A Bold Stroke for a Husband: A Comedy in Five Acts

BOLD STROKE FOR A HUSBAND Enter Servant, l. Serv. There is a gentleman at the door, madam, called Don Julio de Melessina. He waits on you from Don Vincentio. Oliv. Who? Don Julio! it cannot be—art thou sure of his name? Serv. The servant repeated it twice. He is in a fine carriage, and seems to be a nobleman. Oliv. Conduct him hither. [ Exit Servant, l. ] I am astonished! I cannot see him! I would not have him know the incognita to be Olivia, for worlds!—There is but one way. [ Aside. ] Minette, ask no questions; but do as I order you.—Receive Don Julio in my name; call yourself the heiress of Don Cæsar; and on no account suffer him to believe that you are any thing else. [ Exit , r. Min. So, then, this is some new lover she is determined to disgust; and fancies, that making me pass for her will complete it. Perhaps her ladyship may be mistaken though.—[ Looking through the wing. ]—Upon my word a sweet man! Oh, lud! my heart beats at the very idea of his making love to me, even though he takes me for another! Stay! I think he shan't find me here. Standing in the middle of a room gives one's appearance no effect. I'll enter upon him with an easy swim, or an engaging trip, or a—something that shall strike—the first glance is every thing. [ Exit , r. Enter Don Julio, l. , preceded by a Servant , who retires , r. Julio. Not here! The ridiculous dispute between Garcia and Vincentio gives me irresistible curiosity; though, if she is the character Garcia describes, I expect to be cuffed for my impertinence.—Here she comes!—A pretty, smiling girl, 'faith, for a vixen! Enter Minette, r. , very affectedly . Min. Sir, your most obedient humble servant.—You are Don Julio de Melessina. I am extremely glad to see you, sir. Julio. [ Aside. ] A very courteous reception!—You honour me infinitely, madam. I must apologize for waiting on you without a better introduction. Don Vincentio promised to attend me; but a concert called him to another part of the town, at the moment I prepared to come hither. Min. A concert—Yes, sir, he is very fond of music. Julio. He is, madam:—You, I suppose, have a passion for that charming science? Min. Oh, yes, I love it mightily. Julio. [ Aside. ] This is lucky! I think I have heard, Donna Olivia, that your taste that way is peculiar; you are fond of a —— 'faith, I can hardly speak it, [ Aside. ]—of a —— Jew's-harp. [ Smothering a laugh. ] Min. A Jew's-harp! Mercy! What, do you think a person of my birth and figure, can have such fancies as that? —— No, sir, I love fiddles, French horns, tabors, and all the cheerful, noisy instruments in the world. Julio. [ Aside. ] Vincentio must have been mad; and I as mad as he, to mention it. Then you are fond of concerts, madam? Min. Dote on them! I wish he'd offer me a ticket. [ Aside. ] Julio. [ Aside. ] Vincentio is clearly wrong.—Now to prove how far the other was right, in supposing her a vixen. Min. There is a grand public concert, sir, to be to-morrow. Pray, do you go? Julio. I believe I shall have that pleasure, madam. Min. My father, Don Cæsar, won't let me purchase a ticket: I think it's very hard. Julio. Pardon me—I think it's perfectly right. Min. Right! what, to refuse me a trifling expense, that would procure me a great pleasure? Julio. Yes, doubtless—the ladies are too fond of pleasure: I think Don Cæsar is exemplary. Min. Lord, sir! you'd think it very hard, if you were me, to be locked up all your life; and know nothing of the world but what you could catch through the bars of your balcony. Julio. Perhaps I might; but, as a man, I am convinced 'tis right. Daughters and wives should be equally excluded those destructive haunts of dissipation. Let them keep to their embroidery, nor ever presume to show their faces but at their own firesides. —— This will bring out the Xantippe, surely! [ Aside. ] Min. Well, sir, I don't know—to be sure, home, as you say, is the fittest place for women. For my part, I could live for ever at home. I am determined he shall have his way; who knows what may happen? [ Aside. ] Julio. [ Aside. ] By all the powers of caprice, Garcia is as wrong as the other! Min. I delight in nothing so much as in sitting by my father, and hearing his tales of old times; and I fancy, when I have a husband, I shall be more happy to sit and listen to his stories of present times. Julio. Perhaps your husband, fair lady, might not be inclined so to amuse you. Men have a thousand delights that call them abroad; and probably your chief amusements would be counting the hours of his absence, and giving a tear to each as it passed. Min. Well, he should never see them, however. I would always smile when he entered; and if he found my eyes red, I'd say, I had been weeping over the history of the unfortunate damsel, whose true love hung himself at sea, and appeared to her after wards in a wet jacket.—Sure, this will do! [ Aside. ] Julio. I am every moment more astonished. Pray, madam, permit me a question. Are you, really—yet I cannot doubt it—are you, really, Donna Olivia, the daughter of Don Cæsar, to whom Don Garcia and Don Vincentio had lately the honour of paying their addresses? Min. Am I Donna Olivia! ha! ha! ha! what a question! Pray, sir, is this my father's house?—Are you Don Julio? Julio. I beg your pardon; but, to confess, I had heard you described as a lady who had not quite so much sweetness, and —— Min. Oh! what, you had heard that I was a termagant, I suppose.—'Tis all slander, sir: there is not in Madrid, though I say it, a sweeter temper than my own; and though I have refused a good many lovers, yet, if one was to offer himself that I could like— Julio. You would take pity, and reward his passion. Min. I would. Julio. Lovely Donna Olivia, how charming is this frankness!—'Tis a little odd, though! [ Aside. ] Min. Why, I believe I should take pity: for it always seemed to me to be very hard-hearted, to be cruel to a lover that one likes, because, in that case, one should—a—you know, sir, the sooner the affair is over, the better for both parties. Julio. What the deuce does she mean?—Is this Garcia's sour fruit? Cæsar. [ Without, r. ] Olivia! Olivia! Min. Bless me, I hear my father! Now, sir, I have a particular fancy that you should not tell him, in this first visit, your design. Julio. Madam, my design! Min. Yes, that you will not speak out, till we have had a little further conversation, which I'll take care to give you an opportunity for very soon. He'll be here in a moment: now, pray, Don Julio, go. If he should meet you, and ask who you are, you can say, that you are—you may say, that you came on a visit to my maid, you know. [ Exit , r. Julio. I thank you, madam, [ Aloud. ] for my dismission. [ Aside. ] I never was in such a peril in my life. I believe she has a license in her pocket, a priest in her closet, and the ceremony by heart. [ Exit. ACT V. SCENE I.— Don Carlos's. Don Carlos discovered writing . Car. [ Tearing paper, and rising. ] It is in vain!—Language cannot furnish me with terms, to soften to Victoria the horrid transaction. Could she see the compunctions of my soul, her gentle heart would pity me. But what then?—She's ruined! my children are undone! Oh! the artifices of one base woman, and my villany to another most amiable one, have made me unfit to live. I am a wretch, who ought to be blotted from society. Enter Pedro , hastily , l. Ped. Sir—sir! Car. Well! Ped. Sir, I have just met Don Florio; he asked if my mistress was at home; so I guesses he is going to our house, and so I run to let you know—for I loves to keep my promises, though I am deadly afraid of some mischief. Car. You have done well.—Go home, and wait for me at the door, and admit me without noise. [ Exit Pedro, l. ] At least, then, I shall have the pleasure of revenge; I'll punish that harlot, by sacrificing her paramour in her arms; and then—Oh! [ Exit , l. SCENE II.— Donna Laura's. Enter Laura, l. , with precipitation, followed by Victoria . Laura. 'Tis his carriage!—How successful was my letter! This, my Florio, is a most important moment. Vict. It is, indeed; and I will leave you to make every advantage of it. [ Crosses , r. ] If I am present, I must witness condescensions from you, that I shall not be able to bear, though I know them to be but affected.—Now, Gasper, [ Aside. ] play thy part well, and save Victoria! [ Exit , r. Enter Gasper, l. dressed as an old Beau; two Servants follow him, and take off a rich cloak . Gasp. Take my cloak; and, d'ye hear, Ricardo, go home and bring the eider-down cushions for the coach, and tell the fellow not to hurry me post through the streets of Madrid. [ Exeunt Servants, l. ] I have been jolted from side to side, like a pippin in a mill stream. Drive a man of my rank, as he would a city vintner and his fat wife, going to a bull fight! Ha, there she is! [ Looking through a glass, suspended by a red ribbon. ]—there she is! Charming Donna Laura! let me thus at the shrine of your beauty—[ Makes an effort to kneel, and falls on his face ; Laura assists him to rise .] Fie, fie, those new shoes!—they have made me skate all day, like a Dutchman on a canal; and now—Well, you see how profound my adoration is, madam. Common lovers kneel; I was prostrate. Laura. You do me infinite honour. —— Disgustful wretch!—You are thinner than you were, Don Sancho: I protest, now I observe you, you are much altered! Gasp. Ay, madam—fretting. Your absence threw me into a fever, and that destroyed my bloom:—You see, I look almost a middle-aged man, now. Laura. No, really; far from it, I assure you. —— The fop is as wrinkled as a baboon! [ Aside. ] Gasp. Then jealousy—that gave me a jaundice.—My niece's husband, I hear, Don Carlos, has been my happy rival. Oh, my blade will hardly keep in its scabbard, when I think of him. Laura. Think no more of him—he has been long banished my thoughts, be assured. I wonder you gave your niece to him, with such a fortune. Gasp. Gave! she gave herself; and, as to fortune, she had not a pistole from me. Laura. 'Twas, indeed, unnecessary, with so fine an estate as she had in Leon. Gasp. My niece an estate in Leon! Not enough to give shelter to a field-mouse; and if he has told you so, he is a braggart. Laura. Told me so—I have the writings; he has made over the lands to me. Gasp. Made over the lands to you!—Oh, a deceiver! I begin to suspect a plot. Pray, let me see this extraordinary deed. [ She runs to a Cabinet , d. f. ] A plot, I'll be sworn! Laura. Here is the deed which made that estate mine for ever. No, sir, I will intrust it in no hand but my own. Yet look over me, and read the description of the lands. Gasp. [ Reading through his glass. ] H—m—m—. In the vicinage of Rosalvo, bounded on the west by the river —— h—m—m, on the east by the forest —— Oh, an artful dog! I need read no further; I see how the thing is. Laura. How, sir!—but hold —— Stay a moment—I am breathless with fear. Gasp. Nay, madam, don't be afraid! 'Tis my estate—that's all; the very castle where I was born; and which I never did, nor ever will, bestow on any Don in the two Castiles. Dissembling rogue! Bribe you with a fictitious title to my estate—ha! ha! ha! Laura. [ Aside. ] Curses follow him! The villain I employed must have been his creature; his reluctance all art; and, whilst I believed myself undoing him, was duped myself! Gasp. Could you suppose I'd give Carlos such an estate for running away with my niece? No, no; the vineyards, and the cornfields, and the woods of Rosalvo, are not for him.—I've somebody else in my eye—in my eye, observe me—to give those to:—Can't you guess who it is? Laura. No, indeed!—He gives me a glimmering that saves me from despair! [ Aside. ] Gasp. I won't tell you, unless you'll bribe me—I won't indeed. [ Kisses her cheek. ] There, now I'll tell you—they are all for you. Yes, this estate, to which you have taken such a fancy, shall be yours.—I'll give you the deeds, if you'll promise to love me, you little, cruel thing! Laura. Can you be serious? Gasp. I'll sign and seal to-morrow. Laura. Noble Don Sancho! Thus, then, I annihilate the proof of his perfidy, and my weakness.—Thus I tear to atoms his detested name; and as I tread on these, so would I on his heart. Enter Victoria, r. Vict. My children then are saved! [ In transport. ] Laura. [ Apart. ] Oh, Florio, 'tis as thou saidst—Carlos was a villain, and deceived me.—Why this strange air? Ah, I see the cause—you think me ruined, and will abandon me. Yes, I see it in thy averted face; thou dar'st not meet my eyes. If I misjudge thee, speak! Vict. Laura, I cannot speak.—You little guess the emotions of heart.—Heaven knows, I pity you! Laura. Pity! Oh, villain! and has thy love already snatched the form of pity? Base, deceitful —— Car. [ Without. ] Stand off; loose your weak hold; I'm come for vengeance! Enter Carlos, l. Where is this youth? Where is the blooming rival, for whom I have been betrayed? Hold me not, base woman! In vain the stripling flies me; for, by Heaven, my sword shall in his bosom write its master's wrongs! [ Victoria first goes towards the Flat, then returns, takes off her hat, and drops on one knee . Vict. Strike, strike it here! Plunge it deep into that bosom, already wounded by a thousand stabs, keener and more painful than your sword can give. Here lives all the gnawing anguish of love betrayed; here live the pangs of disappointed hopes, hopes sanctified by holiest vows, which have been written in the book of Heaven. —— Hah! he sinks.—[ She flies to him. ]—Oh! my Carlos! beloved! my husband! forgive my too severe reproaches; thou art dear, yet dear as ever, to Victoria's heart! Car. [ Recovering. ] Oh, you know not what you do—you know not what you are. Oh, Victoria, thou art a beggar! Vict. No, we are rich, we are happy! See there, the fragments of that fatal deed, which, had I not recovered, we had been indeed undone; yet still not wretched, could my Carlos think so! Car. The fragments of the deed! the deed which that base woman —— Vict. Speak not so harshly. —— To you, madam, I fear, I seem reprehensible; yet, when you consider my duties as a wife and mother, you will forgive me. Be not afraid of poverty—a woman has deceived, but she will not desert you! Laura. Is this real? Can I be awake? Vict. Oh, may'st thou indeed awake to virtue!—You have talents that might grace the highest of our sex; be no longer unjust to such precious gifts, by burying them in dishonour.—Virtue is our first, most awful duty; bow, Laura! bow before her throne , and mourn in ceaseless tears, that ever you forgot her heavenly precepts! Laura. So, by a smooth speech about virtue, you think to cover the injuries I sustain. Vile, insinuating monster!—but thou knowest me not.—Revenge is sweeter to my heart than love; and if there is a law in Spain to gratify that passion, your virtue shall have another field for exercise. [ Exit , R. Car. [ Turning towards Victoria .] My hated rival and my charming wife! How many sweet mysteries have you to unfold? —— Oh, Victoria! my soul thanks thee, but I dare not yet say I love thee, till ten thousand acts of watchful tenderness, have proved how deep the sentiment's engraved. Vict. Can it be true that I have been unhappy?—But the mysteries, my Carlos, are already explained to you—Gasper's resemblance to my uncle —— Gasp. Yes, sir, I was always apt at resemblances—In our plays at home, I am always Queen Cleopatra—You know she was but a gipsey queen, and I hits her off to a nicety. Car. Come, my Victoria —— Oh, there is a painful pleasure in my bosom—To gaze on thee, to listen to and to love thee, seems like the bliss of angels' cheering whispers to repentant sinners. [ Exeunt Carlos and Victoria, l. Gasp. Lord help 'em! how easily the women are taken in! [ Exit , l. SCENE III.— The Prado. Enter Minette, l. Min. Ah, here comes the man at last, after I have been sauntering in sight of his lodgings these two hours. Now, if my scheme takes, what a happy person I shall be! and sure, as I was Donna Olivia to-day, to please my lady, I may be Donna Olivia tonight, to please myself. I'll address him as the maid of a lady who has taken a fancy to him, then convey him to our house—then retire, and then come in again, and, with a vast deal of confusion, confess I sent my maid for him. If he should dislike my forwardness, the censure will fall on my lady; if he should be pleased with my person, the advantage will be mine. But perhaps he's come here on some wicked frolic or other.—I'll watch him at a distance before I speak. [ Exit , l. u. e. Enter Don Julio, r. Julio. Not here, 'faith; though she gave me last night but a faint refusal, and I had a right, by all the rules of gallantry, to construe that into an assent.—Then she's a jilt. Hang her, I feel I am uneasy—The first woman that ever gave me pain—I am ashamed to perceive that this spot has attractions for me, only because it was here I conversed with her. 'Twas here the little syren, conscious of her charms, unveiled her fascinating face —— 'Twas here—Ha! Enter Don Garcia and Don Vincentio, r. u. e. Gar. Ha! Don Julio! Julio. Pshaw! gentlemen, pray be quick. Gar. ( l. ) 'Twas here that Julio, leaving champaigne untasted, and songs of gallantry unsung, came to talk to the whistling branches. Vin. ( r. ) 'Twas here that Julio, flying from the young and gay, was found in doleful meditation—[ Altering his tone. ]—on a wench, for a hundred ducats! Gar. Who is she? Julio. ( c. ) Not Donna Olivia, gentlemen; not Donna Olivia. Gar. We have been seeking you, to ask the event of your visit to her. Julio. The event has proved that you have been most grossly duped. Vin. I know that—Ha! ha! ha! Julio. And you likewise, I know that—Ha! ha! ha! —— The fair lady, so far from being a vixen, is the very essence of gentleness. To me, so much sweetness in a wife, would be downright mawkish. Vin. Well, but she's fond of a Jew's-harp. Julio. Detests it; she would be as fond of a Jew. Gar. Pho, pho! this is a game at cross purposes;—let us all go to Don Cæsar's together, and compare opinions on the spot. Julio. I'll go most willingly—But it will be only to cover you both with confusion, for being the two men in Spain most easily imposed on. [ All going , r. ] Enter Minette, l. Min. Gentlemen, my lady has sent me for one of you, pray which of you is it? Julio. [ Returning. ] Me, without doubt, child. Vin. I don't know that. Gar. Look at me, my dear; don't you think I am the man? Min. Let me see—a good air, and well made—you are the man for a dancer. [ To Garcia .]—Well dressed, and nicely put out of hands—you are the man for a bandbox. [ Crosses to Vincentio .]—Handsome and bold—you are the man for my lady. [ Crosses to Julio .] Julio. My dear little Iris, here's all the gold in my pocket. Gentlemen, I wish you a good night—I am your very obedient, humble— [ Stalking by them, with his arm round Minette . Gar. Pho! pr'ythee, don't be a fool. Are we not going to Donna Olivia? Julio. Donna Olivia must wait, my dear boy; we can decide about her to-morrow. Come along, my little dove of Venus! [ Exit , l. Gar. What a rash fellow it is! ten to one but this is some common business, and he'll be robbed and murdered—they take him for a stranger. Vin. Let's follow, and see where she leads him. Gar. That's hardly fair: however, as I think there's danger, we will follow. [ Exit , l. SCENE IV.— Don Cæsar's. Enter Minette and Don Julio, l. Min. There, sir, please to sit down, till my lady is ready to wait on you—she won't be long —— I'm sure she's out, and I may do great things before she returns. [ Aside.—Exit , r. Julio. Through fifty back lanes, a long garden, and a narrow staircase, into a superb apartment—all that's in the regular way; as the Spanish women manage it, one intrigue is too much like another. If it was not now and then for the little lively fillip of a jealous husband or brother, which obliges one to leap from a window, or crawl, like a cat, along the gutters, there would be no bearing the ennui . Ah! ah! but this promises novelty; [ Looking through the Wing. ] a young girl and an old man—wife or daughter? They are coming this way. My lovely incognita, by all that's propitious! Why did not some kind spirit whisper to me my happiness? but hold—she can't mean to treat the old gentleman with a sight of me. [ Goes behind the sofa. Enter Don Cæsar and Olivia, l. Cæsar. No, no, madam, no going out—There, madam, this is your apartment, your house, your garden, your assembly, till you go to your convent. Why, how impudent you are to look thus unconcerned!—Can hardly forbear laughing in my face!—Very well—very well! [ Exit, double locking the door , l. Oliv. Ha! ha! ha! I'll be even with you, my dear father, if you treble lock it. I'll stay here two days, without once asking for my liberty, and you'll come the third, with tears in your eyes, to take me out.—He has forgot the door leading to the garden—but I vow I'll stay. [ Sitting down. ] I can make the time pass pleasantly enough. Julio. I hope so. [ Looking over the back of the sofa. Oliv. Heaven and earth! Julio. My dear creature, why are you so alarmed? am I here before you expected me? [ Coming round , r. Oliv. Expected you! Julio. Oh, this pretty surprise! Come, let us sit down; I think your father was very obliging to lock us in together. Oliv. Sir! sir! my father! [ Calling at the door. Cæsar. [ Without. ] Ay, 'tis all in vain—I won't come near you. There you are, and there you may stay. I shan't return, make as much noise as you will. Julio. Why, are you not ashamed that your father has so much more consideration for your guest than you have? Oliv. My guest! how is it possible he can have discovered me? [ Aside. ] Julio. Pho! This is carrying the thing further than you need—if there was a third person here, it might be prudent. Oliv. Why, this assurance, Don Julio, is really— Julio. The thing in the world you are most ready to pardon. Oliv. Upon my word, I don't know how to treat you. Julio. Consult your heart! Oliv. I shall consult my honour. Julio. Honour is a pretty thing to play with, but when spoken with that very grave face, after having sent your maid to bring me here, is really more than I expected. I shall be in an ill humour presently—I won't stay if you treat me thus. [ Crosses , l. Oliv. Well, this is superior to every thing! I have heard that men will slander women privately to each other; 'tis their common amusement; but to do it to one's face!—and you really pretend that I sent for you? Julio. Ha! ha! ha! Well, if it obliges you, I will pretend that you did not send for me; that your maid did not conduct me hither; nay, that I have not now the supreme happiness— [ Catching her in his arms. Enter Minette ; she screams, and runs out , r. Julio. Donna Olivia de Zuniga! how the devil came she here? Oliv. [ Aside. ] That's lucky! Olivia, my dear friend, why do you run away? Keep the character I charge you. [ Apart to Minette .] Be still Olivia. Min. Oh! dear madam! I was—I was so frightened when I saw that gentleman. Oliv. Oh, my dear; it's the merriest pretty kind of gentleman in the world; he pretends that I sent my maid for him into the streets, ha! ha! Julio. That's right; always tell a thing yourself, which you would not have believed. Min. It is the readiest excuse for being found in a lady's apartment, however. Now will I swear I know nothing of the matter. [ Aside. ] Oliv. Now, I think it a horrid poor excuse; he has certainly not had occasion to invent reasons for such impertinencies often. Tell me that he has made love to you to-day. [ Apart. ] Min. I fancy that he has had occasion to excuse impertinencies often;—his impertinence to me to-day —— Julio. To you, madam? Min. Making love to me, my dear, all the morning—could hardly get him away, he was so desirous to speak to my father. Nay, sir, I don't care for your impatience. Julio. [ Aside. ] Now would I give a thousand pistoles if she were a man! Oliv. Nay, then, this accidental meeting is fortunate—pray, Don Julio, don't let my presence prevent your saying what you think proper to my friend—shall I leave you together? [ Crosses , l. ] Julio. [ Apart. ] To contradict a lady on such an assertion would be too gross; but, upon my honour, Donna Olivia is the last woman upon earth who could inspire me with a tender idea. Find an excuse to send her away, my angel, I entreat you. I have a thousand things to say, and the moments are too precious to be given to her. Oliv. I think so too, but one can't be rude, you know. Come, my dear, sit down, [ Seating herself , c. ] have you brought your work? Julio. The devil! what can she mean? [ Pushing himself between Minette and the sofa .] Donna Olivia , I am sorry to inform you that my physician has just been sent for to your father, Don Cæsar.—The poor gentleman was seized with a vertigo. Oliv. Vertigoes! Oh, he has them frequently, you know. [ To Minette .] Min. Yes, and they always keep me from his sight. Julio. Did ever one woman prevent another from leaving her at such a moment before? I really, madam, cannot comprehend —— Cæsar. [ Without. ] It is impossible—impossible, gentleman! Don Julio cannot be here. Julio. Hah! who's that? Enter Don Cæsar, Don Garcia , and Don Vincentio, l. d. Gar. There! did we not tell you so? we saw him enter the garden. Cæsar. What can be the meaning of all this? A man in my daughter's apartment! [ Attempting to draw. Gar. Hold, sir! Don Julio is one of the first rank in Spain, and will unquestionably be able to satisfy your honour, without troubling your sword. We have done mischief, Vincentio! [ Apart. ] Julio. [ To Olivia .] They have been cursedly impertinent! but I'll bring you off, never fear, by pretending a passion for your busy friend, there. Cæsar. Satisfy me then in a moment; speak, one of you. [ Crosses to Julio . Julio. I came here, sir, by the merest accident.—The garden door was open, curiosity led me to this apartment. You came in a moment after, and very civilly locked me in with your daughter. Cæsar. Locked you in! why, then, did you not, like a man of honour, cry out? Julio. The lady cried out, sir, and you told her you would not return; but when Donna Olivia de Zuniga entered, for whom I have conceived a most violent passion —— Cæsar. A passion for her! Oh, let me hear no more on't.—A passion for her! You may as well entertain a passion for the untameable hyena. Gar. There, Vincentio, what think you now? Xantippe or not? Vin. I am afraid I must give up that—but pray support me as to this point, Don Cæsar; is not the lady fond of a Jew's-harp? Cæsar. Fond! she's fond of nothing, but playing the vixen; there is not such a fury upon earth. Julio. These are odd liberties, with a person who does not belong to him. Cæsar. I'll play the hypocrite for her no more; the world shall know her true character, they shall know —— but ask her maid there. Julio. Her maid! Min. Why, yes, sir; to say truth, I am but Donna Olivia's maid, after all. Oliv. [ Apart. ] Dear Minette! speak for me, or I am now ruined. Min. I will, ma'am.—I must confess, sir, [ Going up to Julio .] there never was so bitter a tempered creature as my lady is. I have borne her humours for two years; I have seen her by night and by day. [ Olivia pulls her sleeve, impatiently .] I will, I will! [ To Olivia .] and this I am sure, that if you marry her, you'll rue the day every hour the first month, and hang yourself the next. There, madam, I have done it roundly now. [ Exit , r. Oliv. I am undone—I am caught in my own snare! [ Aside. ] Cæsar. After this true character of my daughter, I suppose, signor, we shall hear no more of your passion; so let us go down, and leave madam to begin her penance. Julio. My ideas are totally confused.—You Donna Olivia de Zuniga, and the person I thought you, her maid! something too flattering darts across my mind. Cæsar. If you have taken a fancy to her maid, I have nothing farther to say; but as to that violent creature —— Julio. Oh, do not profane her. Where is that spirit which you tell me of? Is it that which speaks in modest, conscious blushes on her cheeks? Is it that which bends her lovely eyes to earth? Cæsar. Ay, she's only bending them to earth, considering how to afflict me with some new obstinacy—she'll break out like a tigress in a moment. Julio. It cannot be—are you, charming woman! such a creature? Oliv. Yes, to all mankind—but one. [ Looking down. Julio. But one! Oh, might that excepted one, be me! Oliv. Would you not fear to trust your fate with her, you have cause to think so hateful? Julio. No, I'd bless the hour that bound my fate to hers. Permit me, sir, to pay my vows to this fair vixen. Cæsar. What, are you such a bold man as that? Pho! but if you are, 'twill be only lost time—she'll contrive, some way or other, to return your vows upon your hands. Oliv. If they have your authority, sir, I will return them—only with my own. Cæsar. What's that! what did she say? my head is giddy with surprise. Julio. And mine with rapture. [ Catching her hand. Cæsar. Don't make a fool of me, Olivia.—Wilt marry him? Oliv. When you command me, sir. Cæsar. My dear Don Julio, thou art my guardian angel—shall I have a son-in-law at last? Garcia, Vincentio, could you have thought it? Gar. No, sir; if we had, we should have saved that lady much trouble; 'tis pretty clear now, why she was a vixen. Vin. Yes, yes, 'tis clear enough, and I beg your pardon, madam, for the share of trouble I gave you—but, pray, have the goodness to tell me sincerely, what do you think of a crash? [ Crosses to Olivia . Oliv. I love music, Don Vincentio, I admire your skill, and whenever you'll give me a concert, I shall be obliged. [ Crosses to Cæsar . Vin. You could not have pleased me so well, if you had married me.

Related documents

• Married Life: A Comedy, in Three Acts#52738
• A Wife's Duty: A Tale#47691
• Hollyhock Creek Pet-Sitting Services: Horror, Comedy, and Coming-Of-Age in YA Literature#350889
• Mary Broome: A Comedy, in Four Acts#52674
• Sir John Dering: A romantic comedy#62116