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The Duenna.
by Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE, NOV. 21, 1775
DON FERDINAND _Mr. Mattocks_.
DON JEROME _Mr. Wilson_.
DON ANTONIO _Mr. Dubellamy_.
DON CARLOS _Mr. Leoni_.
ISAAC MENDOZA _Mr. Quick_.
FATHER PAUL _Mr. Mahon_.
FATHER FRANCIS _Mr. Fox_.
FATHER AUGUSTINE _Mr. Baker_.
LOPEZ _Mr. Wewitzer_.
DONNA LOUISA _Mrs. Mattocks_.
DONNA CLARA _Mrs. Cargill_.
THE DUENNA _Mrs. Green_.
Masqueraders, Friars, Porter, Maid, _and_ Servants.
SCENE--SEVILLE.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--_The Street before_ DON JEROME'S _House_.
_Enter_ LOPEZ, _with a dark lantern_.
_Lop_. Past three o'clock!--Soh! a notable hour for one of my regular disposition, to be strolling like a bravo through the streets of Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young lover is the hardest.--Not that I am an enemy to love; but my love and my master's differ strangely.--Don Ferdinand is much too gallant to eat, drink, or sleep:--now my love gives me an appet.i.te--then I am fond of dreaming of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her.--This cannot be done without good sleep and good liquor: hence my partiality to a feather- bed and a bottle. What a pity, now, that I have not further time, for reflections! but my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his retreat from Donna Clara's window, as I guess.--[_Music without_.]
Hey! sure, I heard music! So, so! Who have we here? Oh, Don Antonio, my master's friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my young mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: so! we shall have the old gentleman up presently.--Lest he should miss his son, I had best lose no time in getting to my post. [_Exit_.]
_Enter_ DON ANTONIO, _with_ MASQUERADERS _and music_.
SONG.--_Don Ant_.
Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain So gently speak thy master's pain?
So softly sing, so humbly sigh, That, though my sleeping love shall know Who sings--who sighs below, Her rosy slumbers shall not fly?
Thus, may some vision whisper more Than ever I dare speak before.
_I. Mas_. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, while you sing so dolefully; love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody.
_Don Ant_. I do not wish to disturb her rest.
_I. Mas_. The reason is, because you know she does not regard you enough to appear, if you awaked her.
_Don Ant_. Nay, then, I'll convince you. [_Sings_.]
The breath of morn bids hence the night, Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair; For till the dawn of love is there, I feel no day, I own no light.
DONNA LOUISA--_replies from a window_.
Waking, I heard thy numbers chide, Waking, the dawn did bless my sight; 'Tis Phoebus sure that woos, I cried, Who speaks in song, who moves in light.
DON JEROME--_from a window_.
What vagabonds are these I hear, Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting, Piping, sc.r.a.ping, whining, canting?
Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!
TRIO.
_Don. Louisa_.
Nay, prithee, father, why so rough?
_Don Ant_.
An humble lover I.
_Don Jer_.
How durst you, daughter, lend an ear To such deceitful stuff?
Quick, from the window fly!
_Don. Louisa_ Adieu, Antonio!
_Don Ant_ Must you go?
_Don. Louisa_. & _Don Ant_.
We soon, perhaps, may meet again.
For though hard fortune is our foe, The G.o.d of love will fight for us.
_Don Jer_.
Reach me the blunderbuss.
_Don Ant_. & _Don. Louisa_.
The G.o.d of love, who knows our pain--
_Don Jer_.
Hence, or these slugs are through your brain.
[_Exeunt severally_.]
