Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

  Don. Louisa. To find the man I love, to be sure; and, I presume, you would have no aversion to meet with my brother?

  Don. Clara. Indeed I should: he has behaved so ill to me, I don’t believe I shall ever forgive him.

  AIR.

  When sable night, each drooping plant restoring,

  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,

  Lo! as I press’d my couch in silent sorrow,

  My lover caught me to his breast!

  He vow’d he came to save me

  From those who would enslave me!

  Then kneeling, Kisses stealing,

  Endless faith he swore;

  But soon I chid him thence,

  For had his fond pretence

  Obtain’d one favour then,

  And he had press’d again,

  I fear’d my treacherous heart might grant him more.

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

  Don. Clara. The Lady Abbess of the convent of St. Catherine is a relation and kind friend of mine — I shall be secure with her, and you had best go thither with me.

  Don. Louisa. No; I am determined to find Antonio first; and, as I live, here comes the very man I will employ to seek him for me.

  Don. Clara. Who is he? he’s a strange figure.

  Don. Louisa. Yes; that sweet creature is the man whom my father has fixed on for my husband.

  Don. Clara. And will you speak to him? are you mad?

  Don. Louisa. He is the fittest man in the world for my purpose; for, though I was to have married him to-morrow, he is the only man in Seville who, I am sure, never saw me in his life.

  Don. Clara. And how do you know him?

  Don. Louisa. He arrived but yesterday, and he was shown to me from the window, as he visited my father.

  Don. Clara. Well, I’ll begone.

  Don. Louisa. Hold, my dear Clara — a thought has struck me: will you give me leave to borrow your name, as I see occasion?

  Don. Clara. It will but disgrace you; but use it as you please: I dare not stay. — [Going.] — But, Louisa, if you should see your brother, be sure you don’t inform him that I have taken refuge with the Dame Prior of the convent of St. Catherine, on the left hand side of the piazza which leads to the church of St. Anthony.

  Don. Louisa. Ha! ha! ha! I’ll be very particular in my directions where he may not find you. — [Exeunt DONNA CLARA and MAID.] — So! My swain, yonder, has, done admiring himself, and draws nearer. [Retires.]

  Enter ISAAC and DON CARLOS.

  Isaac. [Looking in a pocket-glass.] I tell you, friend Carlos, I will please myself in the habit of my chin.

  Don Car. But, my dear friend, how can you think to please a lady with such a face?

  Isaac. Why, what’s the matter with the face? I think it is a very engaging face; and, I am sure, a lady must have very little taste who could dislike my beard. — [Sees DONNA LOUISA.] — See now! I’ll die if here is not a little damsel struck with it already.

  Don. Louisa. Signor, are you disposed to oblige a lady who greatly wants your assistance? [Unveils.]

  Isaac. Egad, a very pretty black-eyed girl! she has certainly taken a fancy to me, Carlos. First, ma’am, I must beg the favour of your name.

  Don. Louisa. [Aside.] So! it’s well I am provided. — [Aloud.] — My name, sir, is Donna Clara d’Almanza.

  Isaac. What? Don Guzman’s daughter? I’faith, I just now heard she was missing.

  Don. Louisa. But sure, sir, you have too much gallantry and honour to betray me, whose fault is love?

  Isaac. So! a passion for me! poor girl! Why, ma’am, as for betraying you, I don’t see how I could get anything by it; so, you may rely on my honour; but as for your love, I am sorry your case is so desperate.

  Don. Louisa. Why so, signor?

  Isaac. Because I am positively engaged to another — an’t I, Carlos?

  Don. Louisa. Nay, but hear me.

  Isaac. No, no; what should I hear for? It is impossible for me to court you in an honourable way; and for anything else, if I were to comply now, I suppose you have some ungrateful brother, or cousin, who would want to cut my throat for my civility — so, truly, you had best go home again.

  Don. Louisa. [Aside.] Odious wretch! — [Aloud.] — But, good signor, it is Antonio d’Ercilla, on whose account I have eloped.

  Isaac. How! what! it is not with me, then, that you are in love?

  Don. Louisa. No, indeed, it is not.

  Isaac. Then you are a forward, impertinent simpleton! and I shall certainly acquaint your father.

  Don. Louisa. Is this your gallantry?

  Isaac. Yet hold — Antonio d’Ercilla, did you say? egad, I may make something of this — Antonio d’Ercilla?

  Don. Louisa. Yes; and if ever you wish to prosper in love, you will bring me to him.

  Isaac. By St. Iago and I will too! — Carlos, this Antonio is one who rivals me (as I have heard) with Louisa — now, if I could hamper him with this girl, I should have the field to myself; hey, Carlos! A lucky thought, isn’t it?

  Don Car. Yes, very good — very good!

  Isaac. Ah! this little brain is never at a loss — cunning Isaac! cunning rogue! Donna Clara, will you trust yourself awhile to my friend’s direction?

  Don. Louisa. May I rely on you, good signor?

  Don. Car. Lady, it is impossible I should deceive you.

  AIR.

  Had I a heart for falsehood framed,

  I ne’er could injure you;

  For though your tongue no promise claim’d,

  Your charms would make me true.

  To you no soul shall bear deceit,

  No stranger offer wrong;

  But friends in all the aged you’ll meet,

  And lovers in the young.

  But when they learn that you have blest

  Another with your heart,

  They’ll bid aspiring passion rest,

  And act a brother’s part:

  Then, lady, dread not here deceit,

  Nor fear to suffer wrong;

  For friends in all the aged you’ll meet,

  And brothers in the young.

  Isaac. Conduct the lady to my lodgings, Carlos; I must haste to Don Jerome. Perhaps you know Louisa, ma’am. She’s divinely handsome, isn’t she?

  Don. Louisa. You must excuse me not joining with you.

  Isaac. Why I have heard it on all hands.

  Don. Louisa. Her father is uncommonly partial to her; but I believe you will find she has rather a matronly air.

  Isaac. Carlos, this is all envy. — You pretty girls never speak well of one another. — [To DON CARLOS.] Hark ye, find out Antonio, and I’ll saddle him with this scrape, I warrant. Oh, ’twas the luckiest thought! Donna Clara, your very obedient. Carlos, to your post.

  DUET.

  Isaac.

  My mistress expects me, and I must go to her,

  Or how can I hope for a smile?

  Don. Louisa.

  Soon may you return a prosperous wooer,

  But think what I suffer the while.

  Alone, and away from the man whom I love,

  In strangers I’m forced to confide.

  Isaac.

  Dear lady, my friend you may trust, and he’ll prove

  Your servant, protector, and guide.

  AIR.

  Don Car.

  Gentle maid, ah! why suspect me?

  Let me serve thee — then reject me.

  Canst thou trust, and I deceive thee?

  Art thou sad, and shall I grieve thee?

  Gentle maid, ah I why suspect me?

  Let me serve thee — then reject me.

  TRIO.
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  Don. Louisa.

  Never mayst thou happy be,

  If in aught thou’rt false to me.

  Isaac.

  Never may he happy be,

  If in aught he’s false to thee.

  Don Car.

  Never may I happy be,

  If in aught I’m false to thee.

  Don. Louisa.

  Never mayst thou, &c.

  Isaac.

  Never may he, &c.

  Don Car.

  Never may I, &c. [Exeunt.]

  ACT II.

  SCENE I.

  A Library in DON JEROME’S House.

  Enter DON JEROME and ISAAC.

  Don Jer. Ha! ha! ha! run away from her father! has she given him the slip? Ha! ha! ha! poor Don Guzman!

  Isaac. Ay; and I am to conduct her to Antonio; by which means you see I shall hamper him so that he can give me no disturbance with your daughter — this is a trap, isn’t it? a nice stroke of cunning, hey?

  Don Jer. Excellent! excellent I yes, yes, carry her to him, hamper him by all means, ha! ha! ha! Poor Don Guzman! an old fool! imposed on by a girl!

  Isaac. Nay, they have the cunning of serpents, that’s the truth on’t.

  Don Jer. Psha! they are cunning only when they have fools to deal with. Why don’t my girl play me such a trick? Let her cunning over- reach my caution, I say — hey, little Isaac!

  Isaac. True, true; or let me see any of the sex make a fool of me! — No, no, egad! little Solomon (as my aunt used to call me) understands tricking a little too well.

  Don Jer. Ay, but such a driveller as Don Guzman!

  Isaac. And such a dupe as Antonio!

  Don Jer. True; never were seen such a couple of credulous simpletons! But come, ’tis time you should see my daughter — you must carry on the siege by yourself, friend Isaac.

  Isaac. Sir, you’ll introduce ——

  Don Jer. No — I have sworn a solemn oath not to see or to speak to her till she renounces her disobedience; win her to that, and she gains a father and a husband at once.

  Isaac. Gad, I shall never be able to deal with her alone; nothing keeps me in such awe as perfect beauty — now there is something consoling and encouraging in ugliness.

  SONG

  Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast,

  But health and good humour to make her his toast;

  If straight, I don’t mind whether slender or fat,

  And six feet or four — we’ll ne’er quarrel for that.

  Whate’er her complexion, I vow I don’t care;

  If brown, it is lasting — more pleasing, if fair:

  And though in her face I no dimples should see,

  Let her smile — and each dell is a dimple to me.

  Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen,

  And her eyes may be e’en any colour but green;

  For in eyes, though so various in lustre and hue,

  I swear I’ve no choice — only let her have two.

  ’Tis true I’d dispense with a throne on her back,

  And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than black;

  A little round chin too’s a beauty, I’ve heard;

  But I only desire she mayn’t have a beard.

  Don Jer. You will change your note, my friend, when you’ve seen Louisa.

  Isaac. Oh, Don Jerome, the honour of your alliance ——

  Don Jer. Ay, but her beauty will affect you — she is, though I say it who am her father, a very prodigy. There you will see features with an eye like mine — yes, i’faith, there is a kind of wicked sparkling — sometimes of a roguish brightness, that shows her to be my own.

  Isaac. Pretty rogue!

  Don Jer. Then, when she smiles, you’ll see a little dimple in one cheek only; a beauty it is certainly, yet, you shall not say which is prettiest, the cheek with the dimple, or the cheek without.

  Isaac. Pretty rogue!

  Don Jer. Then the roses on those cheeks are shaded with a sort of velvet down, that gives a delicacy to the glow of health.

  Isaac. Pretty rogue!

  Don Jer. Her skin pure dimity, yet more fair, being spangled here and there with a golden freckle.

  Isaac. Charming pretty rogue! pray how is the tone of her voice?

  Don Jer. Remarkably pleasing — but if you could prevail on her to sing, you would be enchanted — she is a nightingale — a Virginia nightingale! But come, come; her maid shall conduct you to her antechamber.

  Isaac. Well, egad, I’ll pluck up resolution, and meet her frowns intrepidly.

  Don Jer. Ay! woo her briskly — win her, and give me a proof of your address, my little Solomon.

  Isaac. But hold — I expect my friend Carlos to call on me here. If he comes, will you send him to me?

  Don Jer. I will. Lauretta! — [Calls.] — Come — she’ll show you to the room. What! do you droop? here’s a mournful face to make love with! [Exeunt.]

  SCENE II.

  DONNA LOUISA’S Dressing-Room.

  Enter ISAAC and MAID.

  Maid. Sir, my mistress will wait on you presently.

  [Goes to the door.]

  Isaac. When she’s at leisure — don’t hurry her. — [Exit MAID.] — I wish I had ever practised a love-scene — I doubt I shall make a poor figure — I couldn’t be more afraid if I was going before the Inquisition. So, the door opens — yes, she’s coming — the very rustling of her silk has a disdainful sound.

  Enter DUENNA dressed as DONNA LOUISA.

  Now dar’n’t I look round, for the soul of me — her beauty will certainly strike me dumb if I do. I wish she’d speak first.

  Duen. Sir, I attend your pleasure.

  Isaac. [Aside.] So! the ice is broke, and a pretty civil beginning too! — [Aloud.] Hem! madam — miss — I’m all attention.

  Duen. Nay, sir, ’tis I who should listen, and you propose.

  Isaac. [Aside.] Egad, this isn’t so disdainful neither — I believe I may venture to look. No — I dar’n’t — one glance of those roguish sparklers would fix me again.

  Duen. You seem thoughtful, sir. Let me persuade you to sit down.

  Isaac. [Aside.] So, so; she mollifies apace — she’s struck with my figure! this attitude has had its effect.

  Duen. Come, sir, here’s a chair.

  Isaac. Madam, the greatness of your goodness overpowers me — that a lady so lovely should deign to turn her beauteous eyes on me so.

  [She takes his hand, he turns and sees her.]

  Duen. You seem surprised at my condescension.

  Isaac. Why, yes, madam, I am a little surprised at it. — [Aside.] Zounds! this can never be Louisa — she’s as old as my mother!

  Duen. But former prepossessions give way to my father’s commands.

  Isaac. [Aside.] Her father! Yes, ’tis she then. — Lord, Lord; how blind some parents are!

  Duen. Signor Isaac!

  Isaac. [Aside.] Truly, the little damsel was right — she has rather a matronly air, indeed! ah! ’tis well my affections are fixed on her fortune, and not her person.

  Duen. Signor, won’t you sit? [She sits.]

  Isaac. Pardon me, madam, I have scarce recovered my astonishment at your condescension, madam. — [Aside.] She has the devil’s own dimples, to be sure!

  Duen. I do not wonder, sir, that you are surprised at my affability — I own, signor, that I was vastly prepossessed against you, and, being teased by my father, I did give some encouragement to Antonio; but then, sir, you were described to me as quite a different person.

  Isaac. Ay, and so you were to me, upon my soul, madam.

  Duen. But when I saw you I was never more struck in my life.

  Isaac. That was just my case, too, madam: I was struck all of a heap, for my part.

  Duen. Well, sir, I see our misapprehension has been mutual — you expected to find me haughty and averse, and I was taught to believe you a little black, snub-nosed fellow, without person, manners, or address.

  Isaac. [Aside.] Egad, I wish she had
answered her picture as well!

  Duen. But, sir, your air is noble — something so liberal in your carriage, with so penetrating an eye, and so bewitching a smile!

  Isaac. [Aside.] Egad, now I look at her again, I don’t think she is so ugly!

  Duen. So little like a Jew, and so much like a gentleman!

  Isaac. [Aside.] Well, certainly, there is something pleasing in the tone of her voice.

  Duen. You will pardon this breach of decorum in praising you thus, but my joy at being so agreeably deceived has given me such a flow of spirits!

  Isaac. Oh, dear lady, may I thank those dear lips for this goodness? — [Kisses her.] [Aside.]Why she has a pretty sort of velvet down, that’s the truth on’t.

  Duen. O sir, you have the most insinuating manner, but indeed you should get rid of that odious beard — one might as well kiss a hedgehog.

  Isaac. [Aside.] Yes, ma’am, the razor wouldn’t be amiss — for either of us. — [Aloud.] Could you favour me with a song?

  Duen. Willingly, though I’m rather hoarse — ahem![Begins to sing.]

  Isaac. [Aside.] Very like a Virginia nightingale! — [Aloud.] Ma’am, I perceive you’re hoarse — I beg you will not distress ——

  Duen. Oh, not in the least distressed. Now, sir.

  SONG.

  When a tender maid

  Is first assay’d

  By some admiring swain.

  How her blushes rise

  If she meet his eyes,

  While he unfolds his pain!

  If he takes her hand, she trembles quite!

  Touch her lips, and she swoons outright!

  While a pit-a-pat, &c.

  Her heart avows her fright.

  But in time appear

  Fewer signs of fear;

  The youth she boldly views:

  If her hand he grasp,

  Or her bosom clasp,

  No mantling blush ensues!

  Then to church well pleased the lovers move,

  While her smiles her contentment prove;

  And a pit-a-pat, &c. Her heart avows her love.

  Isaac. Charming, ma’am! enchanting! and, truly, your notes put me in mind of one that’s very dear to me — a lady, indeed, whom you greatly resemble!

  Duen. How I is there, then, another so dear to you?

  Isaac. Oh, no, ma’am, you mistake; it was my mother I meant.

  Duen. Come, sir, I see you are amazed and confounded at my condescension, and know not what to say.