A Grand Saloon in DON JEROME’S House.
Enter DON JEROME, LOPEZ, and SERVANTS.
Don Jer. Be sure, now, let everything be in the best order — let all my servants have on their merriest faces: but tell them to get as little drunk as possible, till after supper. — [Exeunt SERVANTS.] So, Lopez, where’s your master? shan’t we have him at supper?
Lop. Indeed, I believe not, sir — he’s mad, I doubt! I’m sure he has frighted me from him.
Don Jer. Ay, ay, he’s after some wench, I suppose: a young rake! Well, well, we’ll be merry without him. [Exit LOPEZ.]
Enter a SERVANT.
Ser. Sir, here is Signor Isaac. [Exit.]
Enter ISAAC.
Don Jer. So, my dear son-in-law — there, take my blessing and forgiveness. But where’s my daughter? where’s Louisa?
Isaac. She’s without, impatient for a blessing, but almost afraid to enter.
Don Jer. Oh, fly and bring her in. — [Exit ISAAC.] Poor girl, I long to see her pretty face.
Isaac. [Without.] Come, my, charmer! my trembling angel!
Re-enter ISAAC with DUENNA; DON JEROME runs to meet them; she kneels.
Don Jer. Come to my arms, my — [Starts back.] Why, who the devil have we here?
Isaac. Nay, Don Jerome, you promised her forgiveness; see how the dear creature droops!
Don Jer. Droops indeed! Why, Gad take me, this is old Margaret! But where’s my daughter? where’s Louisa?
Isaac. Why, here, before your eyes — nay, don’t be abashed, my sweet wife!
Don Jer. Wife with a vengeance! Why, zounds! you have not married the Duenna!
Duen. [Kneeling.] Oh, dear papa! you’ll not disown me, sure!
Don Jer. Papa! papa! Why, zounds! your impudence is as great as your ugliness!
Isaac. Rise, my charmer, go throw your snowy arms about his neck, and convince him you are ——
Duen. Oh, sir, forgive me! [Embraces him.]
Don Jer. Help! murder!
Enter SERVANTS.
Ser. What’s the matter, sir?
Don Jer. Why, here, this damned Jew has brought an old harridan to strangle me.
Isaac. Lord, it is his own daughter, and he is so hard-hearted he won’t forgive her!
Enter DON ANTONIO and DONNA LOUISA; they kneel.
Don Jer. Zounds and fury! what’s here now? who sent for you, sir, and who the devil are you?
Don Ant. This lady’s husband, sir.
Isaac. Ay, that he is, I’ll be sworn; for I left them with a priest, and was to have given her away.
Don Jer. You were?
Isaac. Ay; that’s my honest friend, Antonio; and that’s the little girl I told you I had hampered him with.
Don Jer. Why, you are either drunk or mad — this is my daughter.
Isaac. No, no; ’tis you are both drunk and mad, I think — here’s your daughter.
Don Jer. Hark ye, old iniquity! will you explain all this, or not?
Duen. Come then, Don Jerome, I will — though our habits might inform you all. Look on your daughter, there, and on me.
Isaac. What’s this I hear?
Duen. The truth is, that in your passion this morning you made a small mistake; for you turned your daughter out of doors, and locked up your humble servant.
Isaac. O Lud! O Lud! here’s a pretty fellow, to turn his daughter out of doors, instead of an old Duenna!
Don Jer. And, O Lud! O Lud! here’s a pretty fellow, to marry an old Duenna instead of my daughter! But how came the rest about?
Duen. I have only to add, that I remained in your daughter’s place, and had the good fortune to engage the affections of my sweet husband here.
Isaac. Her husband! why, you old witch, do you think I’ll be your husband now? This is a trick, a cheat! and you ought all to be ashamed of yourselves.
Don Ant. Hark ye, Isaac, do you dare to complain of tricking? Don Jerome, I give you my word, this cunning Portuguese has brought all this upon himself, by endeavouring to overreach you, by getting your daughter’s fortune, without making any settlement in return.
Don Jer. Overreach me!
Don. Louisa. ’Tis so, indeed, sir, and we can prove it to you.
Don Jer. Why, Gad, take me, it must be so, or he never could put up with such a face as Margaret’s — so, little Solomon, I wish you joy of your wife, with all my soul.
Don. Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love — let you alone for the plot!
Don Ant. A cunning dog, ar’n’t you? A sly little villain, eh?
Don. Louisa. Roguish, perhaps; but keen, devilish keen!
Don Jer. Yes, yes; his aunt always called him little Solomon.
Isaac. Why, the plagues of Egypt upon you all! but do you think I’ll submit to such an imposition?
Don Ant. Isaac, one serious word — you’d better be content as you are; for, believe me, you will find that, in the opinion of the world, there is not a fairer subject for contempt and ridicule than a knave become the dupe of his own art.
Isaac. I don’t care — I’ll not endure this. Don Jerome, ’tis you have done this — you would be so cursed positive about the beauty of her you locked up, and all the time I told you she was as old as my mother, and as ugly as the devil.
Duen. Why, you little insignificant reptile! ——
Don Jer. That’s right! — attack him, Margaret.
Duen. Dare such a thing as you pretend to talk of beauty? — A walking rouleau? — a body that seems to owe all its consequence to the dropsy! a pair of eyes like two dead beetles in a wad of brown dough! a beard like an artichoke, with dry, shrivelled jaws that would disgrace the mummy of a monkey?
Don Jer. Well done, Margaret!
Duen. But you shall know that I have a brother who wears a sword — and, if you don’t do me justice —
Isaac. Fire seize your brother, and you too! I’ll fly to Jerusalem to avoid you!
Duen. Fly where you will, I’ll follow you.
Don Jer. Throw your snowy arms about him, Margaret. — [Exeunt ISAAC and DUENNA.] But, Louisa, are you really married to this modest gentleman?
Don. Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands, I gave him my hand within this hour.
Don Jer. My commands!
Don Ant. Yes, sir; here is your consent, under your own hand.
Don Jer. How! would you rob me of my child by a trick, a false pretence? and do you think to get her fortune by the same means? Why, ‘slife! you are as great a rogue as Isaac!
Don Ant. No, Don Jerome; though I have profited by this paper in gaining your daughter’s hand, I scorn to obtain her fortune by deceit. There, sir — [Gives a letter.] Now give her your blessing for a dower, and all the little I possess shall be settled on her in return. Had you wedded her to a prince, he could do no more.
Don Jer. Why, Gad, take me, but you are a very extraordinary fellow! But have you the impudence to suppose no one can do a generous action but yourself? Here, Louisa, tell this proud fool of yours that he’s the only man I know that would renounce your fortune; and, by my soul! he’s the only man in Spain that’s worthy of it. There, bless you both: I’m an obstinate old fellow when I’m in the wrong; but you shall now find me as steady in the right.
Enter DON FERDINAND and DONNA CLARA.
Another wonder still! Why, sirrah! Ferdinand, you have not stole a nun, have you?
Don Fred. She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sir — look nearer, and you will perceive ’tis Clara d’Almanza, Don Guzman’s daughter; and, with pardon for stealing a wedding, she is also my wife.
Don Jer. Gadsbud, and a great fortune! Ferdinand, you are a prudent young rogue, and I forgive you: and, ifecks, you are a pretty little damsel. Give your father-in-law a kiss, you smiling rogue!
Don. Clara. There, old gentleman; and now mind you behave well to us.
Don Jer. Ifecks, those lips ha’n’t been chilled by kissing beads! Egad, I believe I shall grow the best-humoured fellow in Spain. Lewis! Sancho! Carlos! d’ye hear? are all my doors thrown open? Our children’s weddings are the only holidays our age can boast; and then we drain, with pleasure, the little stock of spirits time has left us. — [Music within.] But, see, here come our friends and neighbours!
Enter MASQUERADERS.
And, i’faith, we’ll make a night on’t, with wine, and dance, and catches — then old and young shall join us.
FINALE.
Don Jer.
Come now for jest and smiling,
Both old and young beguiling,
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Till we banish care away.
Don. Louisa.
Thus crown’d with dance and song,
The hours shall glide along,
With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees
Can never fail to please.
Don Ferd.
Each bride with blushes glowing,
Our wine as rosy flowing,
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Till we banish care away.
Don Ant.
Then healths to every friend
The night’s repast shall end,
With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees
Can never fail to please.
Don. Clar.
Nor, while we are so joyous,
Shall anxious fear annoy us;
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Till we banish care away.
Don Jer.
For generous guests like these
Accept the wish to please,
So we’ll laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Your smiles drive care away.
[Exeunt omnes.]