[] THE METAMORPHOSES.

SCENE, the ſtreet before Don Pedro's houſe.

Oh, Fabio, I was glad to hear the ſound of your ſweet voice—Ha, ha, ha, what a figure you cut!

Oh! what you are looking at my ap⯑pearance; 'tis whimſical enough, to be ſure, for a man of my conſequence. Who would think now, that I was valet, companion, and confidant to Lyſander; the moſt hopeful and wealthy heir in all Seville; and lover, ſervant, and moſt humble ſlave to the accompliſh'd Juletta, gentle⯑woman, duenna, and adviſer of Donna Mar⯑cella, the ward of Don Pedro de Caſtro.

She is only his ward at preſent, to be ſure; but if your maſter does not make great haſte, they will be man and wife within theſe two hours.

The devil! this is a ſudden ſtart, is it not?

Here comes your maſter.

Did you hear, Sir, the pretty news that Mrs. Juletta has brought; your miſtreſs is going to marry her old dragon of a guardian.

'Tis impoſſible!—She could not conſent to ſuch a thing.

Why, it coſt her a great many tears to be ſure; but at laſt, Sir, I ſeconded his requeſt, and then ſhe complied.

How! you, Mrs. Minx!

Yes, I, Mr. Impudence!

Why, you ungrateful, miſchievous—I don't know what to call you—have you a top⯑knot, a ruff, or a ruffle, that you don't owe to my maſter's generoſity? Has there a letter, or a meſſage, paſs'd through your means to Donna Marcella, that has not coſt him ſome new-fangled gew-gaw or other for you, beſide my uſual per⯑quiſite.

Very well, Sir—go on.

Nay, becauſe his happineſs was dearer to me than my own, have not I, to forward the buſineſs, condeſcended to caſt the eyes of affection upon you?

Intolerable aſſurance!—'tis I, Jackanapes, 'tis I that am abuſed.—Did not I ſee a poor, un⯑fortunate couple, moping in diſtreſs? Did not I, for the conſideration of a few trifling preſents, ſuffer myſelf to be prevailed upon to extricate them from it?

Very well, Ma'am—go on.

And did not I, becauſe I wou'd not ſee you expire before my face, take pity on you, and give you my virgin heart, while thouſands vainly tried to tear me from you? And what is my re⯑ward for all this? Why, truly, when I have perſuaded my miſtreſs ſeemingly to conſent to [4] marry her guardian, in order to get her fortune into her own poſſeſſion, that ſhe may the eaſier run away with the man ſhe loves—

Hey! how's this?

Seemingly, did you ſay, Juletta?

Yes, I did; but I don't under⯑ſtand being ill-uſed when I am trying to ſerve people all I can. I am ſure I never was thought mercenary before; and any body in the world would be vex'd at being abuſed and ſcandalized by a brute of a fellow, who only preſumes ſo becauſe I have been too kind to him.

Oh! zounds, now her clack's ſet a-going, ſtop it who can.—Well, well, don't cry—I forgive you, child.

Forgive me, varlet! I can tell you, I ſhan't eaſily forgive you.

Well, well; but for my maſter's ſake—

Aye, Juletta, for my ſake.

I do aſſure you 'tis entirely for your ſake then

if I am reconciled. Brute of a fellow!—Here, Sir, is a letter for you; and if Confidence here, cou'd find a way of getting into the houſe to bring an anſwer, I ſhou'd be glad, becauſe I am ſo watch'd.

Well, my Protens, this letter has given me ſpirits. She ſays, ſhe'll be in readineſs, at a minute's warning, to take the wing, if I can but open the door of her cage.

Suppoſe, Sir, I was to try if I cou'd get old Cruſty out of the houſe.

I don't think it practicable.

Faith, Sir, I have hopes; I know that he expects news of the arrival of one of his ſhips.

Well, and what then?

Nothing, Sir, only I ſhall make my next appearance in the character of a ſailor, that's all.

And muſt I be diſguiſed, good Sir? for you know I march under your command.

Old Grumble here has never ſeen you, has he?

I believe not.

Then there will be no neceſſity for it yet; but here comes my wife fellow-ſervant, Pe⯑rez; let him ſtay about the houſe, Sir, while you go with me to receive further inſtructions. I ſhall ſoon return equip'd for my enterprize.

I'll follow you.

So, Perez! how go on affairs?

Lord, Sir! I have emptied all the ſhops in town; I have got ſuch a cart-load of vizors, veils, jackets, hats, feathers, doublets, and muſta⯑chios! why, Sir, we have diſguiſes enough to ſtock a Venetian carnival.

Well, that's all right. Do you watch about Don Pedro's houſe; and, I charge you, let nothink eſcape your notice till I return.

I warrant you, Sir.

Ah, dear Marcella! let but fortune be propitious to us, and my future life ſhall he devo⯑ted to gratitude and thee.

Truly I doubt of every thing, there's ſuch a confounded running in and out. Juletta is ſo impertinent and Marcella ſo haughty, that I am afraid this conſenting to marry me, was only a pretence to get her fortune out of my hands— Well, a very ſhort time will now put the matter out of diſpute, and in the mean while I'll be my own porter, and let every body in and out —Hey, who have we hear?

How that man eyes me.

He looks mighty ſuſpicious, methinks.

He does not know me ſure.

What can he be doing ſo near my houſe?

Why he is not watching, ſure, to ſee who goes in and out, is he?

I'll ſpeak to him.

He comes this way.

If he is one of their ſpies, I muſt go cunningly to work.

Let him be who he will, he ſhan't get any thing out of me.

Your ſervant, friend.

Yours, friend.

What makes you watching about this houſe ſo, eh?

Huſh.

What d'ye mean?

Hold your tongue, I tell you.

Why muſt I hold my tongue?

You muſt not tell a living ſoul that you ſaw me watching about this houſe.

Oh! I muſt not.

Not for the world; if it ſhould come to Don Pedro's knowledge, laud a mercy! what a work would there be.

Oh, ho! I gueſs how the matter is: what, you are ſtanding centinel, to watch their motions within?

Why, how the devil ſhou'd you know that?

Ah! you ſee I'm in all your ſecrets— I know too, that you want to get an anſwer to the letter that you deliver'd two days ago to Ju⯑letta, for her miſtreſs.

No: there you are out—'twas yeſterday morning I deliver'd the letter, and ſhe herſelf brought my maſter an anſwer, not an hour ago.

So, ſo! why then Don Pedro is finely impoſed upon.

Impoſed upon! why what is ſuch an old fool good for, but to be impoſed upon: I can tell you, he muſt look ſharp, or we ſhall run away with this delicate morſel from him, as ſure as he thinks himſelf of it——You don't know him, do you?

Never ſaw him in my life.

I wiſh you did, for I'm ſure you'd laugh at him every time you ſet eyes on him—Well, I'll ſtay hereabout, and don't you now drop a word of what I have told you.

Me! No, I enjoy it, I aſſure you.

I dare ſay you do; every body muſt eaſily ſuppoſe how agreeable it is to trick ſuch an old coveteous curmudgeon.

Oh! you may depend upon it, not a word ſhall eſcape me.

That's right; we can't be too cautious; you underſtand me.

Oh! perfectly—confound you!

Theſe are not matters to blab to every body—you apprehend me.

Clearly—an Alguzile apprehend you.

Well now, keep my counſel, and when we meet again, I'll tell you how my maſter has ſped.

The devil ſpeed him.

Mum now.

I warrant you.

SCENE, a room in Don Pedro's houſe.

Ah! Madam, hang melancholy; an ounce of contrivance is worth a cart-load of it; for the firſt may keep us moaping here 'till we break our hearts, and the latter will point out to us a way to break our priſon.

Wou'd it were once effected; for I have a thouſand terrible apprehenſions. You may depend on't my guardian won't let me out of his ſight, if he can help it. And, at laſt, when we have form'd a ſcheme, if it ſhould miſcarry, we ſhould be all undone.

So we ſhould, indeed, Ma'am; and if the houſe was to tumble, ten to one but ſome of us would be hurt. Lord, Ma'am! have a little more ſpirit—Is not it your duty to cheat Don Pedro all you can? Is not he old, jealous, and covetous? Does not he want to make you the moſt miſerable creature in the world?

As ſure as I live, Ma'am, there he is. I ſay, Ma'am, is not it your duty to oblige Don Pedro all you can? Is not he kind, careful, and tender? And does not he want to make you the happieſt woman in the world?

Here's a baggage for you. I ſhould be very much obliged to you, Ma'am, if you would do me the favour to get down ſtairs.

What's the matter, I wonder.

Well, I have ſent away the lawyers; but, methinks, ſince the deeds were executed, you don't ſhew ſo much willingneſs as you did before.

'Tis becauſe you are ſo unwilling to con⯑fide in me: I am not allow'd to take any manner of liberty; and at the very time I yield myſelf entirely to you, ſuch is your ſuſpicious temper, that I am obliged to keep a guard upon all my words and actions.

My dear Marcella, 'tis becauſe my love is ſo very delicate I take offence at even a ſmile, or a glance, that any perſon forces from you; and the care you ſee me take, is for nothing elſe but to debar all acceſs of galants, and ſecure to myſelf the poſſeſſion of a heart, the leaſt thing relative to which I can't bear to think any body ſhould rob me of.

In good truth you take a very wrong method, and the poſſeſſion of a heart is very ill ſecured, when people think to keep it up by force. For my part, was I gallant to a lady in the power of another, I ſhou'd bend all my [13] ſtudy to make him jealous. For the way to for⯑ward ſuch affairs, is to take every advantage of the uneaſineſs and reſentments which conſtraint and ſervitude create in the mind of a woman.

Very fine! ſo, according to this, if any ſhould make love to you, he would find you diſpoſed to receive his addreſſes.

There's no knowing what a woman may be driven to in ſuch a ſituation.

But I tell you, it all proceeds from my love for you.

If that be your way of loving, I deſire you to hate me.

What! and you give me no provoca⯑tion, I warrant, to be jealous.

No, Sir, I don't.

I know you don't—you don't re⯑ceive letters, and ſend anſwers to them by your emiſſary, Mrs. Jezebel there, who went out juſt now——you don't encourage a fellow to come after you; and you have not conſented to run away from me, and chouſe me out of your for⯑tune?

How could he have heard this?

Sir, there's a ſailor below wants to ſpeak to you; he has brought you ſome news about one of your ſhips.

Let him come up—and heark'e— are you ſure he is a ſailor?—are you ſure he has not given you a letter to deliver to your miſtreſs? —and are you ſure you don't want to get me out of the way while ſhe writes an anſwer?

Sir, I deſpiſe ſuch ſuſpicions, and I am not, like my lady, obliged to put up with them, I thank my ſtars.

There! you ſee what you expoſe me to.

Rather ſay, that I ſee to what you ex⯑poſe yourſelf.

Good cheer to the noble owner of the Antler galleon, ſhe is arrived ſafe with all her hands.

I am glad to hear it, had you a plea⯑ſant voyage.

If the young gentlewoman pleaſes I'll tell you.—You muſt know that juſt as we made the land upon our ſtarboard-bow—I was ſtanding upon the forecaſtle ſinging a ſong made by one of our crew upon me and my ſweet⯑heart—if the young gentlewoman pleaſes I'll ſing it to you.

Adod, you ſailors are merry folks; but I have a little buſineſs at preſent, ſo if you'll let me know where I can find your captain, I'll ſee him in the afternoon.

Why, if ſo be it was all one to you, I'd ſteer you to him now, for when he gave me the ſignal to hail you, he ſaid as how he wanted marvelouſly to haul along-ſide of you.

Well but I tell you I can't go now.

Then I'll give you inſtructions what courſe you ſhall ſtand, if the young gentlewoman pleaſes to hold theſe papers, I have got the name [17] of the port ſomewhere here upon the back of a letter from poor Kitty: here, young gentlewoman.

Not quite ſo familiar with the young gentlewoman, if you pleaſe.

'Tis the way of us ſeamen, we are al⯑ways, as the ſaying is, in chace of a ſhip or a pet⯑ticoat. Here, young gentlewoman, you may read this if you pleaſe, 'twill make you laugh, you'll find how that Kitty—

Zounds, we have nothing at all to do with Kitty—hey—this is a pander— Shut the door there—give me that letter, Madam.

What letter, Sir?

Why, old gentleman, you have unſhip'd your ſenſes.

Give me that letter, raſcal.

What, ſhew you my letter from Kitty!

The devil Kitty you—fetch me a horſe-whip.

For Heaven's ſake what are you going to do?

How now! who have we here?

I beg your pardon, but hearing a violent uproar in your houſe, I thought ſome aſſiſtance might be neceſſary.

Sir, I am much obliged to you, but 'tis only a raſcal I have detected, diſguiſed like a ſailor.

Pretend to be mad.

Where is he, Sir?

This is the villain.

That, Sir—Lord Sir, that's a poor diſtracted fellow, that I have the care of; I keep a houſe for the reception of lunatics, and this wretch, by ſome means, got out of his cell yeſter⯑day, ſince when I have in vain been ſeeking for him. He was a ſailor once, ſo nothing elſe now runs in his head—his name is Cozenado Pe⯑dronado, Sir.

Who's that calls me?—Did you ſee my Kitty?—there ſhe is, climbing up the main top gallant maſt.

At the ſight of me, his interval is gone off, Sir, and I dare ſay we ſhall have work enough to force him away.

SCENE, the ſtreet before Don Pedro's houſe. Lyſander and Fabio diſguiſed as ballad-ſingers with Mandolines.

THE next ſong in the book is the cruel guardian, or the fortunate runaway; the next ſong in the book is Philomelo's ſoft notes; the next ſong in the book is Come all you Swains and hear my lay; the next ſong in the book is the cobler or a wife of ten thouſand. Liſten, neighbours, this is one of the curiouſteſt ditties.

Faith, Sir, the noiſe has brought her to the window.

Dear Marcella, how ſhall I expreſs to you my gratitude, for that anxiety you have endured on my account, but take courage and a little time will relieve you from all your apprehenſions; we have plan'd a ſcheme that cannot fail of ſuc⯑ceſs.

You muſt be very cautious, I aſſure you, for all that paſſes, by ſome means or other, comes to my guardian's knowledge—Good heaven, he's behind me—Indeed, good man, I have nothing for you, and I aſſure you your ſi⯑tuation is not more diſtreſſing than mine.

Talking to ballad ſingers out of the window; and, I ſuppoſe, they are as much bal⯑lad [22] ſingers, as that Jackanapes was a ſailor—Go along, hang dogs, or I'll make you ſing in a cage, I will.

Nay, good your honour, we'll preſent you with the jealous Spaniard outwitted.

Come in, you ſha'n't hear it.

Nay, pray let me liſten to the ſong, there can be no harm in that.

'Tis a dialogue between the lover and his miſtreſs. My poor wife that is dead, wou'd have given you the woman's part to a nicety; however, you ſhall have it as near her manner as poſſible. Come, Guzman, ſtrike up.

What you won't begone—I'll come down and ſee what authority my cane has with you— Get you in.

He's coming, Sir; let us decamp.

Now for one bold effort, Fabio, and we ſhall be maſters of the town.

Never doubt the victory, while I am general.

A pack of raſcals—if I catch you, I'll mar your muſic.

How! gone

I thought to have my maſter and Fabio here.

Oh! yonder's my communicative friend—I'll try if I can't come at ſome more of their ſecrets.

Oh, you're there, Mr. Tittle Tattle, are you, to whom I gave ſuch charge not to ſpeak a word?—you muſt go and tell every body, muſt you?

I!

Yes, you! you told old Pedro every word I entruſted you with, and he has made ſuch a clutter about it—

I do aſſure you—

No, no, I won't hear a word—You'll [24] never get any thing from me again, I promiſe you.

But, friend—

I tell you, I'll have nothing to ſay to you—if you had not betray'd me, I wou'd have told you what was doing now.

Why, is there any thing doing now?

Not that you will be the better for, I can tell you that.

I'm afraid not, faith!—but, pr'ythee now—

Ay, you ſee what you get by tattling; you ſhall hear no more; good bye, I'll leave you with your mouth watering.

Nay, but ſtay a little.

What you want to pump ſomething elſe out of me, do you?

No, I have no curioſiey at all.

Ah, you may ſpell, but it will be all to no purpoſe—I'm a faithful ſervant, and who⯑ever ſays to the contrary, tells ſtories—Perhaps, you may expect to hear from me, that my maſter and fellow ſervant were ſinging ballads under the old fellow's window—but it will be long enough before I ſhall be ſuch a fool.

Oh, dare ſay!

Or, may be you expect that I have ſo little prudence, as to tell you, that they are going to diſguiſe themſelves like two friars—but you won't get a word out of little Perez.

That's eaſily ſeen.

No, no, I'm not ſuch an aſs that comes to.

Nay, now—

Not a ſyllable; I don't want you to make any more miſchief.

Now, pray.

Why, what the deuce can Perez have been doing here with my maſter?

Two friars!—the devil! Could they find no other diſguiſe?

So! ſo!

Well, my black gentlemen, it ſhall go hard but I will be too cunning for you.

Yes, yes, he has diſcover'd us.

I ſhall never bear the ſight of a friar's gown again as long as I live—Zounds! here they are.

Brother, to ſay the truth, though St. Dominick's vineyard is a pretty fruitful ſoil, yet the Benedictines, in general, reap the beſt harveſt.

Huſh! we are interrupted.

Dear gentlemen, you come this way very opportunely; I was coming to your convent, by my maſter Don Pedro's orders, to inform you, that he has a deſign of placing his ward in a re⯑ligious retirement, and wanted to receive the ad⯑vice of ſome holy perſon, what abbeſs he ſhould apply to. I was coming for father Bernardo, but I dare ſay you will do as well.

Is the damſel comely?

She is thought to be the greateſt beauty in all Seville.

He may command us.

That's the door—Now, to let Lyſander know a blunder that fool, Perez, has made

Peace be unto this houſe.

I won't let you in.

How's this, what can he mean?

You are wolves in ſheep's cloathing.

The man is ſurely poſſeſs'd—

Get about your buſineſs, or I'll ſend you packing with a vengeance.

We are play'd ſome trick here—Don Pedro, we are friends, and are come at your own deſire, to conſult you about placing your ward in a nunnery.

You are no friends, but a couple of villains in black, who, together with the old gentleman in black, want to cheat me, and de⯑fraud me of my ward.

Don Pedro, you ſlander us, and you may expect the heavieſt vengeance of the church for this injury.

I defy you.

You ſhall be anathemetiz'd.

Excommunicated.

You ſhall be cudgelled.

The old fool! to ſerve us ſuch a trick.

Let us begone.

With all my heart.

I ſay, that though the Dominicans, what with [27] flattery to ſtrangers, confeſſional opportunities, and impoſing upon biggots, gather together a pretty handſome portion of the good things of this world, yet the Benedictines—

I fancy they are gone—Yes, yonder they march along—what a fine ſtory they trump'd up, about placing Marcella in a convent —Who have we here?

Sir, your ſervant; I don't believe I have the honour to be known to you; but underſtand⯑ing your reputation for courage, and hearing you are generally engaged in an affair of honour about once a week—

Me, Sir! I aſſure you, whoever told you ſo deceiv'd you—there is not a more peacea⯑ble man living—

Ah, Sir! that is your modeſty, there is not a truer ſign of courage in the world; you'll find I have a great deal of it myſelf.—My name is Don Valaſquez D'Avolos; the hiſtory of Spain muſt have inform'd you of my conference.

It has, Sir.—The devil fetch me if ever I heard of you before.

Well, Sir, I came to aſk your advice up⯑on a point of honour—This way, if you pleaſe, that nobody may hear us.

You muſt know, Sir, that I have receiv'd a ſlap on the face; I ſuppoſe, Sir, you know what a ſlap on the face is, when it is given with an open hand in the middle of the cheek—Now, Sir, this ſlap o'the face ſticks mightily in my ſtomach, and I am in doubt whether to revenge the affront, I ought to fight my man or have him aſſaſſinated.

Aſſaſſination is the ſureſt and ſhorteſt way.

Well but, Sir.

Sir, you have my opinion, and I kiſs your hands.

One word, Sir.

I'm in a great hurry, Sir, and—

Well, Sir, your humble ſervant; I am infinitely obliged to you, and when you receive a ſlap o'the face I ſhall as freely give my advice— I hope maſter has made good uſe of his time.

Another pander! zounds! I ſhall ſure⯑ly tire them out at laſt—what a legion of plagues have I to encounter with—

Yes, beautiful Marcella, I love you more than life, and I have no other thoughts, no other end, no other deſire, but to be yours for ever. Have you then courage enough to conſent to the deſign I mentioned to you?

When love perſuades, how eaſily is one prevail'd upon to form a reſolution.

Do you conſent then?

Provided you promiſe, that my haſty determination ſhall not alter your good opinion of me.

No: there is nothing can efface from my mind, that gratitude with which it is inſpired. Love will ever protect its votaries, when they feel a pure and ſincere paſſion like ours; and one ſmile from you, arms me againſt a thouſand dangers.

Good Heav'n! here is my guardian.

What the devil's here! another of them?

Don't ſeem to regard him, but ſpeak to me of what I told you.

Upon my word, Sir, ſhe's not in this houſe.

Madam, I ſhou'd not have been guilty of ſuch an indecorum, as to preſs in here ſo abruptly, if I had not had the evidence of my own ſenſes in my vindication.

Well, Sir, I do aſſure you, the perſon you ſeek for is not here, and I cannot any longer re⯑frain from telling you, that your preſence gives me great uneaſineſs—for if my guardian was to ſee you, I don't know what the conſequence might be.

Is all of this real, I wonder, or only hatch'd up—there can be no harm at leaſt in ſend⯑ing him out of the houſe.—Who are you, and what's your buſineſs here?

Sir, I came to ſearch for my wife, who has eſcaped from my juſt indignation, and fled into your houſe for ſhelter.

I do aſſure you, Sir, if I could pre⯑vail upon myſelf to credit you, I don't know any thing I ſhould ſooner do than aſſiſt you; but as I have a way of diſbelieving what moſt people tell me, and you among the reſt, I ſhou'd take it as a favour if you would ſuffer me to conduct you to the ſtreet-door.

Sir, this is very cavalier treatment; but ſince that lady has aſſured me that my wife is not in your houſe, I ſhall take my leave—Nay, Sir, you need not give yourſelf the trouble to ſee me down.

Well, upon ſecond thoughts, I'll ſtay where I am—Within there—ſomebody ſhew the gentleman out.—Well, Madam, what do you ſay to all this?—I ſuppoſe I have no reaſon yet to be jealous—the ſailors, the ballad-ſingers, the friars, the gentleman of honour, and above all, this ſmooth-ſpoken Sir, are none of them objects of jealouſy!—but, however, in ten minutes I expect the prieſt, and then I ſhall have a privilege, if perſuaſion won't do it, to keep you from rebel⯑lion, by confinement.

You give me a good ſample of what kind of life you expect me to lead—but, Sir, I deſpiſe your ſuſpicions, and if it was not that I have given my word, nothing ſhould compel me to marry you.

Oh! good Sir, ſave me from a furious huſband, who purſues me; his jealouſy is incredi⯑ble, and works him up to an exceſs beyond ima⯑gination; he goes ſo far, as to inſiſt upon my always going veil'd, and becauſe he caught me with my face a little uncover'd, he ſnatch'd up his ſword, and would have kill'd me, Sir, if I had not flown to your houſe for protection.

There was ſomething then in this laſt affair, I ſee.

Oh, Heaven's! here he comes; ſave me, good Sir, from his fury.

Take her to you bed-chamber, Mar⯑cella—fear nothing, Madam.

So, Sir, I had cauſe for what I ſaid; de⯑liver her up to my juſt reſentment this inſtant, or meet it yourſelf.

Good Sir, be a little patient, the of⯑fence is too ſmall for ſuch violent anger.

How, Sir! do you take her part? You, who are ſo delicate upon theſe ſort of things.

No, Sir, I don't take her part; but if you could be friends with her it would be a cha⯑rity, for the poor creature ſeeems frightened out of her ſenſes.

Don Pedro, will it oblige you if I forgive her?

Truly it will; for I love to ſee peace and harmony between married people.

'Tis enough I'll lay by my anger and my ſword together.

I'll bring her to you.

This is the height moment that rewards me for all my pains and anxiety.

You may appear, I have made your peace.—Here ſhe comes—You'll promiſe me now not to relapſe.

I do, Sir.

Poor ſoul, how ſhe trembles! You really, Sir, ſhould not put yourſelf in theſe vio⯑lent paſſions. You have nothing to apprehend, Madam; your huſband is entirely pacified. Come, Sir, ſince you are ſo kind to abandon your re⯑ſentment at my requeſt, allow me to join your hands, and to conjure you both, at my deſire, to live in perfect union for the future.

Sir, there's no refuſing, and I promiſe you, ſince you deſire it, I'll endeavour to make her the beſt huſband in the world.

Sir, you give me pleaſure to hear you ſay ſo.

Nay, no ceremony, Sir.

Pray give me leave to ſee you out.—For I half ſuſpect that this is a trick.

SCENE, the ſtreet, Don Pedro ſeeing Lyſan⯑der and Marcella out.

I do aſſure you, Sir, you have no obligation to me.—I wiſh you a good day.

Sir, I can't expreſs how happy you've made me.—Come, my love, I promiſe you that all our ſtrife ſhall end from this moment.

Really one receives a pleaſure in doing a friendly office for any one—How loving they ſeem—Well, I'll go and ſecure Marcella's obe⯑dience.—Hey! what's the meaning of this?

Why, Sir, the meaning is, that a jealous [35] man's a monſter hated by the whole world; that all the locks and bolts in the univerſe are not capa⯑ble of holding us; that the heart ſhould be ſecured by gentleneſs and complaiſance; that Marcella is in the hands of a gentleman; and that you are caught for a dupe.

If there's juſtice to be had in Spain I'll be reveng'd—ſhe ſhan't have a ſhilling of her fortune—they ſhall ſue me for it, however; and then, if I am obliged to part with it, I'll hang myſelf, that I mayn't have the mortification of ſeeing them enjoy it.—Zounds! I'll hang myſelf at any rate—I'll have them all aſſaſſi⯑nated—I'll—I don't know what I'll do.

Let him go to law, Sir, and us to dinner.

So we will, Fabio, where thou ſhalt be king; for 'tis to thy wit I owe my dear Marcella.

And mine, Sir.

True, Juletta; and thou ſhalt not be for⯑gotten.

And for me—