SCENE I.

Come cavaliers, our confines are low, yet our hearts are high:—Charge your glaſſes—Bac⯑chus 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.

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 cen⯑tinel.

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 ſa⯑lamander?

Don't you hear.

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.

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 be⯑come [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 gold⯑finch, I'll convince him, I know all his affairs, and then—I'll hold his purſe.

If I truſt him, perhaps I may eſ⯑cape 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 ca⯑vern: —How got you my ſtory?

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

But will you?

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

Your comrades have not left me one pi⯑aſtre.

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 miſ⯑taken 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 with⯑out your knowledge: Oh, what offers I have refuſ⯑ed! 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 en⯑gaged 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 what⯑ever [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 wed⯑ding 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 thun⯑ders!

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 crea⯑ture 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?

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 fa⯑vour'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 la⯑dy.

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 paſ⯑ſion 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 be⯑nighted upon this foreſt; and upon hearing ſome per⯑ſons 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 [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 caſ⯑tle: 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 [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 crea⯑tion.

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 ex⯑pected 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 there⯑fore quit the world without regret.

My poor dear young lady! Oh; deuce take Dame Iſabel and her upſtart minx of a daugh⯑ter— 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.

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 re⯑mind 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.

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 mar⯑ry 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 conti⯑nues, 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 ſug⯑geſt) 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 Fer⯑dinando with him.

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

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 run⯑ning 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 char⯑mingly 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 pre⯑ſerver 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' [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 behavi⯑our 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 ſer⯑vant!

I perceive the grandee under the livery.

Will you pleaſe to ſit down, Sir?

Bows to Pedrillo: he bows with port⯑manteau 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 dunge⯑on [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 Ferdinan⯑do 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 na⯑tur'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.

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 diſcove⯑ries 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 [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 how⯑ever 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—

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 contri⯑vances— 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 al⯑liance 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 be⯑fore. 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 bot⯑tles, [32]laid in an embroider'd bed, and ſunk ſo low, that I ſlept till this morning like a diamond in cot⯑ton: ſo indeed, Sir, I don't know what is the mat⯑ter.

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 at⯑tend 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; [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.

We all know that: Ha, ha, ha! notwith⯑ſtanding 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-mor⯑row 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 aſſu⯑rance —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 impoſſi⯑ble he can be the ſervant with ſuch a deportment; his native elegance of manners can never be aſ⯑ſum'd. —Yonder he walks—and my flattering heart tells me, this is really the amiable Don Ferdinan⯑do, 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 de⯑light! 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 Ferdi⯑nando.

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 juſti⯑ſy 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 Ferdinan⯑do? 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 Ferdinan⯑do, 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 pro⯑poſe 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 poſ⯑ſeſſion 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 Cor⯑dova.

Your father the beſt taylor in all Cordova!

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 Ferdi⯑nando, and I am Pedrillo.

I will Sir, I will—Sir, you are Ferdinan⯑do, 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 Fer⯑dinando.

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 [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 indif⯑ferent.

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?

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 com⯑plaining [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 Bene⯑dict'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 re⯑gard 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?

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 fa⯑mily? 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 [46]Nuncio. I don't wonder at Iſabella's taking advan⯑tage 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 ac⯑countable 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 fan⯑cy yourſelf ſtill in your finery—you idle vaga⯑bond!

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

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.

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 toilet⯑te, run directly to the windows—peep thro' their fingers, (their fans I mean) and liſp out—oh! up⯑on 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 for⯑tune 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 con⯑vent is better than a marriage with a monkey— then as to her fortune—poor girl—but Dame Iſa⯑bel 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 [49]is going into a nunnery, and dreſſes me up to ad⯑dreſs 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 rea⯑dy 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 ſup⯑per. — ‘'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.

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 Fer⯑dinando, 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 [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 con⯑vinc'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 re⯑ſult of conſcious uprightneſs.

Yes, my maſter is in for it: there they go, and certainly to be married. The enraged Alphon⯑zo 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.

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 draw⯑ing of the curtains.—Signora.

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

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 Bene⯑dict! 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 en⯑deavour to bring about your marriage with Lo⯑renza.

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 Sangui⯑no 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?

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 hoſpita⯑lity when he hears I'm here.

Hears! O poor gentleman—his misfor⯑tune!

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 toge⯑ther —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 fan⯑cy every body elſe is ſo too. How long have you been in this way?

Juſt arriv'd.

I mean at your hearing?

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 raſ⯑cal 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 crack⯑brain'd old fellow.

A footman honour my family!

What do you mean by that, you ſuper⯑annuated 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 in⯑jur'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.

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 be⯑tween 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 in⯑nded 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 al⯑guazils 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.

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 mar⯑riage 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 a⯑bout 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 hap⯑py, and our friends welcome: and we hope our good-natured friends will forget and forgive our defects.