The Duenna/Act II
ACT II.[edit]
SCENE I.—A Library in DON JEROME'S House.
Enter DON JEROME and ISAAC.
Don Jer. Ha! ha! ha! run away from her father! has she given him the
slip? Ha! ha! ha! poor Don Guzman!
Isaac. Ay; and I am to conduct her to Antonio; by which means you
see I shall hamper him so that he can give me no disturbance with your
daughter—this is a trap, isn't it? a nice stroke of cunning, hey?
Don Jer. Excellent! excellent I yes, yes, carry her to him, hamper
him by all means, ha! ha! ha! Poor Don Guzman! an old fool! imposed on
by a girl!
Isaac. Nay, they have the cunning of serpents, that's the truth
on't.
Don Jer. Psha! they are cunning only when they have fools to deal
with. Why don't my girl play me such a trick? Let her cunning over-
reach my caution, I say—hey, little Isaac!
Isaac. True, true; or let me see any of the sex make a fool of me!—
No, no, egad! little Solomon (as my aunt used to call me) understands
tricking a little too well.
Don Jer. Ay, but such a driveller as Don Guzman!
Isaac. And such a dupe as Antonio!
Don Jer. True; never were seen such a couple of credulous
simpletons! But come, 'tis time you should see my daughter—you must
carry on the siege by yourself, friend Isaac.
Isaac. Sir, you'll introduce——
Don Jer. No—I have sworn a solemn oath not to see or to speak to
her till she renounces her disobedience; win her to that, and she
gains a father and a husband at once.
Isaac. Gad, I shall never be able to deal with her alone; nothing
keeps me in such awe as perfect beauty—now there is something
consoling and encouraging in ugliness.
SONG
Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast,
But health and good humour to make her his toast;
If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat,
And six feet or four—we'll ne'er quarrel for that.
Whate'er her complexion, I vow I don't care;
If brown, it is lasting—more pleasing, if fair:
And though in her face I no dimples should see,
Let her smile—and each dell is a dimple to me.
Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen,
And her eyes may be e'en any colour but green;
For in eyes, though so various in lustre and hue,
I swear I've no choice—only let her have two.
'Tis true I'd dispense with a throne on her back,
And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than black;
A little round chin too's a beauty, I've heard;
But I only desire she mayn't have a beard.
Don Jer. You will change your note, my friend, when you've seen
Louisa.
Isaac. Oh, Don Jerome, the honour of your alliance——
Don Jer. Ay, but her beauty will affect you—she is, though I say it
who am her father, a very prodigy. There you will see features with an
eye like mine—yes, i'faith, there is a kind of wicked sparkling—
sometimes of a roguish brightness, that shows her to be my own.
Isaac. Pretty rogue!
Don Jer. Then, when she smiles, you'll see a little dimple in one
cheek only; a beauty it is certainly, yet, you shall not say which is
prettiest, the cheek with the dimple, or the cheek without.
Isaac. Pretty rogue!
Don Jer. Then the roses on those cheeks are shaded with a sort of
velvet down, that gives a delicacy to the glow of health.
Isaac. Pretty rogue!
Don Jer. Her skin pure dimity, yet more fair, being spangled here
and there with a golden freckle.
Isaac. Charming pretty rogue! pray how is the tone of her voice?
Don Jer. Remarkably pleasing—but if you could prevail on her to
sing, you would be enchanted—she is a nightingale—a Virginia
nightingale! But come, come; her maid shall conduct you to her
antechamber.
Isaac. Well, egad, I'll pluck up resolution, and meet her frowns
intrepidly.
Don Jer. Ay! woo her briskly—win her, and give me a proof of your
address, my little Solomon.
Isaac. But hold—I expect my friend Carlos to call on me here. If he
comes, will you send him to me?
Don Jer. I will. Lauretta!—[Calls.]—Come—she'll show you to the
room. What! do you droop? here's a mournful face to make love with!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II.—DONNA LOUISA'S Dressing-Room.
Enter ISAAC and MAID.
Maid. Sir, my mistress will wait on you presently.
[Goes to the door.]
Isaac. When she's at leisure—don't hurry her.—[Exit MAID.]—I
wish I had ever practised a love-scene—I doubt I shall make a poor
figure—I couldn't be more afraid if I was going before the
Inquisition. So, the door opens—yes, she's coming—the very rustling
of her silk has a disdainful sound.
Enter DUENNA dressed as DONNA LOUISA.
Now dar'n't I look round, for the soul of me—her beauty will
certainly strike me dumb if I do. I wish she'd speak first.
Duen. Sir, I attend your pleasure.
Isaac. [Aside.] So! the ice is broke, and a pretty civil beginning
too!—[Aloud.] Hem! madam—miss—I'm all attention.
Duen. Nay, sir, 'tis I who should listen, and you propose.
Isaac. [Aside.] Egad, this isn't so disdainful neither—I believe
I may venture to look. No—I dar'n't—one glance of those roguish
sparklers would fix me again.
Duen. You seem thoughtful, sir. Let me persuade you to sit down.
Isaac. [Aside.] So, so; she mollifies apace—she's struck with my
figure! this attitude has had its effect.
Duen. Come, sir, here's a chair.
Isaac. Madam, the greatness of your goodness overpowers me—that a
lady so lovely should deign to turn her beauteous eyes on me so.
[She takes his hand, he turns and sees her.]
Duen. You seem surprised at my condescension.
Isaac. Why, yes, madam, I am a little surprised at it.—[Aside.]
Zounds! this can never be Louisa—she's as old as my mother!
Duen. But former prepossessions give way to my father's commands.
Isaac. [Aside.] Her father! Yes, 'tis she then.—Lord, Lord; how
blind some parents are!
Duen. Signor Isaac!
Isaac. [Aside.] Truly, the little damsel was right—she has rather
a matronly air, indeed! ah! 'tis well my affections are fixed on her
fortune, and not her person.
Duen. Signor, won't you sit? [She sits.]
Isaac. Pardon me, madam, I have scarce recovered my astonishment at
your condescension, madam.—[Aside.] She has the devil's own
dimples, to be sure!
Duen. I do not wonder, sir, that you are surprised at my affability—
I own, signor, that I was vastly prepossessed against you, and, being
teased by my father, I did give some encouragement to Antonio; but
then, sir, you were described to me as quite a different person.
Isaac. Ay, and so you were to me, upon my soul, madam.
Duen. But when I saw you I was never more struck in my life.
Isaac. That was just my case, too, madam: I was struck all of a
heap, for my part.
Duen. Well, sir, I see our misapprehension has been mutual—you
expected to find me haughty and averse, and I was taught to believe
you a little black, snub-nosed fellow, without person, manners, or
address.
Isaac. [Aside.] Egad, I wish she had answered her picture as well!
Duen. But, sir, your air is noble—something so liberal in your
carriage, with so penetrating an eye, and so bewitching a smile!
Isaac. [Aside.] Egad, now I look at her again, I don't think she
is so ugly!
Duen. So little like a Jew, and so much like a gentleman!
Isaac. [Aside.] Well, certainly, there is something pleasing in
the tone of her voice.
Duen. You will pardon this breach of decorum in praising you thus,
but my joy at being so agreeably deceived has given me such a flow of
spirits!
Isaac. Oh, dear lady, may I thank those dear lips for this
goodness?—[Kisses her.] [Aside.]Why she has a pretty sort of
velvet down, that's the truth on't.
Duen. O sir, you have the most insinuating manner, but indeed you
should get rid of that odious beard—one might as well kiss a
hedgehog.
Isaac. [Aside.] Yes, ma'am, the razor wouldn't be amiss—for
either of us.—[Aloud.] Could you favour me with a song?
Duen. Willingly, though I'm rather hoarse—ahem![Begins to sing.]
Isaac. [Aside.] Very like a Virginia nightingale!—[Aloud.]
Ma'am, I perceive you're hoarse—I beg you will not distress——
Duen. Oh, not in the least distressed. Now, sir.
SONG.
When a tender maid
Is first assay'd
By some admiring swain.
How her blushes rise
If she meet his eyes,
While he unfolds his pain!
If he takes her hand, she trembles quite!
Touch her lips, and she swoons outright!
While a pit-a-pat, &c.
Her heart avows her fright.
But in time appear
Fewer signs of fear;
The youth she boldly views:
If her hand he grasp,
Or her bosom clasp,
No mantling blush ensues!
Then to church well pleased the lovers move,
While her smiles her contentment prove;
And a pit-a-pat, &c. Her heart avows her love.
Isaac. Charming, ma'am! enchanting! and, truly, your notes put me in
mind of one that's very dear to me—a lady, indeed, whom you greatly
resemble!
Duen. How I is there, then, another so dear to you?
Isaac. Oh, no, ma'am, you mistake; it was my mother I meant.
Duen. Come, sir, I see you are amazed and confounded at my
condescension, and know not what to say.
Isaac. It is very true, indeed, ma'am; but it is a judgment, I look
on it as a judgment on me, for delaying to urge the time when you'll
permit me to complete my happiness, by acquainting Don Jerome with
your condescension.
Duen. Sir, I must frankly own to you, that I can never be yours with
my father's consent.
Isaac. Good lack! how so?
Duen. When my father, in his passion, swore he would never see me
again till I acquiesced in his will, I also made a vow, that I would
never take a husband from his hand; nothing shall make me break that
oath: but if you have spirit and contrivance enough to carry me off
without his knowledge, I'm yours.
Isaac. Hum!
Duen. Nay, sir, if you hesitate——
Isaac. [Aside.] I'faith no bad whim this!—If I take her at her
word, I shall secure her fortune, and avoid making any settlement in
return; thus I shall not only cheat the lover, but the father too. Oh,
cunning rogue, Isaac! ay, ay, let this little brain alone! Egad, I'll
take her in the mind!
Duen. Well, sir, what's your determination?
Isaac. Madam, I was dumb only from rapture—I applaud your spirit,
and joyfully close with your proposal; for which thus let me, on this
lily hand, express my gratitude.
Duen. Well, sir, you must get my father's consent to walk with me in
the garden. But by no means inform him of my kindness to you.
Isaac. No, to be sure, that would spoil all: but, trust me when
tricking is the word—let me alone for a piece of cunning; this very
day you shall be out of his power.
Duen. Well, I leave the management of it all to you; I perceive
plainly, sir, that you are not one that can be easily outwitted.
Isaac. Egad, you're right, madam—you're right, i'faith.
Re-enter MAID.
Maid. Here's a gentleman at the door, who begs permission to speak
with Signor Isaac.
Isaac. A friend of mine, ma'am, and a trusty friend—let him come
in—[Exit MAID.] He's one to be depended on, ma'am.
Enter DON CARLOS.
So coz. [Talks apart with DON CARLOS.]
Don Car. I have left Donna Clara at your lodgings, but can nowhere
find Antonio.
Isaac. Well, I will search him out myself. Carlos, you rogue, I
thrive, I prosper!
Don Car. Where is your mistress?
Isaac. There, you booby, there she stands.
Don Car. Why, she's damned ugly!
Isaac. Hush! [Stops his mouth.]
Duen. What is your friend saying, signor?
Isaac. Oh, ma'am, he is expressing his raptures at such charms as he
never saw before. Eh, Carlos?
Don Car. Ay,—such as I never saw before, indeed!
Duen. You are a very obliging gentleman. Well, Signor Isaac, I
believe we had better part for the present. Remember our plan.
Isaac. Oh, ma'am, it is written in my heart, fixed as the image of
those divine beauties. Adieu, idol of my soul!—yet once more permit
me——[Kisses her.]
Duen. Sweet, courteous sir, adieu!
Isaac. Your slave eternally! Come, Carlos, say something civil at
taking leave.
Don Car. I'faith, Isaac, she is the hardest woman to compliment I
ever saw; however, I'll try something I had studied for the occasion.
SONG.
Ah! sure a pair was never seen
So justly form'd to meet by nature!
The youth excelling so in mien,
The maid in ev'ry grace of feature.
Oh, how happy are such lovers,
When kindred beauties each discovers;
For surely she Was made for thee,
And thou to bless this lovely creature!
So mild your looks, your children thence
Will early learn the task of duty—
The boys with all their father's sense,
The girls with all their mother's beauty!
Oh, how happy to inherit
At once such graces and such spirit!
Thus while you live
May fortune give
Each blessing equal to your merit! [Exeunt.]
SCENE III.—A Library in DON JEROME'S House.
DON JEROME and DON FERDINAND discovered.
Don Jer. Object to Antonio! I have said it. His poverty, can you
acquit him of that?
Don Ferd. Sir, I own he is not over rich; but he is of as ancient
and honourable a family as any in the kingdom.
Don Jer. Yes, I know the beggars are a very ancient family in most
kingdoms; but never in great repute, boy.
Don Ferd. Antonio, sir, has many amiable qualities.
Don Jer. But he is poor; can you clear him of that, I say? Is he not
a gay, dissipated rake, who has squandered his patrimony?
Don Ferd. Sir, he inherited but little; and that his generosity,
more than his profuseness, has stripped him of; but he has never
sullied his honour, which, with his title, has outlived his means.
Don Jer. Psha! you talk like a blockhead! nobility, without an
estate, is as ridiculous as gold lace on a frieze coat.
Don Ferd. This language, sir, would better become a Dutch or English
trader than a Spaniard.
Don Jer. Yes; and those Dutch and English traders, as you call them,
are the wiser people. Why, booby, in England they were formerly as
nice, as to birth and family, as we are: but they have long discovered
what a wonderful purifier gold is; and now, no one there regards
pedigree in anything but a horse. Oh, here comes Isaac! I hope he has
prospered in his suit.
Don Ferd. Doubtless, that agreeable figure of his must have helped
his suit surprisingly.
Don Jer. How now? [DON FERDINAND walks aside.]
Enter ISAAC.
Well, my friend, have you softened her?
Isaac. Oh, yes; I have softened her.
Don Jer. What, does she come to?
Isaac. Why, truly, she was kinder than I expected to find her.
Don Jer. And the dear little angel was civil, eh?
Isaac. Yes, the pretty little angel was very civil.
Don Jer. I'm transported to hear it! Well, and you were astonished
at her beauty, hey?
Isaac. I was astonished, indeed! Pray, how old is Miss?
Don Jer. How old? let me see—eight and twelve—she is twenty.
Isaac. Twenty?
Don Jer. Ay, to a month.
Isaac. Then, upon my soul, she is the oldest-looking girl of her age
in Christendom!
Don Jer. Do you think so? But, I believe, you will not see a
prettier girl.
Isaac. Here and there one.
Don Jer. Louisa has the family face.
Isaac. [Aside.] Yes, egad, I should have taken it for a family
face, and one that has been in the family some time, too.
Don Jer. She has her father's eyes.
Isaac. [Aside.]Truly, I should have guessed them to have been so!
If she had her mother's spectacles, I believe she would not see the
worse.
Don Jer. Her aunt Ursula's nose, and her grandmother's forehead, to
a hair.
Isaac. [Aside.]Ay, 'faith, and her grandfather's chin, to a hair.
Don Jer. Well, if she was but as dutiful as she's handsome—and hark
ye, friend Isaac, she is none of your made-up beauties—her charms are
of the lasting kind.
Isaac. I'faith, so they should—for if she be but twenty now, she
may double her age before her years will overtake her face.
Don Jer. Why, zounds, Master Isaac! you are not sneering, are you?
Isaac. Why now, seriously, Don Jerome, do you think your daughter
handsome?
Don Jer. By this light, she's as handsome a girl as any in Seville.
Isaac. Then, by these eyes, I think her as plain a woman as ever I
beheld.
Don Jer. By St. Iago! you must be blind.
Isaac. No, no; 'tis you are partial.
Don Jer. How! have I neither sense nor taste? If a fair skin, fine
eyes, teeth of ivory, with a lovely bloom, and a delicate shape,—if
these, with a heavenly voice and a world of grace, are not charms, I
know not what you call beautiful.
Isaac. Good lack, with what eyes a father sees! As I have life, she
is the very reverse of all this: as for the dimity skin you told me
of, I swear 'tis a thorough nankeen as ever I saw! for her eyes, their
utmost merit is not squinting—for her teeth, where there is one of
ivory, its neighbour is pure ebony, black and white alternately, just
like the keys of a harpsichord. Then, as to her singing, and heavenly
voice—by this hand, she has a shrill, cracked pipe, that sounds for
all the world like a child's trumpet.
Don Jer. Why, you little Hebrew scoundrel, do you mean to insult me?
Out of my house, I say!
Don Ferd. [Coming forward.] Dear sir, what's the matter?
Don Jer. Why, this Israelite here has the impudence to say your
sister's ugly.
Don Ferd. He must be either blind or insolent.
Isaac. [Aside.]So, I find they are all in a story. Egad, I believe
I have gone too far!
Don Ferd. Sure, sir, there must be some mistake; it can't be my
sister whom he has seen.
Don Jer. 'Sdeath! you are as great a fool as he! What mistake can
there be? Did not I lock up Louisa, and haven't I the key in my own
pocket? and didn't her maid show him into the dressing-room? and yet
you talk of a mistake! No, the Portuguese meant to insult me—and, but
that this roof protects him, old as I am, this sword should do me
justice.
Isaac. I[Aside.] must get off as well as I can—her fortune is not
the less handsome.
DUET.
Isaac.
Believe me, good sir, I ne'er meant to offend;
My mistress I love, and I value my friend
To win her and wed her is still my request,
For better for worse—and I swear I don't jest.
Don Jer.
Zounds! you'd best not provoke me, my rage is so high!
Isaac.
Hold him fast, I beseech you, his rage is so high!
Good sir, you're too hot, and this place I must fly.
Don Jer.
You're a knave and a sot, and this place you'd best fly.
Isaac. Don Jerome, come now, let us lay aside all joking, and be
serious.
Don Jer. How?
Isaac. Ha! ha! ha! I'll be hanged if you haven't taken my abuse of
your daughter seriously.
Don Jer. You meant it so, did not you?
Isaac. O mercy, no! a joke—just to try how angry it would make you.
Don Jer. Was that all, i'faith? I didn't know you had been such a
wag. Ha! ha! ha! By St. Iago! you made me very angry, though. Well,
and you do think Louisa handsome?
Isaac. Handsome! Venus de Medicis was a sybil to her.
Don Jer. Give me your hand, you little jocose rogue! Egad, I thought
we had been all off.
Don Ferd. [Aside.] So! I was in hopes this would have been a
quarrel; but I find the Jew is too cunning.
Don Jer. Ay, this gust of passion has made me dry—I am seldom
ruffled. Order some wine in the next room—let us drink the poor
girl's health. Poor Louisa! ugly, eh! ha! ha! ha! 'twas a very good
joke, indeed!
Isaac. [Aside.] And a very true one, for all that.
Don Jer, And, Ferdinand, I insist upon your drinking success to my
friend.
Don Ferd. Sir, I will drink success to my friend with all my heart.
Don Jer. Come, little Solomon, if any sparks of anger had remained,
this would be the only way to quench them.
TRIO.
A bumper of good liquor
Will end a contest quicker
Than justice, judge, or vicar;
So fill a cheerful glass,
And let good humour pass.
But if more deep the quarrel,
Why, sooner drain the barrel
Than be the hateful fellow
That's crabbed when he's mellow.
A bumper, &c. [Exeunt.]
SCENE IV.—ISAAC'S Lodgings.
Enter DONNA LOUISA.
Don. Louisa. Was ever truant daughter so whimsically circumstanced
as I am? I have sent my intended husband to look after my lover—the
man of my father's choice is gone to bring me the man of my own: but
how dispiriting is this interval of expectation!
SONG.
What bard, O Time, discover,
With wings first made thee move?
Ah! sure it was some lover
Who ne'er had left his love!
For who that once did prove
The pangs which absence brings,
Though but one day He were away,
Could picture thee with wings?
What bard, &c.
Enter DON CARLOS.
So, friend, is Antonio found?
Don Car. I could not meet with him, lady; but I doubt not my friend
Isaac will be here with him presently.
Don. Louisa. Oh, shame! you have used no diligence. Is this your
courtesy to a lady, who has trusted herself to your protection?
Don Car. Indeed, madam, I have not been remiss.
Don. Louisa. Well, well; but if either of you had known how each
moment of delay weighs upon the heart of her who loves, and waits the
object of her love, oh, ye would not then have trifled thus!
Don Car. Alas, I know it well!
Don. Louisa. Were you ever in love, then?
Don Car. I was, lady; but, while I have life, I will never be again.
Don. Louisa. Was your mistress so cruel?
Don Car. If she had always been so, I should have been happier.
SONG.
Oh, had my love ne'er smiled on me,
I ne'er had known such anguish;
But think how false, how cruel she,
To bid me cease to languish;
To bid me hope her hand to gain,
Breathe on a flame half perish'd;
And then with cold and fixed disdain,
To kill the hope she cherish'd.
Not worse his fate, who on a wreck,
That drove as winds did blow it,
Silent had left the shatter'd deck,
To find a grave below it.
Then land was cried—no more resign'd,
He glow'd with joy to hear it;
Not worse his fate, his woe, to find
The wreck must sink ere near it!
Don. Louisa. As I live, here is your friend coming with Antonio!
I'll retire for a moment to surprise him. [Exit.]
Enter ISAAC and DON ANTONIO.
Don Ant. Indeed, my good friend, you must be mistaken. Clara
d'Almanza in love with me, and employ you to bring me to meet her! It
is impossible!
Isaac. That you shall see in an instant. Carlos, where is the lady?—
[DON CARLOS points to the door.] In the next room, is she?
Don Ant. Nay, if that lady is really here, she certainly wants me to
conduct her to a dear friend of mine, who has long been her lover.
Isaac. Psha! I tell you 'tis no such thing—you are the man she
wants, and nobody but you. Here's ado to persuade you to take a pretty
girl that's dying for you!
Don Ant. But I have no affection for this lady.
Isaac. And you have for Louisa, hey? But take my word for it,
Antonio, you have no chance there—so you may as well secure the good
that offers itself to you.
Don Ant. And could you reconcile it to your conscience to supplant
your friend?
Isaac. Pish! Conscience has no more to do with gallantry than it has
with politics. Why, you are no honest fellow if love can't make a
rogue of you; so come—do go in and speak to her, at least.
Don Ant, Well, I have no objection to that.
Isaac. [Opens the door.] There—there she is—yonder by the
window—get in, do.—[Pushes him in, and half shuts the door.] Now,
Carlos, now I shall hamper him, I warrant! Stay, I'll peep how they go
on. Egad, he looks confoundedly posed! Now she's coaxing him. See,
Carlos, he begins to come to—ay, ay, he'll soon forget his
conscience.
Don Car. Look—now they are both laughing!
Isaac. Ay, so they are—yes, yes, they are laughing at that dear
friend he talked of—ay, poor devil, they have outwitted him.
Don Car, Now he's kissing her hand.
Isaac, Yes, yes, faith, they're agreed—he's caught, he's entangled.
My dear Carlos, we have brought it about. Oh, this little cunning
head! I'm a Machiavel—a very Machiavel!
Don Car, I hear somebody inquiring for you—I'll see who it is.
[Exit.]
Re-enter DON ANTONIO and DONNA LOUISA.
Don Ant. Well, my good friend, this lady has so entirely convinced
me of the certainty of your success at Don Jerome's, that I now resign
my pretensions there.
Isaac. You never did a wiser thing, believe me; and, as for
deceiving your friend, that's nothing at all—tricking is all fair in
love, isn't it, ma'am?
Don. Louisa. Certainly, sir; and I am particularly glad to find you
are of that opinion.
Isaac. O Lud! yes, ma'am—let any one outwit me that can, I say! But
here, let me join your hands. There you lucky rogue! I wish you
happily married from the bottom of my soul!
Don. Louisa. And I am sure, if you wish it, no one else should
prevent it.
Isaac. Now, Antonio, we are rivals no more; so let us be friends,
will you?
Don Ant. With all my heart, Isaac.
Isaac. It is not every man, let me tell you, that would have taken
such pains, or been so generous to a rival.
Don Ant. No, 'faith, I don't believe there's another beside yourself
in all Spain.
Isaac. Well, but you resign all pretensions to the other lady?
Don Ant. That I do, most sincerely.
Isaac. I doubt you have a little hankering there still.
Don Ant. None in the least, upon my soul.
Isaac. I mean after her fortune.
Don Ant. No, believe me. You are heartily welcome to every thing she
has.
Isaac. Well, i'faith, you have the best of the bargain, as to
beauty, twenty to one. Now I'll tell you a secret—I am to carry off
Louisa this very evening.
Don. Louisa. Indeed!
Isaac. Yes, she has sworn not to take a husband from her father's
hand—so I've persuaded him to trust her to walk with me in the
garden, and then we shall give him the slip.
Don. Louisa. And is Don Jerome to know nothing of this?
Isaac. O Lud, no! there lies the jest. Don't you see that, by this
step, I over-reach him? I shall be entitled to the girl's fortune,
without settling a ducat on her. Ha! ha! ha! I'm a cunning dog, an't
I? a sly little villain, eh?
Don Ant. Ha! ha! ha! you are indeed!
Isaac. Roguish, you'll say, but keen, eh? devilish keen?
Don Ant. So you are indeed—keen—very keen.
Isaac. And what a laugh we shall have at Don Jerome's when the truth
comes out I hey?
Don. Louisa. Yes, I'll answer for it, we shall have a good laugh,
when the truth comes out, Ha! ha! ha!
Re-enter DON CARLOS.
Don Car. Here are the dancers come to practise the fandango you
intended to have honoured Donna Louisa with.
Isaac. Oh, I shan't want them; but, as I must pay them, I'll see a
caper for my money. Will you excuse me?
Don. Louisa. Willingly.
Isaac. Here's my friend, whom you may command for any service.
Madam, our most obedient—Antonio, I wish you all happiness.—
[Aside.] Oh, the easy blockhead! what a tool I have made of him!—
This was a masterpiece! [Exit.]
Don. Louisa. Carlos, will you be my guard again, and convey me to
the convent of St. Catherine?
Don Ant. Why, Louisa—why should you go there?
Don. Louisa. I have my reasons, and you must not be seen to go with
me; I shall write from thence to my father; perhaps, when he finds
what he has driven me to, he may relent.
Don Ant. I have no hope from him. O Louisa! in these arms should be
your sanctuary.
Don. Louisa. Be patient but for a little while—my father cannot
force me from thence. But let me see you there before evening, and I
will explain myself.
Don Ant. I shall obey.
Don. Louisa. Come, friend. Antonio, Carlos has been a lover himself.
Don Ant. Then he knows the value of his trust.
Don Car. You shall not find me unfaithful.
TRIO.
Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast
Where love has been received a welcome guest;
As wandering saints poor huts have sacred made,
He hallows every heart he once has sway'd,
And, when his presence we no longer share,
Still leaves compassion as a relic there. [Exeunt.]