

Yes—he is well enough for a trumpeter.

A trumpeter!—what the devil do you mean by that?—Oh! that is because I sound his praise.—But, madam, he is a cavalier of noble birth, title, fortune and valour.

A word with you.

Our castle here is but a horrid place: when compar'd with the beautiful villas on the banks of the Arno.

Arno! Don Scipio in his letter said, his daughter was bred at Florence.

I am afraid you had an indifferent journey, Signior.

I am amply repaid by what I now enjoy.

He is a polite cavalier.

A villain! Oh! a rascal! look at that impudent son of a gipsey, he sits down already.

Don Ferdinando is under a livery.

A livery! This accounts for his behavi­our in the forest. Don Ferdinando wou'd never have accepted of my purse.

Aye, you have got it.

Will you please to sit down, Sir,

What a strange old fellow—

He looks like a trumpeter.

Sir, your servant Pedrillo is arrived.

What, has he found his way at last?

What a charming fellow.—

What an impudent rascal.—

Is my master this way?

This is Don Ferdinando.

Will you please to sit, Sir?

Be pleas'd to sit down, Sir.

I've got among the gentlefolks.

How admirable he looks now in the ser­vant!

I perceive the grandee under the livery.

Will you please to sit down, Sir?

Bows to Pedrillo: he bows with port­manteau on his shoulder; and hits Scipio on the head.

Will you sit down, Sir?

These must be the upper servants of the family: her ladyship—there is the house-keeper— and I suppose this young tawdry tit, is the lady's maid:—her mistress throws off good clothes, and the old gentleman there, is Don Scipio's butler.

What means all this disrefpect?

Sir, Old Whiskers, the butler, asked me to sit down by Furbelow, the waiting woman.

Retire!

How rarely they act their parts? tho' I will let them know, I understand the plot of their Comedy.

SCENE. A room in Don Sciplo's house, with a clost door in it.

THUS far we have got into the castle— you seem well acquainted with it.

Yes, I was master of the horse to Don Scipio, and I know all the turnings and windings, [...]obbies, and every secret lock, and if I meet him conveniently, I shall use this stiletto.

No, no; plunder is the word: hush!— is not that Spado I hear?

Yes.

Impossible!

I have heard of such places. You tell me you have seen the cave where this curs'd banditti lay.

Very true, Sir, after robbing me of 500 ducatoons, and blinding my eyes, they throw'd me over a mule's back, and carried me to their dunge­on [Page 26]on, where they live in all manner of debaucheries, from whence they rush out upon passengers; but I slipt the bandage from my eyes as I went along, and mark'd the path they took.

But my mock son-in-law Don Ferdinan­do and I, made them run like hares, and I gave him my purse for his trouble.

Did he take it?

He did.

Oh! what a mean fellow! I never go un arm'd, I always take a blunderbuss when I travel. O what a glorious thing it would be to deliver up this banditti into the hands of justice! I wou'd hang them like mad dogs:—If you will get us a strong guard and go with me, I will lead them to the very trap door of their cave.

Then you will have the thanks of the whole country.

I have no motive but the good of my country, tho' I expect they will order me a thousand pistoles for my trouble.

You have not long to live!

Pray, Sir, have an eye to their captain— as they call him; he is one of the most infernal, malignant, infamous villains that ever—

—The Captain did I say? no!—I found him a very honest good-natur'd kind of fellow: No, no! I meant the scoundrel that thinks he ought to be captain:—Sanguino they call him, whom I found a most wicked infernal rascal.—

Tho' I found him a very honest good-natur'd fellow.

A bloody, malignant, infernal, good na­tur'd kind of fellow! What the devil is all this?

Why, Sir, I thought I saw those two gentlemen, and I thought they look'd so terrible, [...]at with the fright—I awoke.

[Page 27]

Awoke! What the devil was all this a dream you've been telling me?

Yes, Sir, and a most terrible dream as ever I had in my life; I'm frighten'd out of my wits now!

Why you do look frighten'd indeed!

That made me talk about this cave, but don't mention it again I beg of you.

Sir, the ladies wou'd be glad to speak with you.

I'll wait upon them directly.

Lord master! only think of your finding me out here!

Yes, yes, you are found out here.

Oh my good Sirs! such discoveries as I nave made in this house!

Aye, and you wou'd have made discove­ries in our cave!

Did not I hum the old fellow rarely?

As a reward for your treachery—this to your heart—

Hold! hold!

Lord! what's the matter; I can't pass a jest upon a silly old man, but I must be run thro' with a stiletto, when about the business.

Come, come, Spado, what is this business, tell us?

I intended to let every soul of you into the castle while the family were in bed—plunder is the [Page 28]word—Do, Sanguino, only just peep into this closet with me.

There is six chests of massy gold. I have a master key will open every one of them—shall I go—fetch it.

Aye, go.

My two good masters, two good-natur'd souls.

Two damn'd rascals.

Plunder, indeed!

There is something heavy in that chest.

We'll get them off this night.

I wish no more delay.

Well Spado, now do you take—where is my little dreamer? now why do they leave this closet door open; it contains many valuables? why will they leave it open?

O Lord! I can't find the key; but how­ever I've stole Don Ferdinando's portmanteau, only just as a peace-offering for these two rascals. Lord! what a pity the coming in of these rogues! Lord! I should have had the castle all to myself: what a fine spot of work this would have been for a man of my industry! There are the chests, gentlemen; there you may convey them out to-night. As for cutting Don Scipio's throat—

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Aye, cut my throat! what, are you in your dreams again?

O yes, Sir.

Well for a little fellow, you have the damn dst dreams I ever heard of.

Terrible they are indeed.

Come, let me have no more of your curs'd dreams.

I've got off, thanks to his coming.

Whose pormanteau is this?

Oh, I'm on again.

What! is it Ferdinando's?

It is my master's.

Who cou'd have brought it here?

My fellow servant, Pedrillo, is too grand to mind his business; and my master, tho' he has taken the habit, scorns to do the office of a servant —I will take care of it.

Do—I now see what a comical fellow this master of yours is, with his plots and contri­vances— and to think of imposing upon me too, I think I am far from a fool.

Yes, Sir; but that's more than I am.

That is true, indeed; but your dreams hurt your brain. So your master sent you here to see what you cou'd pick up.

That is very true, indeed Sir, just to see what I cou'd pick up.

What an honest servant this is—he has an eye to every thing.

Egad, I'm almost tir'd of being a rogue, and I will turn honest—But, before I do that, I must get what I can in this house to keep me so.

How came my father to think of an al­liance in this mad family; Don Scipio's brain is certainly turn'd; my father's ideas don't suit mine. That lovely novice, of foolish dame Isabel's, has caught my heart.—What, if I ask her about it? But she and Don Scipio carry themselves very strangely to me.—I cannot think what is become of my fellow Pedrillo, all this while.

Ha, ha, ha! a strange reception I've met with in this family; they talk of my marrying the daughter; I shou'd like her very well—but before I take off this dress, I will attack one of the maids; I will hide my livery, and be quite the gallant.

Here is a gentleman I've never seen be­fore. Ha, Pedrillo! where have you been? what's the matter with you?

The matter, Sir! I cannot tell what is the matter; but some how or other, I happen'd to sit down to supper of twelve covers, crack'd two bot­tles, [Page 32]laid in an embroider'd bed, and sunk so low, that I slept till this morning like a diamond in cot­ton: so indeed, Sir, I don't know what is the mat­ter.

What can all this mean?

Don Scipio has found out my merit, that's all—and let me tell you—he is not the only one, for when I liv'd in my last place, I once made free with a suit of my master's best clothes—went to the Prado, and strutted about like a grandee; where an elderly lady of family and fortune fell in love with me; I wrote a song upon the subject, and if you'll give me leave, Sir, I'll sing it to you.

Then be so obliging in your gown and slippers, to take off my boots.

Sir, the ladies wait breakfast for you.

My respects to the ladies, and I will at­tend them.

Sir, I mean his honour there—

Yes, you mean my honour?

I cou'd drink a dish of chocolate as well as his honour there.

Chocolate! Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha!

I'll teach you to laught at me.

Teach me to laugh! you may be a good master, but you have a damn'd bad method.

Hey for chocolate and the ladies!

Don Scipio shall account to me for this; [Page 34]to hear his contempt and be liable to the insults of his servants, as I don't like his daughter, I have a fair pretence for quitting the castle; but then to leave the mistress of my soul! suppose I make her a tender of my heart—that will not do—she knows my hand is promis'd to another. O my Lorenza!

I see a young girl—there can be no harm in speaking to her—how do you do my pretty creature?

Lord! master, how do you do? I don't know your name.

You know who I am tho', and what my business is.

Lord! man! you go about to sift a body— yes, yes, we all know in the house who you are; why Don Ferdinando's footman.

So the ladies think I'm only Don Ferd nando's footman, all the while.

[Page 35]

We all know that: Ha, ha, ha! notwith­standing your fine clothes.

And pray, madam, where is my master?

Why, parading in the gallery yonder, in his sham livery and morning gown.

This accounts for the embroider'd hed—I'll carry it on.

Tho' if all the impostors in the castle were "well known, we should have no wedding to-mor­row night.

You seem to be in the secret.

Aye, there is a piece of deceit much worse [...]an you are carrying on.

I know that.

What do you know—that this Italian lady is not Don Scipio's daughter, but Dame Isabel's.

Yes.

Here is a discovery!

You know that.

Yes, yes; and you know the lady I was speaking to just now, is really Donna Victoria.

Yes, yes.

Here is a piece of villainy: ny dear let me kiss you.

Oh Lord! I never saw such a man. (He's a delightful man tho'.) Lord! what a discovery—if you did not know it before? marry hang your assu­rance —I must go, I cannot play the lady as you do the gentleman: I have something else to do than to stand—kissing with you here all day.

Why, what a villain is this Don Scipio? ungrateful—but I scorn to think of the services I render'd him last night in the forest: the faithless friend of my father!—the unnatural parent of his own amiable daughter! But here my charmer comes.

Catilina must be mistaken; it is impossi­ble he can be the servant with such a deportment; his native elegance of manners can never be as­sum'd. —Yonder he walks—and my flattering heart tells me, this is really the amiable Don Ferdinan­do, whom I must resign to Isabella's daughter

Stay, and let me look upon that lovely excellence I can never obtain, Donna Victoria!

Did you call me then? or did you mean to speak with Victoria?

I cou'd gaze for ever and wonder at your charms—thus transsix'd with astonishment and de­light! Beheve me, it is not the knowledge of your quality that attracts my admiration—I know you to be Don Seipio's daughter, the innocent victim of injustice and oppression, and therefore acknowledge to you, and you alone, (whatever you may have heard to the contrary) that I am really Ferdinando De Zelves.

How you came acquainted with my story I know not—but I've perceiv'd something, which told me, by your behaviour, you was Don Ferdi­nando.

Permit me to relate the sentiments of my heart.—I came here to ratify the contract with Don Scipio's daughter;—you are the beautiful Victoria destin'd to me!—Here take my hand—my heart is yours already! And thus upon my knee, let me make another tender of my heart!

Pray rise, Sign'or, my father cannot justi­sy his conduct towards me—but, if I do any thing without his consent, it will be a breach of filial duty.

Can you wish me to espouse dame Isabel's daughter?—Say, you do not.—Do but satisfy me, my foul.

Before I say that, are you Don Ferdinan­do? if you are, you are already contracted to Don Scipio's daughter!

Yes, I am,

[I don't much regret I've lost the title in the family] a thousand thanks to you.—Yes, my dear Victoria, I am Don Ferdinan­do, and if fortune favours my designs, you again shall triumph over the malice of your enemies.

If we are seen together by Donna Itabella, she will be interested in whatever you may pro­pose to my advantage.

My life! my love!

So the whole family, except Victoria, have an idea I am the servant. Since they will have impostors, they shalt have me for one. Let them bestow their mock Ferdinand on Lorenza. I share a just revenge for their pentidy, and shall have the reward and sum of all my wishes, in the pos­session of the true Victoria.—Oh, here comes Don Scipio!—Now let me begin—Oh, I'm tir'd of playing the gentleman—I long to get into my livery—my master will never wear these again— I'am sure Don Scipio suspects who I am.

I know you are!

My dear friend, Don Scipio.

Friend! why you impudent dog I'll break your head; you are blown here without the use of your trumpet.

Lord, your honour, how came you to know I am Pedrillo?

Why, your fellow servant—

[Zounds, no! I must not betray my little dreamer neither.] No matter who told me—but here comes your master.

Oh! he'll spoil all—I wish I had given him his cue; as sure as you stand here, he will still persist in denying he is Ferdinando.

Master, shall I shave you this morning?

Shave you this morning! come, come, it is time to have done with your tricks and fancies.

Pedrillo.

Yes, Sir.

You are found out.

Yes.

You may as well consess.

What the devil shall I confess?

I tell you what, young gentleman, I will write an account of your pranks to your father, and he shall trim your jacket for you.

Nay, for the matter of that, my father cou'd trim your jacket for you.

Trim my jacket!

Why my father's the best taylor in all Cor­dova.

Your father the best taylor in all Cordova!

[Page 40]

Sir, will you give me leave to speak to him?

Aye.

Tell Don Scipio you are my master.

I will.—Don Scipio, you are my master.

O the stupid dog! Say that you are Ferdi­nando, and I am Pedrillo.

I will Sir, I will—Sir, you are Ferdinan­do, and I am Pedrillo.

I told you he wou'd persist in it.

I see it—I see it—I see it—But I tell you what, Don Ferdinando, now do be clever—hold up your head.

Can you expect to make such an alteration?

Here comes my daughter—I think the mock Ferdinando's acting is better than the real one.

Oh, that I was but in livery! this is well enough—but my master gives new liveries upon his marriage:—then every body is new cloath'd?

He is right—see, there he stands! like a young taylor of Cordova.—Here, this is Don Fer­dinando.

Pedrillo, at your service, madam.

Here, Pedrillo, take this purse, —and tell Don Scipio you are Ferdinando.

Aye, —now I understand you—true Sir,

I am whatever he says.

Give me your hand—that is right and sensible—like yourself, just as it should be.—Now [Page 41]I'll go and see about our business; we'll have all our love affairs finish'd to night.

So then you are to be my husband! will you love me then?

Will I love you?

If not—I can be as cold as you are indif­ferent.

SCENE. A view of a Castle. A Moon Light Night.

If I had but the liberty to walk with the object of my heart! my Victoria! her marriage with Ferdinando is determin'd: but if possible, I will prevent it yet—the youth of the cottage here shall bear him a challenge.

Are you at leisure, Phillipo, to take this billet to the castle to Don Ferdinando?

[Page 42]

Is your business with Don Ferdinando very pressing?

Very pressing! expremely so.—

He must not know it's a challenge. It's a letter to invite Don Ferdinando and a few select friends to an entertainment:—Pray do you know who Captain Ramirez is?

No, I do not.

I find he is not acquainted with his real character—I will not betray him.

I wish Donna Victoria once married; while she remains single—Catilina will never be mine.

I find Phillipo and I, have been com­plaining [Page 43] lovers together. Phillipo, may I depend upon your delivery of this?

You may depend upon it—was but my Catilina—kind!

Was my Victoria true!

SCENE I. An Apartment in Don Scipio's Casile.

HERE, Lopez, run to Father Bene­dict's, bid him wipe his chin, put on his spectacles, pull out his breviary, find out matrimony—and stay till I come; we'll have a brace of weddings to-night.

I wonder if Don Ferdinando is ready? Oh, here comes the servant in his proper habiliments!

Aye, now my lad, you look something like—

I was quite sick of that dress.

Where is your master—I long to see him in his proper clothes?

Passing so well in this disguise gives me a very humble opinion of myself—you must know we are behind hand in our finery, in re­gard to a portmanteau of clothes.

O that is safe enough—Spado your fellow servant the little spy has got it.

What! is this really so?

[Page 45]

He has got into his livery again.

Is this the real master or no? Surely I've not been telling truth, and did not know it—I must brazen it out.—What my old friend— I'm glad to see you, you look like yourself again.

Thank you, my new old friend—here is an old friend I never saw in my life before.

Tell him where his portmanteau is, whilst I go and lead Don Ferdinando in triumph to his bride.

Well, my good new old friend, where has your care bestow'd my portmanteau?

Gone

Gone!

Quite gone.

The man is not in his senses—where is the portmanteau?

Poor old man it's all over with him; he talk'd of spies and dreamers, and now he talks of portmanteaus; it's all over with him indeed.

It must be so!

All grief! all grief! it runs in the family.

He talk'd to me last night in a strange incoherent manner; it seems as if this whimsical change between Pedrillo and me was the creation of his own brain—How come it to run in the fa­mily? it is the first time I ever heard Don Scipio was disorder'd in his senses.

We all endeavour to keep it from your master, lest he shou'd break off the match; I don't suppose he wou'd be willing to marry into a mad family.

Pray what may you be?

I am Don Scipio's own gentleman these ten years,

He accosted me as your fellow-servant.

Lord, how you stare! I shou'd not have contradicted him if he had call'd me the Pope's [Page 46]Nuncio. I don't wonder at Isabella's taking advan­tage of his weakness; now he has got something in his head about a ring, that every body he meets has got a ring of his deceas'd lady's.

Aye, he ask'd me about a ring.

Hark, you Pedrillo! now your disguises are over, return me the ring, will you?

There—I told you he wou'd.

Come, come, give me the ring, and I will give you a better thing; that ring belong'd to my deceas'd lady; give me the ring—here are five pistoles, and the ring is not worth a dollar.

Egad that is more than I knew.

Here give him this ring, he'll not know any better.

There, Sir.

O you mercenary rascal! did not I tell you the ring was in the purse I gave you last night?

Here, give me the cash, for I must be ac­countable for all his pocket money.

Pedrillo.

Here, Sir.

Why how now, firrah? why do you sit loitering here and leave me to dress myself?

Sir, I was—

What was you? why you rascal you fan­cy yourself still in your finery—you idle vaga­bond!

Bless me! Don Ferdinando is a very pas­sionate man; aye, he takes after his father.

[Page 47]

Well, Don Scipio, am not I a man for the ladies? I have studied Ovid's Art of Love!

Aye, and Ovid's Metamorphoses too.

[What a sneering figure my poor master cuts.] Egad! I'll pay him off for all his domineering over me, Pedrillo.

Sir.

Here fill my box with Macataw.

Yes, Sir.

Here Sir, perfume my handkerchief.

Pedrillo, get me a tooth-pick.

Yes, Sir.

Here Pedrillo.

Sir.

Nothing—abscond!

If this is my picture▪ I blush for the original!

Master, to be like you, do let me give you one kick—it won't hurt you upon my honour.

I will bear no more.

Why, what are you at you scoundrel!— be gone!—

It was curs'd ill-natur'd not to let me give him one kick!

I like you vastly.

So you ought, Sir.

I like you very well—I do indeed.

Tol de rol. [Why, who wou'd suspect me to be the son of a taylor? half an hour ago, perhaps, they might!] Tol de rol, &c.

Very well, you are a great beau; and really now to speak the truth, you have got a very princely person.

[Page 48]

Why Sir, all the young girls, whenever I get up behind them, withinside the coach—all the ladies of distinction when they were making their beds—dusting—dressing themselves at their toilet­te, run directly to the windows—peep thro' their fingers, (their fans I mean) and lisp out—oh! up­on my life, their is not such another gentleman in the world as this same Don Pedrillo!

Ferdinando you mean, he cannot forget Pedrillo:—come, it's time to forget it:—its time to have done with Pedrillo, and be my son-in-law!

I will be your son-in-law—you are sure of that honour, Don Scipio—But pray, what for­tune am I to have with your daughter? you are a grey-headed old fellow, and by the course of nature, you cannot live long.

I beg your pardon, I don't know any such thing.

And when we put a stone upon your head —

A stone upon my head!

Yes, a stone—that is when you are laid low, I shall have your daughter to maintain—but I don't think much of that, I am so generous.

Yes, generous as a Dutch usurer!

If Don Ferdinando turns out such a coxcomb, I'm not sorry my own daughter has escap'd him—a con­vent is better than a marriage with a monkey— then as to her fortune—poor girl—but Dame Isa­bel would have me on no other terms.

Let's have a plentiful good supper.

A good supper.

Yes.

Was there ever such a genteel—

Ignorant, conceit'd dog.

I am a capital fellow—so my poor master sets his wits to work after a poor girl that I am told [Page 49]is going into a nunnery, and dresses me up to ad­dress Donna Victoria—To be sure I am not a capital fellow—but I was made for a gentleman: gentleman! did I say? I am the neat pattern of a lord—I have a little honour about me—a great deal of love and a scrap of courage perhaps.—I wish I had a rival to try.—I think I could fight at any weapon from a needle to a hatchet.— I wou'd not give a pin for a sweetheart without! a rival.

Sir, are you Don Ferdinando de Zelva.

Yes, Sir.

Sir, I have a letter from Don Alphonzo

I don't know of any Don Alphonzo, boy! what is the letter about?

I think, Sir, it is to invite you to a feast

Oh! I recollect this old acquaintance.

Are you sure you are Don Ferdinando?

What do you talk in that stile for? do you think I don't know myself, boy?—come give me the letter!

‘'Signor, Signor! tho' you seem rea­dy to fall to on a love feast, I hope a small repast in the field may not spoil your stomach.'’

Spoil my stomach! that's only a snack before sup­per. — ‘'I shall be at six o'clock in the evening'.’ — why you dog it's past six now ‘'in a meadow near the cottage of the vines.'’ O Lord! I shall be too late. ‘'As you aspire to Donna Victoria your sword must be long enough to reach my heart!'’ My sword long enough! Oh, the devil of a feast! why this is a downright challenge!

I beg your pardon, Signor; if I had not met my sweet-heart, Catilina, you would have had that letter two hours ago.

[Page 50]

Oh you have given it time enough my brave boy.

You'll come?

Yes, I'll give it him, my boy.

Give it him!

O yes, I dare say he'll come.

Did not you say you was Ferdinando?

Never fear child, Don Ferdmando shall have it.

Why Sir, are you not Don Ferdinando?

Me! no not I, child; I am not Don Fer­dinando, my boy; I wou'd have gone to the [...] but you delay'd the letter so long I've quite lost my stomach; you have made a curs'd blunder—here my boy, Don Ferdinando shall attend you.

He is still a master for the gentlemen—I am a man for the ladies.

As I live, here is Don Alphonzo! I wish Don Ferdinado [...]d got the letter sooner—I lost [Page 51]my time with Catilina—she was so cruel indeed, I dread to approach her, tho' it is my delight to see her.

By order of Don Scipio, Father Benedict waits in the chapel: do let him join our hands, and then let Fortune do her worst.

Why would you force me to so imprudent a step—not withstanding my consent you must have my father's—

Our union is authoriz'd by the consent of both our fathers; and Dame Isabella is fully con­vinc'd I am Pedrillo, otherwise she would not give her aid. But to get you out of the way of her daughter, she gives me her assistance, my Victoria

The balm of consolation is the sweet re­sult of conscious uprightness.

Yes, my master is in for it: there they go, and certainly to be married. The enraged Alphon­zo is certainly come here to demand satisfaction: my master and he were once friends; but jealousy and a long sword have cut their friendship in two. He little knows I am the rival.

Oh! here is my husband: he looks well enough, now he is drest; but not so well as my discarded lover, Alphonzo.

I will accost her with elegancy —How do you do, Signora?

Very well at your service.

He looks like Prince Radacasti.

Signora, you are a clever little body. Will you sit down, Signora.

So polite too!

O, I admire politeness.

Full of good manners.

O, I forgot.

Sit down upon this chair. I assure you, I don't grudge the trouble, for the sake of good manners.

[Page 53]

This be no good manners at Florence:

Yes, I sit upon my chair genteely, I had. I understand a little Italian now to court her: what shall I say?

I wish my master had gone through the whole of the business, to the very draw­ing of the curtains.—Signora.

Signor, I love to be courted—begin, be­gin.

Oh Signora; (I believe I ought to kneel.) Oh you most beautiful goddess! you angelic angel!

There is something in Don Ferdinando's manner extremely strange, tho' rather extravagant —now for some sweet air.

If you will sing me a song, I will stay and hear you.

With pleasure, Sir.

SCENE. A View of a Cathedral.

Two lovers and both in distress!

Give me joy, Alphonzo, Father Bene­dict! Benedict, has this moment made me the happiest of mankind, in giving me Victoria!

Then it is certain all you told me of my Victoria is true.

It is.

No matter, her very name is still dear to Alphonzo.

You shall be no loser by this; we will en­deavour to bring about your marriage with Lo­renza.

I shou'd be happy indeed, to be blest with my Lorenza!

SCENE. A View of the Castle.

I am in love with this castle, I've got my comrades out of it at last. Ramirez and Sangui­no are gone back to the cave, in high hopes that I will let them in to-morrow night: well—I'll keep my word with them, they shall be welcom'd with a strong guard. Old Don Juan is arriv'd I hear —can any thing be made of him I wonder—I've got a portmanteau, some cash and some plate.— I don't know how it is, but there is not half the bustle in the castle I expected.—I promis'd myself there would be a fine confusion—then is the time I pick up the loose things. I'm inform'd this Don Juan is very passionate—Egad if I could contrive to set him and Don Scipio together by the ears— O I have it—I'll try however—here is the old gentleman coming.

I suppose I shall surprize my son Don Ferdinando and Don Scipio too—tell them I am here—I hope I'm time enough for the wedding.

A mighty grave looking old gentleman!

Whose dog are you?

How do you do, Sir?

[Page 56]

Why are you a physician?

No, Sir, I am poor Spado.

Then what is it to you how I do; where is your master? what the devil is this his hospita­lity when he hears I'm here.

Hears! O poor gentleman—his misfor­tune!

Is he married?

Married! no, Sir.

Is he in his senses?

He has nearly lost one.

I wou'd speak to him?

You must speak very loud then.

Is he deaf?

Aye, poor old gentleman, he can scarce hear one word.

Poor old fellow!

Now if I can but set the two old ones toge­ther —I shall have a quarrel between them.

I hope he has not heard of his son's pranks.

No, his hearing is so bad, I have been bellowing to him this half hour, he can scarce hear one word; you may try what you can do, but you must bellow like a speaking trumpet.

Bellow! ha! Don Juan, you are very welcome to my house.

It is very strange that deaf men always speak so loud! I'm very glad to see you, Don Scipio.

When they are deaf themselves, they fan­cy every body else is so too. How long have you been in this way?

Just arriv'd.

I mean at your hearing?

[Page 57]

Yes, I find it's very bad with you; Zounds! I shall roar myself as hoarse as a raven.

You are welcome to my house.—

But I wish you had staid at home; I find I must speak to him by signs, my lungs won't hold out.

What the devil! have you lost your tongue too?

You may speak out, nobody can hear you but me.

What, is this curs'd old fellow your master going to be married?

Sir, Don Ferdinando wants to speak with you.

I wish he would come and speak to his blockhead of a father.—Don Juan, you'll soon see your son as great an ass as yourself.

Zounds! you are not deaf; you old ras­cal you'll find me a very tyger—you old—

What, my father!

What do you do with this fellow?

He is my husband.

What! that rascal?

What means all this? do you call my son a rascal?

Nobody is speaking of your son.

He has honour'd your family, you crack­brain'd old fellow.

A footman honour my family!

What do you mean by that, you super­annuated old fool?

What is all this about? is this really Don Ferdinando?

Do you think I don't know my own son?

Do you say so, Don Juan.

To be sure I do.

You have done a fine thing then!

Madam, yours was the contrivance, which Love has counteracted, in justice to this in­jur'd lady.

O, that villain, Spado.

That was the villain who told me you was deaf.

The very same who told me you had lost your hearing.

And he told me you had lost your senses, Don Scipio.

And led me into this unlucky error.

Zounds! what a lying scoundrel!

I wonder how my work goes on.

I give you joy, Sir.

Yes, and I'll give you sorrow, you damn'd rascal.

I'll have you hang'd, you dog you.

O, that will be the death of me, Sir.

Come along, my cara sposa.

Aye, my old master! I must brazen it out.

You rascal you, a pistol for you! I'll thrash you.

[Page 59]

I'm going to be married to an heiress; so I must not be beat to a mummy.

Stay where you are; I don't want you.

I understand, Don Alphonzo has been honoured with your partiality: I suppose you will have no objection to give him your hand.

I blush to see him.

My dearest Lorenza!

Egad, my business goes on prettily be­tween you.

You see, Don Juan, how this business is.

Aye, and very shameful it is.

Well, I give my blessing to them.

But what will make amends for your in­nded breach of contract with me?

Did not I tell you I was in love?

Nothing can atone for your intention to introduce your Italian frippery into my family.

How shall I get out of this? I will revenge all upon this rascal, Spado. Here, a brace of al­guazils and handcuffs for him.

For me! I'm the best friend you ever had in the world.

How? prove it.

Was not you going to marry that lady?

Yes.

You had better not. She and I happen to be old acquaintance.

What, more lies! and do you believe him?

Don't you know I liv'd with a certain captain that stole off with the lady to Italy?

Oh Don Scipio, I will find the means to silence that wretch, and you will feel the effects of it.

I think Sir, I've prov'd a friend to you.

Aye, but that shan't save your neck.

[Page 60]

I think I have saved your honour and your throat too.

Aye, how did you do that?

There were two of the banditti in the castle this morning, and I got them out.

How?

Why I told them they might come and cut your throat to-morrow.

That was very kind of you. I am very much obliged to you.

And you have time to get a guard ready, and give them a warm reception.

And pray, my little busy friend, what induced you to all this roguery on my account?

Truly, I would have prevented your mar­riage with Donna Victoria, in hopes of obtaining a reward from Don Alphonzo.

You have done no great mischief, after all your artifices; though I believe you are a sad dog: but, as you have been the means of bringing things a­bout in the present agreeable manner, I forgive you.

No, let me tell you, Sir, I will have—

And you shall have—a bottle of the best wine in all Andalusia. Here we will have flutes, and hautboys, and every thing else to make us hap­py, and our friends welcome: and we hope our good-natured friends will forget and forgive our defects.