_Don. Louisa_. So much, that I will not fasten on him the regret of making an only daughter wretched.

_Don Jer_. Very well, ma'am, then mark me--never more will I see or converse with you till you return to your duty--no reply--this and your chamber shall be your apartments; I never will stir out without leaving you under lock and key, and when I'm at home no creature can approach you but through my library: we'll try who can be most obstinate. Out of my sight!--there remain till you know your duty.

[_Pushes her out_.]

Don Ferd_. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations should be consulted in a matter of this kind, and some regard paid to Don Antonio, being my particular friend.

_Don Jer_. That, doubtless, is a very great recommendation!--I certainly have not paid sufficient respect to it.

_Don Ferd_. There is not a man living I would sooner choose for a brother-in-law.

_Don Jer_. Very possible; and if you happen to have e'er a sister, who is not at the same time a daughter of mine, I'm sure I shall have no objection to the relationship; but at present, if you please, we'll drop the subject.

_Don Ferd_. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my sister makes me speak.

_Don Jer_. Then, pray sir, in future, let your regard for your father make you hold your tongue.

_Don Ferd_. I have done, sir. I shall only add a wish that you would reflect what at our age you would have felt, had you been crossed in your affection for the mother of her you are so severe to.

_Don Jer_. Why, I must confess I had a great affection for your mother's ducats, but that was all, boy. I married her for her fortune, and she took me in obedience to her father, and a very happy couple we were. We never expected any love from one another, and so we were never disappointed. If we grumbled a little now and then, it was soon over, for we were never fond enough to quarrel; and when the good woman died, why, why,--I had as lieve she had lived, and I wish every widower in Seville could say the same. I shall now go and get the key of this dressing-room--so, good son, if you have any lecture in support of disobedience to give your sister, it must be brief; so make the best of your time, d'ye hear? [_Exit_.]

_Don Ferd_. I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio has little to hope for; however, Louisa has firmness, and my father's anger will probably only increase her affection.--In our intercourse with the world, it is natural for us to dislike those who are innocently the cause of our distress; but in the heart's attachment a woman never likes a man with ardour till she has suffered for his sake.--[_Noise_.] So! what bustle is here--between my father and the Duenna too, I'll e'en get out of the way. [_Exit_.]

_Re-enter_ DON JEROME _with a letter, pulling in_ DUENNA.

_Don Jer_. I'm astonished! I'm thunderstruck! here's treachery with a vengeance! You, Antonio's creature, and chief manager of this plot for my daughter's eloping!--you, that I placed here as a scarecrow?

_Duen_. What?

_Don Jer_. A scarecrow--to prove a decoy-duck! What have you to say for yourself?

_Duen_. Well, sir, since you have forced that letter from me, and discovered my real sentiments, I scorn to renounce them.--I am Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that your daughter should have served you as all such old tyrannical sots should be served--I delight in the tender pa.s.sions and would befriend all under their influence.

_Don Jer_. The tender pa.s.sions! yes, they would become those impenetrable features! Why, thou deceitful hag! I placed thee as a guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's beauty. I thought that dragon's front of thine would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry: steel traps and spring guns seemed writ in every wrinkle of it.--But you shall quit my house this instant. The tender pa.s.sions, indeed! go, thou wanton sibyl, thou amorous woman of Endor, go!

_Duen_. You base, scurrilous, old--but I won't demean myself by naming what you are.--Yes, savage, I'll leave your den; but I suppose you don't mean to detain my apparel--I may have my things, I presume?

_Don Jer_. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe on--what have you pilfered, eh?

_Duen_. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress; she has valuables of mine: besides, my cardinal and veil are in her room.

_Don Jer_. Your veil, forsooth! what, do you dread being gazed at? or are you afraid of your complexion? Well, go take your leave, and get your veil and cardinal! so! you quit the house within these five minutes.--In--in--quick!--[_Exit_ DUENNA.] Here was a precious plot of mischief!--these are the comforts daughters bring us!

AIR.

If a daughter you have, she's the plague of your life, No peace shall you know, though you've buried your wife!

At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her-- Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!

Sighing and whining, Dying and pining, Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!

When scarce in their teens they have wit to perplex us, With letters and lovers for ever they vex us; While each still rejects the fair suitor you've brought her; Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!

Wrangling and jangling, Flouting and pouting, Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!

_Re-enter_ DONNA LOUISA, _dressed as_ DUENNA, _with cardinal and veil, seeming to cry_.

This way, mistress, this way.--What, I warrant a tender parting; so!

tears of turpentine down those deal cheeks.--Ay, you may well hide your head--yes, whine till your heart breaks! but I'll not hear one word of excuse--so you are right to be dumb. This way, this way.

[_Exeunt_.]

_Re-enter_ DUENNA.

_Duen_. So, speed you well, sagacious Don Jerome! Oh rare effects of pa.s.sion and obstinacy! Now shall I try whether I can't play the fine lady as well as my mistress, and if I succeed, I may be a fine lady for the rest of my life--I'll lose no time to equip myself. [_Exit_.]

SCENE IV.--_The Court before_ DON JEROME'S _House.

Enter_ DON JEROME _and_ DONNA LOUISA.

_Don Jer_. Come, mistress, there is your way--the world lies before you, so troop, thou antiquated Eve, thou original sin! Hold, yonder is some fellow skulking; perhaps it is Antonio--go to him, d'ye hear, and tell him to make you amends, and as he has got you turned away, tell him I say it is but just he should take you himself; go--[_Exit_ DONNA LOUISA.] So! I am rid of her, thank heaven! and now I shall be able to keep my oath, and confine my daughter with better security. [_Exit_].

SCENE V.-_The Piazza.

Enter_ DONNA CLARA _and_ MAID.

_Maid_. But where, madam, is it you intend to go?

_Don. Clara_. Anywhere to avoid the selfish violence of my mother-in- law, and Ferdinand's insolent importunity.

_Maid_. Indeed, ma'am, since we have profited by Don Ferdinand's key, in making our escape, I think we had best find him, if it were only to thank him.

_Don. Clara_. No--he has offended me exceedingly. [_Retires_].

_Enter_ DONNA LOUISA.

_Don. Louisa_. So I have succeeded in being turned out of doors--but how shall I find Antonio? I dare not inquire for him, for fear of being discovered; I would send to my friend Clara, but then I doubt her prudery would condemn me.

_Maid_. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to try if your friend Donna Louisa would not receive you?

_Don. Clara_. No, her notions of filial duty are so severe, she would certainly betray me.

_Don. Louisa_. Clara is of a cold temper, and would think this step of mine highly forward.