THE

Stolen Heiress:

OR THE

Salamanca Doctor Outplotted.

A

COMEDY.

Drawn from

THE

WORKS

OF THE CELEBRATED

Mrs. CENTLIVRE.

VOLUME ONE

LONDON:

M.DCC.LXI.

PROLOGUE.

THE

EPILOGUE.

Dramatis Personæ

The Stolen Heiress:

OR, THE

Salamanca Doctor Outplotted.

Gravello. ROSCO!

Rosco. My Lord.

Grav. Hast thou divulg'd the News that my Son died at Rome?

Rosco. Yes, my Lord, with every Circumstance, the Time, the Place, and Manner of his Death; that 'tis believed, and told for Truth with as much Confidence, as if they had been Spectators of his End.

Grav. That's well, that's very well, now Rosco follows my Part, I must express a most unusual Grief, not like a well-left Heir for his dead Father, or a lusty Widow for an old decrepit Husband; no, I must counterfeit in a far deeper Strain; weep like a Parent for an only Son: Is not this a hard Task? Ha, Rosco?

Rosco. Ah, no, my Lord, not for your Skill; in your Youth your Lordship saw Plays, conversed with Players, knew the fam'd Alberto.

Grav. 'Tis true, by Heav'n, I have seen that Knave paint Grief in such a lively Colour, that for false and acted Passion he has drawn true Tears, the Ladies kept Time with his Sighs, and wept to his sad Accents as if he had truly been the Man he seem'd, then I'll try my Part, thou hast still been privy to my Bosom Secrets; know'st Wealth and Ambition are the Darlings of my Soul; nor will I leave a Stratagem unessay'd to raise my Family. My Son is well and safe, but by Command from me he returns not this three Months. My Daughter, my Lucasia, is my only Care, and to advance her Fortune have I fram'd this Project; how dost like it, Rosco, ha!

Rosco. Rarely, my Lord, my Lady will be now suppos'd the Heir to all your vast Revenues, and pester'd with more Suitors than the Grecian Queen, in the long Absence of her Lord. You'll have the Dons, Lords and Dukes swarm about your House like Bees.

Grav. My Aim is fix'd at the Rich and Great, he that has Wealth enough, yet longs for more, Count Pirro, the Governor's Heir and Nephew, that rich Lord that knows no End of his large Fortunes, yet still gapes on, for Gold is a sure Bait to gain him, no other Loadstone can attract his Iron Heart, 'tis proof against the Force of Beauty, else I should not need this Stratagem, for Nature has not prov'd a Niggard to my Daughter.

Rosco. To him, I'm sure, she's play'd the Step-Dame, I much fear Lucasia will not relish such a Match.

Grav. Ha! not relish it! has she any other Taste but mine, or shall she dare to wish ought that may contradict my Purpose—But hold, perhaps you know how she's inclin'd, you may be confederate with her, and manage her Intrigues with that Beggar Palante, who is only by Lord Euphene's Bounty, my mortal Enemies, kept from starving.

Rosco. Who I, my good Lord? Heav'n knows, I have learnt by your Lordship's Example, always to hate the Poor, and like the Courtier, never to do ought without a Bribe.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. My Lord, Count Pirro, to wait upon your Lordship.

Grav. Conduct him in. [Exit. Serv.] Now Rosco, to my Couch; if my Plot takes, I'm a happy Man.

Enter Count Pirro.

Pirro. Is your Lord asleep?

Ros. I think not, my Lord, but thus he lies, Heav'n knows when this Grief will end—My Lord, my Lord, the Count of Pirro.

Grav. I pray your Lordship pardon me, at this Time I'm not fit to entertain Persons of your Worth.

Pir. Alas! my Lord, I know your Grief.

Ros. Ay, 'twas that brought his good Lordship hither.

Pir. You have lost a worthy, and a hopeful Son, but Heav'n that always gives, will sometimes take, and there's no Balsam left to cure these Wounds but Patience; there's no disputing with it, yet if there were, in what could you accuse those Pow'rs, that else have been so liberal to you, and left you to bless your Age a beauteous Daughter.

Ros. Now it begins to work.[Aside.

Pirro. Your Blood is not extinct, nor are you Childless, Sir, from that fair Branch may come much Fruit to glad Posterity; think on this, my Lord.

Grav. I know I should not repine, my Lord, but Nature will prevail, I cannot help reflecting on my Loss; alas, my Lord, you know not what it is to lose a Son; 'tis true, I have still a Child, Heav'n has now confin'd my Care to one, to see her well bestow'd shall be the Business of my Life—Oh! my Eugenio.

Ros. Egad, he does it rarely. [Aside.

Pirr. How shall I manage, that he may not suspect my Love to his Daughter proceeds from his Son's Death, [Aside.] I was just coming to make a Proposal to your Lordship as the News reach'd my Ear, I much fear the Time's improper now to talk of Business.

Grav. Pray Heaven it be the Business I wish; were my Grief more great, if possible, yet would I suspend it to hear my Lord of Pirro.

Ros. Cunningly insinuated. [Aside.

Pirro. Your Lordship is too obliging.

Grav. Not at all, pray proceed, my Lord.

Pirro. It was, my Lord, to have ask'd the fair Lucasia for my Wife.

Ros. So he has swallow'd the Bait. [Aside.

Grav. As I could wish. [Aside.

Pirro. 'Twas not out of any Consideration of her present Fortune, my Lord, I hope you'll not believe, since I designed it e'er I knew Eugenio dead. I wish he may believe me. [Aside.

Grav. If 'twas, my Lord of Pirro does deserve it all, nor would I wish my Child a better Match. But 'tis too soon to treat of Marriage after such a Loss.

Rosco. Dear Sir, consent to this good Lord, so will your Care be over, and hopeful Grandsons make up poor Eugenio's Loss.

Grav. What would you have me think of Joy and Death at once, and mingle the Grave and Marriages together.

Pirro. If you'll consent, my Lord, a private Marriage may be had, and so dispense with the usual Solemnities of Joy. If you refuse me, I shall think you slight my Claim.

Grav. That Argument alone prevails: No, I will never give the Count of Pirro Cause to doubt of my Esteem.

Rosco. Consider, my Lord, she's an Heiress, that may set bold desperate Youths on rash Attempts; and tho' they know Sicilian Laws gives Death to him that steals an Heiress, yet I'll not warrant her Safety till to-morrow Night.

Pirro. He's in the right, my Lord.

Grav. Away, and call her, tho' she's disorder'd with her Griefs. Now thou hast rais'd another Fear, and my poor Heart trembles for Lucasia, as it for Eugenio bleeds.[Ex. Rosco.

Pirro. Within my Arms she shall be safe and happy, the Governor, my noble Uncle, and my Friend, her great Protector.

Enter Rosco with Lucasia.

Grav. Come near Lucasia, like the Ambassadors from this World's great Rulers, I bring thee Grief and Joy, pause not upon a Brother's Loss, tho' 'twas a dear one; but fix thy Thoughts here, upon this Lord; thus I bequeath thee to the illustrious Count of Pirro.

Pirro. Thus I with Extasy receive her.

[Kneels and kisses her Hand.

Luc. You'll give me Leave, my Lord, to wake from this Confusion:
Is't possible! do I behold my Father?
Can he resolve, at once, to part with both
His Children, my Brother, the best of Men,
No more will bless his Roof, no more will grace
This Palace with his Presence——
Must I be cast out too, far more unblest
Than he who's lodg'd within the peaceful Grave.
Oh, send me to him, e'er you condemn me
To perpetual Bondage, to a Life of Woe;
To a Marriage unthought of, unforeseen.

Pirro. Madam——

Grav. Mind her not, my Lord, 'tis Grief, 'tis mere Distraction, she shan't dispute my Will. Please to walk in, my Lord, we'll peruse the Writings of your Estate, and hear what Settlement you'll make her, and to-morrow the Priest shall join you, to alleviate her Griefs, and Mine.

Pirro. But to see her weep thus, damps all my rising Joy.

Grav. They are but Virgin Tears, pray come with me, Daughter, you know my Will, I expect you be obedient; you know 'tis your Duty.

Luc. I know 'tis Sir.——
But you, I hope, will give my Tortur'd Heart
Your Leave to break, and that may shew my Duty.

Pirro. Fair Lucasia.

Luc. Oh, Distraction!

[Flings from him.

Grav. Pray come, my Lord, let her have her Way, the Fits of Women's Grief last not long, at least when I command she shall obey.

[Exeunt, all but Lucasia.

Luc. A dismal Sentence, it strikes me upon my Soul,
And raises Terrors far more grim than Death;
Forgive me, Brother, if t' thy Memory
I pay not one Tear more, all now are due
To Love, and my Palante.

Enter Laura.

Lau. You name the Man that waits by me conceal'd,
For one blest Minute to comfort his Lucasia.

Luc. All Minutes now are curs'd, no chearful day,
Will ever bring the lost Lucasia Peace.

Lau. Come forth, Sir, I believe you'll prove the best Physician.

Enter Palante.

Luc. Oh Palante, art thou come prepar'd to weep,
Else, for me, thou art no fit Companion,
For I have News will rack thy very Soul.

Pal. Yes, I have heard of brave Eugenio's Death;
He was thy Brother, and my early Friend:
Thus doubly ty'd, thou need'st not doubt I mourn
Him truly——

Luc. Oh poor Palante!
So wretched Alcione did at Distance grieve,
When she beheld the floating Corps,
And knew not 'twas her Husband.

Pal. What means my Love?

Luc. Dost thou not love me, my Palante?

Pal. Oh! after so many Years of faithful Service,
Why am I ask'd that Question?

Luc. It were better that thou didst not, for when
Thou hear'st the Story 'twill turn thee into Marble;
'Twill shock thy manly Heart, and make each Nerve
Lose its accustomed Faculty, chill all
Thy Blood, and make thine Eyes run o'er like mine,
For we must part for ever.

Pal. Can that Voice pronounce a Sound so dreadful?
Art thou then alter'd with thy Fortune? Must
I lose thee?

Luc. O thou unkind one to suspect my Love,
My promis'd Faith, or think me in the least
Consenting to my rigid Father's Will,
Who, but now has given me to the Count of Pirro.

Pal. Ha! to the Count of Pirro, that Lump of Deformity:
My Sword has been my Fortune hitherto,
And ne'er was wont to fail its Master, and
Whilst this Arm can hold it, I'll maintain my Right.

Luc. Which Way rash Man, is he not surrounded
By numerous Friends, and waiting Slaves?
Does not inevitable Death attend
Thy desperate Purpose?

Pal. Then let that same Sword, the old Acquaintance
Of my Arm, pierce its lost Master's Breast, and
End my Sorrows.

Luc. Forbid it Heaven, is there no other Way?

Pal. But one, and that I dare not name.

Luc. Oh! how has thy Lucasia, since first our
Mutual Vows were plighted, given Cause for Doubt.
Why dost thou fear to ask, since all is thine, within
The Bounds of Honour.

Pal. When I attempt ought against Lucasia,
Contrary to the nicest Rules of Virtue,
May Heaven, and she, forsake me.

Luc. Oh, I know it, and when I refuse what
May advance our Loves, may I be curst
With that hated Count of Pirro. Speak, my Palante.

Pal. Can I—Ye all-seeing Powers, move so bold a Suit,
Oh! let me humbly ask it on my Knees,
To quit her cruel Father's House,
And all the Grandeur of a pompous Court.
To bear a Part in my hard Fortunes;
Oh! 'tis too much to think, to wish, to hope.

Luc. Yes, dear Palante, more than this I'd do for thee.
What's Pomp and Greatness when compared with Love?
Oh! that thou wert some humble Shepherd on
Our Sicilian Plain, I thy chearful Mate,
Wou'd watch with Pleasure till the Ev'ning Tide,
And wait thy blest Return, with as much Joy
As Queens expect Victorious Monarchs, and
Think myself more blest than they. But, oh Palante!
Thou know'st our Country's Laws gives Death without
Reprieve to him that weds an Heiress against her Parents Will,
Tho' with her own Consent.

Pal. Who would not die to purchase thee? For I
Must die without thee.

Luc. No, live Palante, we'll together tread
The Maze of Life, and stand the Shock of Fate.
The Power's Decree, or both our Happiness,
Or both our Miseries, where shall we meet?
For I will leave this loathsome House, before their
Watch grows stricter.

Pal. Will thou then forsake the World for thy Palante?
Everlasting Blessings fall around thee,
And crown thy Days and Nights with Peace and Joy.
Oh! my fond Heart, I cannot half express
The Raptures thou hast rais'd, thou Treasure of
My Soul, let me embrace thee, and while thus
I hold thee in my Arms, I'm richer than
The Eastern Monarch, nor wou'd I quit thee
To be as great as he——
Oh! let but what my Arms infolds be mine;
Take all the rest the World contains, my Life.

Luc. My Palante——

Pal. I have an only Friend, faithful and just
As men of old before Deceit became
A Trade, he shall assist us in our Flight;
He shall prepare a Priest, if thou wilt meet
Me in the Eastern Grove; when we are wed
We'll fly to Spain, till Time and Friends procure
My Pardon.

Luc. In some Disguise I'll meet thee there,
Just at the Hour of Noon,
For then my Father sleeps, and I will take
The Opportunity——
And, oh! I fear no Danger but for thee.

Pal. For me there's none, whilst thou'rt safe, and with
Me thy Loss alone can make Palante die.

Enter Laura.

Laura. Madam, your Father——

Luc. Away Palante, may all the Pow'rs preserve thee.

Pal. And thou the best of Woman-kind.

[Exeunt severally.

Luc.	O Love, thou that hast join'd a faithful Pair,
	Guard my Palante, make him all thy Care.
	Fate's utmost Rigor we resolve to try,
	Live both together, or together die.

 

Enter Count Gravello, Larich, and Lavinia.

Grav. Brother, you are welcome to the House of Sorrow; but I have learnt so much Philosophy, to cease to mourn when the Cause is past Redress. Once more, forgetting Grief, you are welcome, you, and my fair Niece.

Lar. Thank you Brother—the Girl's a foolish Girl—Marriageable, but foolish—You understand me.

Lavin. I thank you, Sir.

Larich. Why, are you not a Fool, Hussy—look'e Brother, I have provided the Mynx a rich Husband, a Scholar too, Body of me bred all his youth at Salamanca, learn'd enough to commence Doctor—I love a learn'd Man, especially when Riches too concur; he's the Son and Heir of my old Friend Don Sancho, of Syracuse—and the Baggage cries I hate him, and yet has never seen him; but she is in Love, forsooth, with a young beggarly Dog, not worth a Groat; but I'll prevent her, I'll warrant her.

Grav. Just, just my Case, we are Brothers in every Thing, my Daughter too thinks her Judgment wisest, and flies a Fortune for a Princess, but her Reign's at an End, to-morrow I'm rid of her; I warrant you, Brother, we'll hamper the young Sluts.

Lavin. You may be both mistaken, old Gentlemen, if my Cousin is of my Mind.

Larich. What's that you mutter, Mrs. Littlewit?

Lavin. I say, I long to see my Cousin Lucasia, Sir, I hope that's no Crime.

Grav. No, no, Rosco, wait of her in to my Daughter, and dost hear Lavinia? Pr'ythee, let Obedience be thy Study, and teach it her.

Lavin. I'll warrant you, Sir, I'll teach her to be Obedient, if she'll but follow my Advice, [Aside.] but 'tis something hard, though Uncle, to marry a Man at first Sight one's heard but an indifferent Character of.

Larich. How, Hussy, are you a Judge of Characters? Is he not a Scholar? Answer me that.

Lavin. A meer Scholar is a meer——You know the old Proverb, Father.

Larich. Do you hear the perverse Baggage; get you out of my Sight, Hussy.

Lavin. I am obedient, Sir—I dare swear I shall find better Company than two old arbitrary Dons.

[Exit with Rosco.

Larich. Did you ever see such a Slut? body o'me these wild Wenches are enough to make old Men mad.

Grav. My Daughter is of another Strain, solid as Man but obstinate as Woman; but no Matter, when she is married my Care is over, let Count Pirro look to't.

Larich. Count Pirro! body o'me a mighty Fortune for my Cousin; why, he's rich enough to buy a Principality; my Son's rich too, and a great Scholar, which I admire above all Things.

Enter Rosco.

Rosco. Oh! Sir, such News, such a Sight, Sir!

Larich. What's the Matter?

Rosco. Don Sancho come to Town in his Salamanca Habit, his Dress, and grave Phiz has alarm'd the Mob, that there's such a crowd about the Inn Door, I'll maintain't his Landlord gives him free Quarter for a Twelve-month, if he'll let him expose him to Advantage, ha, ha, ha, he makes as odd a Figure, Sir, as the famous Don Quixot, when he went in Search of his Dulcinea.

Larich. Brother, pray correct your Servant, I like not his ridiculous Jests upon the Habit of the Learned, my Son-in-Law that is to be, minds nothing but his Books.

Rosco. Sir, I ask your Pardon, my niggard Stars have not allow'd Line enough to my Judgment, to fathom the Profundity of your Son's Shallow Capacity— [Bowing comically.

Grav. Peace, Sirrah—Come, Brother, now your Son's arriv'd, I hope we shall have a double Match to-morrow——We'll not consult the Women, but force them to their Happiness.

[Exeunt.

Lavin. Upon my Life, Cousin, I think my Condition worse than yours, and yet you see I am not so much dejected.

Luc. Oh! What Condition is't can equal mine?
Much less exceed it; to be oblig'd to
Break my Vow, to part from my Palante;
Forc'd to the Arms of a mishapen Monster,
Whom Nature made to vex the whole Creation.
Nor is his crooked Body more deform'd
Than is his Soul, Ambition is his God;
He seeks no Heav'n but Interest; nor knows he
How to value ought but Gold.
Oh! my dearest Brother, had'st thou but liv'd
I had been truly happy, but now am
Doubly miserable, in losing thee and my Palante.

Lavin. For Heaven's Sake don't afflict yourself at this Rate, but study rather to avoid the Ill, if you would counter-plot my Uncle; dry up your Eyes, and let the Woman work, I warrant you may contrive some Way to get rid of this Lump of Worms-meat; I don't fear giving my Father the drop, for all his Care, yet tho' he made me ride post to Town, to meet the Fool he has pick'd out for me; it shall cost me a Fall, if I don't marry the Man I have a Mind to; I shall see who's the best Politician, my Dad, or I.

Luc. Thy Courage gives fresh Life and Liberty,
To poor Lucasia's tired restless Soul,
Such Pow'r have chearful Friends t'ease our Sorrows.
Oh! my Lavinia, may thy Counsel prove
Prophetic, I'm going now, in this Disguise, to meet my
Dear Palante; may no malignant Star
Interpose to cross our mutual Wishes.
May thy Designs successful prove,
To fix thee ever in Francisco's Arms.

Lavin. And make Palante yours.

 

SCENE the Street.
Sancho and Francisco meeting.

Fran. Don Sancho your Servant; who thought of seeing you at Palermo, I thought you had been at the University of Salamanca?

Sancho. I came lately from thence.

Fran. Pr'ythee, what brought you hither?

Sanc. Why, that that brings some Men to the Gallows, a Wench.

Fran. What, I warrant, you have got your Bed-maker with Child, and so are expell'd the College.

Sancho. That's a Mistake.

Fran. What, thou art not come hither to take Physic, ha!

Sancho. No, not the Physic you mean; but am going to enter into a Course, that is, the Course of Matrimony.

Fran. Matrimony, with who, pr'ythee?

Sanc. Why, with Don Larich's Daughter: Do you know her?

Fran. Ha! Is this my Rival? This was a lucky Discovery, [Aside.] I know her; ay, very well, Sir. I can assure you she's very handsome, and as witty as she's fair: Thou won't visit her in that Dress, sure?

Sancho. To chuse, Sir, 'tis an Emblem of Learning; nay, I design my Man shall carry a Load of Books along with me too, that she may see what he is Master of, that is to be Master of her.

Fran. Indeed, my Friend, you'll never succeed upon those Terms.

Tristr. Sir, my Master has such an Itch to this foolish Learning, that he bestows more Money yearly upon Books, than would build an Hospital for all the Courtesans in Italy.

Sancho. No more, or you'll displease me, Tristram.

Tristr. I can't help that, Sir,—Sir, will you believe me, I have spent two Days in sorting Poets from Historians, and as many Nights in placing the Divines on their own Chairs, I mean their Shelves; then separating Philosophers, from those People that kill with a License, cost me a whole Day's Labour; and tho' my Master says Learning is immortal, I find the Sheets it is contain'd in savours much of Mortality.

Sancho. I hope my Books are in good Case, Tristram?

Tristr. Yes, yes, Sir, in as good Case as the Moths have left 'em.

Sancho. Od'so, I had forgot, to get me Suarez Metaphysicks, Tolet de Anima, and Granados Commentaries, on Primum Secundæ Thomæ Aquinatis.

Tristr. How the Devil does he do to remember all these Author's hard Names, I dare swear he understands not a Syllable of their Writings——Sir, would not the famous History of Amidis de Gaul do as well?

Fran. Ay, better, better far, Man, hark'ee Sancho, you are not at Salamanca now, amongst your square Caps, but in Palermo, come up to see your Mistress the fair Lavinia, the Glory of the City; go and court her like a Gentleman, without your Tropes and Figures, or all the Physics, Metaphysics, and Metaphors, will streight be made pitiful Martyrs.

Sancho. Martyrs, Sir, why, I thought—

Fran. Thyself an errant Idiot, thy Brain's more dull than a Dutch Burghers. Is this a Dress fit for a Gentleman to court his Mistress in? Away, away, the Lady you speak of, I can assure you is too much a Gallant to be taken with a Band and a square Cap—If you would succeed, you must throw off that Pedant, and assume the Gentleman, learn the Toss of the Head, and know the Principles of each Man by the Cock of his Hat.

Sancho. How's that, pray?

Fran. Oh! I'll teach you: If you be but willing to improve, I'll warrant you carry the Lady.

Sanch. But I am to be married to her as soon as I see her, so my Father told me, and that her Father admired a Scholar above all Things.

Fran. I'll improve that Hint—Ay, as I told you, a Scholar that is read in Men, not in Books.

Sancho. In Men, what's that? in Men! Tristram, what does he mean? what Man is to be read? In Men! I don't understand you; but you'll teach me, you say.

Fran. Ay, ay, I'll give you a Lesson upon that Subject.

Sancho. Very well; but what shall I do for Cloaths to dress like a Gentleman?

Fran. If you please to step into my Lodgings here, I'll equip you with a Suit of mine till you can have one made, and there I'll teach you a little of the Town breeding, and I warrant you you'll succeed.

Sancho. Come on; faith I long to become thy Scholar.

Fran. And I to make you an Ass. [Exit.

Enter Eugenio and his Man.

Eug. What can this mean; where e'er I come the News is current of my Death, yet not two Days since, I wrote and received Letters from my Father, and here the Rumour goes, I have been dead this fortnight! I am resolv'd to know the Grounds, if possible. Pedro, go get me some Disguise, and for your Life discover not who I am, I'll stay here at this Inn 'till you return, and in the mean Time think what Method to pursue my Project in. [Exit.

 

SCENE changes to the Grove. Lucasia sola.

Lucasia. Methinks this silent solitary Grove
Should strike a Terror to such Hearts as mine;
But Love has made me bold, the Time has been,
In such a Place as this, I should have fear'd
Each shaking Bough, and started at the Wind,
And trembled at the Rushing of the Leaves;
My Fancy would have fram'd a thousand Shapes;
But now it seems a Palace,
Delightful as the Poets feign
The Elizian Fields; Here do I expect
To meet my Love, my faithful, dear Palante.
Why does he stay thus long? when last we
Parted, each Hour he said wou'd seem a Year,
Till we were met again, and yet I'm here
Before him; I'll rest a while, for come I
Know he will.

[Goes and sits down.

Enter Palante and Clerimont.

Pal. This Clerimont, this is the happy Place,
Where I shall meet the Sum of all my Joys,
And be possest of such a vast Treasure
As wou'd enrich a Monarch to receive;
And thou, my Friend, must give her to my Arms.

Luc. 'Tis my Palante's Voice. [Comes forward.

Pal. My Life, my Soul, what here before me? still
Thou prevent'st me in the Race of Love, and
Makest all my Endeavours poor in Competition
With thy large Favours——
But I forget, Dearest; bid my Friend here welcome,
This is he whom I dare trust, next my own
Heart, with Secrets.

Luc. I must admire him that loves Palante;
Friendship's a noble Name, 'tis Love refin'd;
'Tis something more than Love, 'tis what I wou'd
Shew to my Palante.

Cler. It is indeed a Beauty of the Mind, a Sacred Name,
In which so brightly shines that Heavenly Love,
That makes th' immortal Beings taste each others Joy;
'Tis the very Cement of Souls. Friendship's
A Sacred Name, and he who truly knows
The Meaning of the Word, is worthy of Estimation.
No Pains he'll spare, no Difficulties start,
But hazard all for th' Int'rest of his Friend.

Pal. Ay! Now methinks I'm Emperor of the World,
With my inestimable Wealth about me:
To such a Mistress, such a Friend, what can be
Added more to make me happy?——
Oh! thou darksome Grove, that wont to be call'd
The Seat of Melancholy, and Shelter
For the discontented Souls! sure thou'rt wrong'd!
Thou seem'st to me a Place of Solace and Content?
A Paradise! that gives me more than Courts
Cou'd ever do: Blest be then thy fair Shades,
Let Birds of Musick always chant it here;
No croaking Raven, or ill-boding Owl,
Make here their baleful Habitation:
But may'st thou be a Grove for Loves fair Queen
To sport in, for under thy blest Shade two faithful
Lovers meet——Why is my Lucasia sad?

Luc. I know not, but I long to quit this Place,
My Thoughts seem to divine of Treachery,
But whence I know not; no Creature's conscious
To our meeting here but Laura; I have always
Found her honest, and yet I would she did not know it.

Pal. 'Tis only Fear assaults thy tender Mind;
But come, my Friend, let's to the Cell adjoining
To this Grove, and there the Priest
Shall make us one for ever.

[Exeunt.

Enter Larich and Lavinia.

Lar. Come, set your Face in order, for I expect young Sancho here immediately, he arriv'd in Town last Night, and Sent me Word but now, he'd be here in an instant.

Lav. But, Sir.

Lar. Sir me no Sirs, for I'm resolv'd you shall be married to Night.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Sir, here's a Gentleman to wait on you calls himself Don Sancho.

Lar. Odso, shew him up; now, you Baggage, you shall see the Pink of Learning, one that can travel thro' the whole World in an Afternoon, and sup in Palermo at Night, ha! you shall; you'll be as wise as the Sibyls in a Month's Time, with such a Husband, and will bring forth a Race of Politicians that shall set the World together by the Ears, then patch it up again in the supping of a poach'd Egg.

Enter Sancho and Tristram.

Lar. Save you, Sir.

Sanc. You don't think me damn'd, Sir, that you bestow that Salutation upon me?

Lar. By no Means, Sir, 'tis only my Way of expressing a hearty Welcome.

Sanc. Sir, your humble Servant: Is this your fair Daughter, Sir?

Lar. Yes, Sir.

Sanc. She's very handsome, Faith.

Lar. She's as Heaven made her.

Sanc. Then she shou'd be naked; the Taylor shou'd have no Hand in her—I suppose you know my business, shall we be married instantly?

Lar. Won't to-morrow serve, Sir? I wou'd first hear a little of your Proceedings in the University; came you from Salamanca now, Sir?

Sanc. From Salamanca! What do you see in my Face that shou'd make you judge me such a Coxcomb?

Lar. Your Father writ me word, that his Son that was to marry my Daughter, was a Scholar, wholly given up to Books.

Sanc. My Father was an errant Ass for his Pains, I ne'er read a Book in my Life but what I was beat to, and those I forgot as soon as I left School: A Scholar! he lies in his Throat that told you so.

Lav. In my Conscience, Sir, you may believe him; I dare swear he never saw a Book except the Chronicle chain'd in his Father's Hall.

Lar. Hold your Tongue, Hussy; how now?

Sanc. Sir, I understand a Horse, a Hawk, or Hound, as well as any Man living; nay, I understand Men too; I know now that you are an old covetous Hunks, by the sett of your Hat now; but no Matter for that, your Daughter is the better Fortune.

Lav. The Fool has hit right upon my Father, we shall have rare Sport presently.

Sanc. I have studied Men, Sir——I know each Man's inward Principle by his out-side Habit.

Lav. Does your profound Knowledge reach to Women too, Sir?

Lar. You will be prating——

Sanc. Look you, Sir, observe the Management of my Hat now——This is your bullying Gamester.

[Three Corners short Pinch.

Lar. What the Devil have we here! z'death this can never be Don Sancho's Son?

Lav. This is indeed the Pink of Learning, Sir—I shall be as wise as the Sybils with such a Husband; ha, ha, ha.

Sanc. Your Beaus wear their Hats [Offering to put it on.] no, hold, thus, Sir; [Clapping it under his Arm.] your conceited Wit, thus, [Putting it on over the left Eye.] and your travell'd Wit thus [Over the right Eye without a Pinch.] your Country 'Squire, thus, [Putting it behind his Wig.]

Lar. I wonder how an Ass wears it, I'm sure thou art one; I am amaz'd! this must be some Trick certainly. [Aside.

Lav. What think you now, Sir, shall we get a Race of Politicians? In my Conscience this falls out as well as I could wish. Oh that I could but once see Francisco. [Aside.

Lar. Huzzy, hold your Tongue, or——or——

[Holds up his Cane.

This may be some of your Contrivance, for ought I know. This is a very great Blockhead; Ounds, I—I—I—have a good Mind to add one Fashion more to your Hat, and knock it down to your Crown.

Sanc. Evermore, Sir, when you see a Man wear his Hat thus, [Pulling it down on both Sides.] he's a Projector, a Projector, Sir, or a Member of the Society of the Reformation of Manners, [In another Tone.] What think you of this, old Gentleman? ha! is not this a greater Knowledge than ever Man attain'd to by Books? ha!

Lar. I admire that my old Friend, knowing my Aversion for these foolish Fopperies, shou'd breed up his Son to 'em, then write me Word he had made him a Scholar, purposely because I was a Lover of Learning; pray, Sir was you ever in Palermo before?

Sanc. No, Sir; but I like it very well now I am in't.

Lar. I must be satisfied that you are Seignor Sancho's Son, e'er I shall like you for mine. [Aside.

Sanc. What think you of a Glass of Champaign, Sir? If you'll go to the Tavern, I'll give you a Bottle of the best the House affords; what say you, old Dad? ha! and there we will consult about our Marriage.

Lar. If you'll go to the Tavern that joins to the Piazza, I'll wait on you in a quarter of an Hour.

Sanc. Sir, I shall wait your Pleasure.

Lar. I took the Hint, to get rid of him, what shall I do to find the Truth of this? [Exeunt.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Sir, a Scholar enquires for you.

Lar. A Scholar! admit him immediately.

Enter Francisco in Sancho's Habit.

Fran. So, I watch'd Sancho out, now for my Cue. [Aside.] If you be the venerable Man to whom this goodly Mansion is impropriated; I come to negociate about authentic Business.

Lav. This rather shou'd be Don Sancho's Son——his Words and Habit speak him most learned——I am the Person, pray let me be bold to crave your Name.

Fran. My Appellation, or pro Nomen, as the Latins term it, is call'd Jeremie; but my Cognomen, in our Mother Tongue, is call'd Sancho.

Lav. Ha! upon my Life 'tis Francisco; oh, for an Opportunity to speak to him: I hope to Heaven, my Father won't find out the Cheat. [Aside.

Lar. Ay, this is he, this is he; what Don Sancho's Son?

Fran. The Nominals, the Thomists, and all the Sects of old and modern School-men, do oblige me to pay to that Gentleman filial Duty.

Lar. I am glad to hear it with all my Heart, I know the other must be an Imposter, but I'm resolv'd to apprehend and punish him: Sir, you are welcome; I guess your Business, my Daughter is yours.

Fran. My Business is about Propagation, as the civil Lawyers do learnedly paraphrase, is of Concomitance, or Cohabitation, or what you please to term it.

Lar. How am I blest that this wonderful Scholar shall be match'd into my Family——Daughter, what say you now, here's a Husband for you now, here's a Husband for you.

Lav. Pray Heaven you hold but in the Mind 'till you have made him such. [Aside.

Lar. Does he not speak like an Oracle? 'egad I'll maintain't, he shall put down ten Universities and Inns of Court in twenty Syllables——Pray, Sir, speak learnedly to my Girl, for, tho' I say it, she has a good Capacity.

Fran. Most rubicund, stilliferous, splendant Lady, the occular Faculties by which the beams of Love are darted into every Soul, or human Essence, have convey'd into my Breast the Lustre of your Beauty; and I can admire no other Object; therefore pardon me, Sir, if I only express myself in Terms Scholastic, and in Metaphors, my Phrase to her.

[Turning to Larich.

Lar. Learned, learned, young Man, how happy am I in thee?

Lav. Now do I long to see my Father's Back turn'd, that he might change his learned non-sense, and talk more modern, to talk more wise; you may spare your Rhetoric, Sir, unless you come down to my Understanding; but I know just enough of your Meaning, to tell you it does not suit with my Inclination.

Lar. What don't suit with your Inclination, ha, forsooth?

Lav. Marriage, Sir.

Lar. 'Tis false, hussy, you have an Inclination, and you shall have an Inclination; not an Inclination, quoth the Baggage: Sir, I say she's yours, come into the next Room, and I'll have the Settlement drawn immediately, and you shall be married to Night. Not an Inclination! [Exit.