THE WIDOW's VOW.
Price ONE SHILLING.
THE WIDOW's VOW. A FARCE, IN TWO ACTS, AS IT IS ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL,
HAY-MARKET.
LONDON:
INTED FOR G. G. J. AND J. ROBINSON, PATER-NOSTER-ROW. 1786.
PROLOGUE,
Written by Mr. HOLCROFT,
Spoken by Mr. BANNISTER, jun.
PROLOGUES, with caustic touch, have often tried
To probe your spleen, prove knaves and fools allied;
Have twisted words and wit ten thousand ways,
To shew that these are most degenerate days!
A different task be ours.—We'll prove that you
Are wise and happy. Nay! tho' strange, 'tis true!
First on your
safety
think! now belles appear
By ample bulwarks guarded, front and rear!
Now male and female amble, side by side,
Exempt from harm, by breast-works fortify'd!
Here polygons defend Miss Molly's breast!
There horn-works hush the husband's fears to rest!
By ramparts, daily rais'd, he's freed from cares;
If he'll but grant sufficient for repairs.
Our strength thus prov'd, proceed we to disclose
How new-made wealth thro' new-made channels flows!
How rich we are, in medal-rust and rare things!
In copper coins, gilt pence and—Queen-Anne-farthings!
How shells, stuff'd monkies, and Cremonas old,
In hand of Auctioneer, are current gold!
He "Going! going!" cries. "The hammer's up!
"This fine antique! this Roman—
caudle-cup!"
A gem so rare makes connoisseurs turn pale,
Fearful, alike, to purchase or to fail!
Hope trembles, starts, from lip to lip rebounds,
Till down she's knock'd by—Ah!—one thousand pounds!
The envied purchaser, with joy e
ate,
Pays for his prize by—felling his estate!
While
Smirk,
in florid style, words nicely plac'd,
Protests theee lot does,
anner
to his taste!
Mimick
Yes! sure you're happy! and should rest content,
Now landscapes are reduced fifteen per cent:
And Claude's and Titian's new-found wonders may
By new-made Peers be bought—if new-made Peers to pay.
Assuming sorrow.
One thing, indeed, may well your peace invade,
Pawnbrokers! threaten you to leave off trade!
W
t
Returning to his former chearful tone.
All things considered, now, while safety smiles,
And wealth inundates thus our Queen of isles;
While Vickery head defects so soon repairs,
And half unpeoples Greenland of her bears;
While exhibitions, galas and reviews,
Lisle-street, Vauxhall, the Abbey, Handel, Hughes,
Flutes, fiddles, trombos, double-drums, bassoons,
Mara, the speaking-figure, fish-balloons,
Earth-baths, live-eagles, such as never flew,
L' Hercule du Roy!
and General Jackoo!
While these create a round of such delight,
Sure, we may hope, you will not frown to-night!
While farces numerous as these go down,
Our farce may in its turn amuse the town;
And, smiling thus on Folly's vast career,
Sure not on us, alone, you'll be severe!
ADVERTISEMENT.
he AUTHOR of the WIDOW's VOW is indebted for the Plot of her Piece, and for the Plot only, to
L' He
s
Erreur,
a French Comedy of one Act, by M. PATRAT, but to the Excellence of the English
Performers
alone is she indebted for its very flattering Success.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Don Antonio,
Mr. PARSONS,
Marquis,
Mr. BANNISTER, jun.
Carlos,
Mr. R. PALMER.
Servant,
Mr. LYON.
Jerome,
Mr. EDWIN.
Countess,
Mrs. BATES.
Donna Isabella,
Mrs. RILEY.
Inis
Miss BRANCIN.
Ursula
Mrs. EDWIN.
Flora
Mrs. WELLS.
Scene a Village in Spain.
THE WIDOW's VOW.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A Hall in a Castle.
Enter
JEROME
and
FLORA.
I Can't go at present, Mr. Jerome, for I expect my Lady every moment to ring, if I should be out of the way she will be an
and as I am but new in her service—
She angry! Oh you don't know her—When you have been a day or two with you'll find she is never angry—She is best tempered creature—and were it not for aversion to us men, she would not have a
.
Do you consider that as a fault, b
Jerome?
To be sure I do—For my par
think she had much better be too fond of us,
the rest of her sex are.
Pray, Mr. Jerome, what caused
aversion to the men?
I'll tell you, Flora, if it wo'nt
you melancholy.
Oh, no, Mr. Jerome—I like a
lancholy story—I like dearly to cry, when it is
on my own account.
Well then—When my Lady was
ly fifteen she fell deep in love with a fine ha
some young fellow, inferior to her both in
and fortune; but my good old Lord, her fa
who doated upon her, was afraid a disapp
ment might break her heart, and so c
nsente
her having him; but he proved so bad a husb
that my poor old Master soon died with grief.
Poor man!
Don't cry yet, there's someth
worse to come—My Lady, on this, took such dislike to her husband, that he died of
too.
Indeed, Mr. Jerome, this is
moving.
cries.
On this—
I hope there is nothing worse to
?
On this, my Lady made a vow to
herself up from the whole sex.
Well, that is more affecting than any
And she immediately retired to this
y castle, where, except the house of Donna
lla next door, we have not a neighbour for
; and even there we are strangers—for my
I have never so much as seen Donna Isabella,
changed a word with any of the servants since
came to the place—though indeed they have
een here above eight days.
But how long has my Lady kept this
of avoiding all your sex?
Eighteen months.
Eighteen weeks! what a time!
Months.
Months! she has certainly lost her
.
Not she.
O but I am sure she must have lost
of them.
I tell you no.—But I must leave you
Mrs. Flora, for yonder is Don Antonio, and
ieve he is coming this way.
I thought no man was admitted in the castle but you, Mr. Jerome?
Yes; Don Antonio lives here—then he is my Lady's uncle; and you know th
can be no fear of her falling in love with him,
he is a relation.
But
you
are no relation, Mr. j
rome.
Why, as you say, she might f
l
love with me—Stranger things have happened and to tell you the truth, she does not seem
sitive she shan't, for she bids me keep out of
sight as much as possible, for fear I should put
in mind of that handsome villain that brought
to this retirement.
Here comes the old Gentleman!
Then I must go, for he'il be with wan
to say something to you—he is for ever ru
after all the maids—I am sorry to leave you—
am, indeed, Flora; indeed I am—Oh it woul
a happy thing for me if I could bring m
se
care as little for the women, as my Lady does
the men.
Exit Jero
A fine sweetheart, truly, I have go and if this old fright proves another, I'll be
with him.
Enter Antonis—She courtesys
Hah!—what!—what is all this
what have we here?—what have we here?
retty girl—a very pretty girl indeed!—My
iece's new maid, I suppose—Aye, aye, I had the
ther sent about her business—She must be like
er mistress forsooth, and have nothing to say to a
an—
going up to Flora
My dear, come this way▪ I think your's is a new face—
Yes, Sir—and I think your's is an old
e.
Hem—hem.—Pray what is your
me?
A very good name—and I intend ne
r to change it for a bad one.—
Look in my face—What do you
ush for?
For you.
Come, come, no pertness—but let
bid you welcome to the castle.
offers to salute
.
No, indeed you shan't.
I will bid you welcome to the
stle.
after a struggle he salutes her.
Upon my word, Sir, you are very
—How would you like I should serve
you
▪
Do—Do—serve me so—you are very
come.
Eater
JEROME.
Flora, there's a young woman at the gate, who says she lives with Dona Isabella, and wants to speak to you upon some particular business—Can your Honor spare her with no inconvenience to yourself?
Yes—Yes—she may go—
Exi
Flora and Jerome
A young woman at the gate, now do I want to bid
her
welcome to the cast
e—
a maid of Donna Isabella, our neighbour—by the bye I must bring about an acquaintance with Donna Isabella and the Countess my niece, if I can, for I am told Isabella is a very beautiful lady—and I should like to bid
her
welcome to the castle—but, notwithstanding all the pains I have takes, ever since she has arrived, to procure a sight of her, I have not been able—I would, however, fo
myself into the house, but it seems she has a young brother, the Marquis, come down on a vi
t to her within these three days, and he might take upon him to resent my gallantry—and I can't say I am fond of resentments, rage and hatred—no, no, the
soster
passions possess me wholly.
Exi
SCENE II.
A Chamber at
DONNA ISABELLA's.
Enter
ISABELLA
followed by the
MARQUIS.
But my dear sister, did not you seduce me to this melancholy spot, on a promise
ou would procure me an introduction to the rich
idow, the charming Countess?—Interest first
rompted my wishes, but since I have beheld her,
is love.
Beheld her!
Yes, beheld her—walking in her
rden—sitting negligently in an arbor.
But how?—How contrive to see
?—
From the top of our house, through
elescope—but, my dear sister, do bring us a
le nearer, or I'll purchase a speaking trumpet,
make love to her through it, though my
ssion be heard by every soul within a quarter of
ile.
I tell you I have great hopes.
But why not accept of her ac
intance, and prevail on her yourself to see
?
I tell you again, the letters I expect
n her uncle at Madrid will have more weight
n volumes I could say—She dare not disobey
, and
must
see you.
And yet I would not compel her to
Unless she consents to my acquaintance free
without being constrained by force, or de
ed by stratagem, I had rather have recourse
he top of the house and my telescope again.
Do not let your scrupulous honor overcome all your future prospects—Notwithstanding these letters will strongly recommend you, yet it will be with her own consent only she will yield to the recommendation.
But when do you expect the letters?
Every instant—my servants are no
gone to the Post-office.
I'll fly and see if they are
turned.
Do; for as soon as the letters are
rived, I would not have you lose a moment
away, and know your fate at once—yet if she
but see you I think with such a person as your
there can be little to fear.
But they tell me she is so auste
since this rigid vow—so awful—she will petr
me with a look.
Pshaw—away, and see if the lette
are come.
I will, and if they are, and I g
admittance, I'm resolved I will obtain
husband within a week, in return, my dear sist
for your kindness to me.
Exit Marqu
Enter
INIS.
Well, Inis—I am impatient to he
▪ What success?
Delightful, Madam—I have been intro
ced to the young Countess—I first communi
ted the intelligence of the pretended plot form
g against her to her waiting-woman, who was
fficiently alarmed at it, to take me to her Lady
mediately.
Well.
And so, Madam, as soon as I was in
duced I fell a crying—I thought that was the
st way.
Very well.
And then, before I discovered what I had say, I made her promise not to betray me,
ch she did most solemnly, and without the
st reluctance—and now, Madam, says I, I
servant with your neighbour, Donna Isabella,
ighty Lady, who turns every thing serious and
ed into ridicule; and she has resolved to make
t of you for pretending an aversion to men,
for that purpose she has procured recom
ndations for you to receive the visits of the
ng Marquis her brother, but instead of him,
purposes to come herself, disguised as a man,
vail on you to consent to be married to her,
then throw off the mask, and make you and
vow the jest of the whole kingdom.
This is all right—go on.
On this she thanked me a thousand times
the discovery.
But did she say she would receive
?
Oh yes—she has promised to receive you on my account, that my divulging the scheme may not be detected.
And she is absolutely resolved to receive
me
under the title of my brother?
You may depend upon it—but how are you to proceed now?
Send my brother to her immediately.
Your brother!
Yes—The Countess, from what you have told her, will suppose him a woman, receive him, and consequently suffer a thousand endearing familiarities; till, charmed by the graces of his mind and person, she shall love him without
knowing
it, and, when she detects the impostor, be unable to part with him.
And if she is like me, she'll think it the happiest day of her life—but have you prepared your brother how to act his part?
He has nothing to
act,
being the very person he represents, and therefore shall not know of the art by which he is introduced—for, except being a little too attentive to dress and etiquette, a circumstance which, with his youthful appearance, favours our design, he is one of the mo
amiable young men in the world, and the le
idea of imposition would shock his honour, and put an end to my scheme.
Then he is not to know he is to be taken for a woman.
Certainly not—Hush, here he is, now for my credentials.
taking out letters from her packet.
Enter
MARQUIS.
Oh, my dear sister, there are no letters arrived.
Yes, here they are—
Gives a packet
f letters
my maid has just brought them me.
O with what joy I receive them—they are all right?—There will be no mistake I
ope?—Nothing to make me appear ridiculous?—I would not appear ridiculous for the world.
All is right—No, no.
They are addressed to her uncle!
Yes, because it will be far more de
icate to be introduced through his means—
ut there is one enclosed to her.
D'ye think she'll see me?
Yes; I dare say—There is little doubt
f it.
By my dream last night, I'd lay my life he will.
Why, what did you dream?
I dreamt she ordered her servants to drag your Lordship by force out of the house, and duck you in the great fish-pond for a whole hour.
Is that a sign?—
O yes—Dreams always go by contraries.
Going, returns.
But I know she is so haughty and reserved, that,
should
she admit me, I shall appear confused and awkward.—
So much the better—she expects you'll be awkward.
Expects I shall be awkward!
Pshaw, pshaw—Hesitate no longe
with your fears, but away—you know your first court must be to the uncle, and when you hav
been a little time in the house your apprehension will vanish.—Away, away.
But if she should not condescen
to see me?
Oh, my Lord, you may depend upon
she will, because of my dream.
Exit Marquis on one side and Isabella and Inis
the other.
SCENE III.
The Hall in the Castle.
Enter
FLORA
and
JEROME.
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Ha, ha, ha, ha—But is all this matter act?
As true as I am alive, Jerome—I have
e nothing but laugh ever since I heard it—But
ou think, Jerome, she'll be drest all over like
n?
To be sure.
What, every thing?
Yes——Every thing—Egad, I long to
a peep at her!
Aye, and so would Antonio too, if he
.—
Aye, that he would—he'd be so fond
e young Marquis there would be no keeping away from her—but he does not knew of it, say?
No; no soul knows of it yet but my
and I, and now I have told it to you; and
to tell it to all the servants as soon as she
es, that they may not think my Lady has
en her vow, by admitting a man—Lord, I
der how I should look in men's clothes!
There's the Priest's old great clo
doublet, and jack-boots hanging up behind t
door, if you have a mind to try, and I'll step
of the way till you have put them on.
A loud rapping at the doo
Here she is—Here she is—Oh dea
Oh dear—how ashamed I am for her.
And I wish I may die if so ben't
Covering his ey
And yet somehow I long to see her
Another rappin
Run, Jerome, run.
This moment
turning back
bu
am so afraid I shall laugh.
O no—Don't laugh—if you do y
will spoil all, and my Lady will never forgi
you.
Well—I won't—I won't, if I
help it—I'll look so—just so, if I can—as s
ri
as a judge—will that do?
looking serious.
Yes; that will do.
Rapping agai
Going.
Ha, ha, ha, ha—I can't b
laughing a little though—but not before he
I'll be as serious as a judge before her.
Egad I am afraid—I am afraid I shall laugh.
Exit, stifling a laug
Now where shall I run to have a pe
at her?—in here.
Exit Flo
er
JEROME,
bowing before the
MARQUIS,
ith his face on one side, as if he was afraid to look
t him for fear he should laugh.
Let Don Antonio know I have let
for him.
Yes, your Honour—Lordship.
Lift-
p his eyes, looking at him with side glances, and
d
fficulty stifling a laugh.
Your Honour,
Lordship—Let Don Antonio—know—you
ve—letters—for—him.
Suppressing a laugh.
Yes; is not that plain?
Yes.
still suppressing a laugh.
And
be very glad to wait upon your Honour.
Laughs right out and exit.
A strange fellow this—How my
t beats!
from a door.
Oh that she would
turn this way, that I might see her face—Oh
mpudent slut.
Enter
JEROME
with a grin on his face.
Noble Lord, Don Antonio will be
immediately.
Then laughs and stares at him
head to foot.
Here he is.
Enter
ANTONIO.
The Marquis bows very respectfully whilst Je
is laughing and making faces behind.
Letters, my Lord, from your b
ther at Madrid.
Signior.
Taking the letters.
aside while Antonio reads.
Heave
whence this palpitation? If such are the feelin
of my bosom on knowing myself in the same ho
with her, what must be my agitation on a ne
approach!
My letters inform me it is the M
quis who does me the honour of this visit—
Lord, your Lordship—
Ha, ha, ha.
What's the matter with you?
Sir, I was only—
Only what? Leave the room.
Aside.
Well I thought the
Don would have found out a woman in any d
guise.
E
My Lord, you may command
services and friendship, but I fear you will not
them so highly as I could wish, as you must be
barred the acquaintance and society of my niec
You are no stranger to the vow she has taken
I am not—and yet I flatter my
the manner in which I am spoken of in these
ters—
Be certain, Sir, my niece shall
ceive them, urged with all my authority for an
view. Will your Lordship take a turn in the
den while I deliver them and enforce their con
ts?
I will—and should you prove suc
ful, Don Antonio, I shall ever retain the deep
sense of the obligation.
Exit Marquis.
Enter the
COUNTESS.
Niece, I was this moment coming
ou, to bring you these letters from your uncle Madrid, which you will find recommend, in
strongest manner, to your acquaintance, no
r than the young Marquis our neighbour—
e a youth as ever I saw.
Ha, ha, ha—is he arrived?—
Now in the house—What is the
ter?—Did you hear of his intended visit?
Yes—Ha, ha, ha—how does he
?
Delightfully—I don't think I ever
handsomer man.
Man!
—Ha, ha, ha, I dare say he
s a little awkward?
Aukward! No; he is as elegant in
eportment, and as fine, as finished a young
w as ever I saw.
After looking over the letter.
Certainly, I shall comply with my uncle's request—Let his Lordship be admitted.
Niece, I always knew you could no
keep your vow—I always knew the very first ma
that came in your way—crash it would go directly, but let me persuade you to break it by degrees and not let the world say you made no strugg
first.
Struggle! Now, my dear Uncle with all your deep discernment, particularly i
regard to our sex, to see you at last imposed upo
delights me.
Imposed upon!
Yes; for this self-same Marqu
is a woman.
A woman!
Yes; this "fine, elegant cre
ture."
That is, then, the very reason w
I thought her so—"a fine creature,"—now that
intuition, instinct, love without knowing it—But, my dear niece, are you sure you are r
ght▪ Are you sure you don't deceive me? Don't di
appoint me—I can't bear a disappointment in
matter like this—I am vastly pleased, and a di
appointment might be fatal.
I assure you again a woman—
to the Marquis—and has undertaken this sche
rely to make love to me, and turn me into ridi
le.
Now I think of it again, she
was
de
ish awkward—and I believe wore her sword on
wrong side.
It is she herself depend upon it.
To be sure it is—and I'll be hang'd
t did not strike me to be a woman the moment
id my eyes on her—for she came up to me
ping and sliding, and tossing her head, just as
fine ladies do.
Mimicks.
Well—But what you intend to do? I know what I intend to
I shall carry on the scheme, and
end to be deceived, till I turn the joke she
gns for me, on herself.
Yes; and I intend to have
my
e too.
But you must keep the secret.
I wo'nt say a word.
Take his Lordship into the sa
, and I'll wait upon him immediately.
Aye, my dear—and you need not
in a hurry—Egad, I like the joke of all
gs.
Exit.
Enter
JEROME
and
FLORA.
Dear my Lady, have you seen her?
Not yet.
Well, I declare she looks as like man!
I shall certainly laugh in h
face.
Oh no, don't laugh—Never g
your mind to laughing—I did not even smile,
kept my countenance as steady—just thus—D
not I, Flora? Oh—'tis such a weakness to laugh Look just so—as I do now—
I must away to the trial, howeve
come with me to the door, Flora.
And be sure you don't laugh Think on me, and keep your countenance—you can.
Exit Countess and Flora on one side and Jerom
the other.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The Hall in the Castle.
Enter
FLORA.
DEAR me, what a pretty footman she has brought with her!—he made me such a fine was I past—and looked so grand—here he is.
Enter
CARLOS
and bows—She courtesies.
O Lord, I hope this is not a woman
! but I dare say it is—Lord what a pity! but
talk to him, and I shall soon be able to find
t—and if he does not fall in love with me, I'll
nclude it can't be a man.
aside.
A very pretty girl.
aside.
Your
mble servant, my dear angel.
Too conceited for a man.
aside.
May I venture, on so slight an ac
aintance to protest to you—
No—he protests—'tis a man.
aside
Permit me to assure you—
Sir!
What thus takes up your attention?
A doubt I have.
Do you entertain any doubts o
me?
Yes—Indeed I do.
What are they?
I have been trying to put this bunc
of ribbons into a right form for my Lady's ha
and I hardly know how.
Let me try.
She gives the ribbons.
Now shall I see by the dexterity whether it is a woman or not.
aside
There—I'll be hanged if I have no done it to a nicety.
Returns the ribbons.
'Tis a woman, pshaw.
Aside and sighing
Now I must beg a kiss for my pain
Kisses her.
No—it must be a man.
My charming—
For Heaven's sake go about your
siness, for here comes a fellow-servant of
e.
I am going into the grove, will you
e there presently?
Yes—perhaps I may—only begone
.
But you'll come?
Yes—I think I will.
I shall wait for you.
Exit.
Enter
URSULA.
So, Mrs. Flora, I give you joy of
new sweetheart—For shame, for shame, I what passed.
Lord bless you—it is only a wo
.
A woman!
Aye, in mens' clothes, like the mas
and so there could be no harm you know.
I did not know the servant was a
an too!
Why, I am not sure of it—but I
g it so when I let him kiss me, and I thought
hen I promised to meet him in the grove—
will e'en go—for I dare say 'tis only a wo
Aye, now I think of it again, I a
sure it is not a man—Do you suppose a Lady i
disguise, would take a man-servant to atten
her?
Very true; and I wish, Ursula, yo
would go instead of me to the grove, for I am s
busy just at this time—
And yet old Jerome says, and I never knew Jerome mistaken in my life, he says i
is a man—however,
I
am not afraid of him if i
is, and I
will
go instead of you.
No, Ursula—I will go after all—
if it
should
prove a man, and he should behav
rude to you, oh! my dear Ursula, I should nev
be happy, that I did not take it all upon myself.
Exeunt separate
SCENE II.
A Parlour in the Castle.
The
COUNTESS,
the
MARQUIS,
and
DO
ANTONIO
discovered sitting.
And so, my Lord, you once thoug
of the army—Do you think you should sta
your ground in a battle.
Laughing to himself.
Sir!
Surprized.
Aside.
Damn me but she ha
good leg.
Your Lordship seems formed for
service of a softer Deity; an occupation less
lous than that of war.
Aye, that you do.
Pardon me, Madam, the Deity you
de to, I fear may be yet more fatal, unless you
kindly fight on my side.
Ha, ha, ha, I can't help laughing
ink what a pretty soldier you would make—
look vastly like a solder to be sure.—Ha, ha.
Why not, Sir?
Angrily.
Nay, no offence—Damn me if I
ld not like to command a whole regiment of—and I would go upon some new atchieve
ts—For instance, say the enemy were Hot
t
ts, I would undertake to poison them all by
scent of perfumes from my army—or in case
repulse, would engage at any time to raise a
and escape pursuit, only by commanding
y man to shake his head, and discharge the
der.
Upon my word, Sir, you are very
ant.
Forcing a smile.
I am very glad your Lordship thinks
Enter
SERVANT.
To Antonio.
Sir, you are wanted by a gentleman in the parlour.
Pshaw—I'm busy—Who is it?—
Servant whispers.
Well then I must com
Exit Servant.
My Lord I take my leave for
minute, but I shall soon be back.
Aside.
H
like a man she looks—Impudent hussey,
Ex
Your uncle's behaviour, Mada
has something in it rather extraordinary—I hop
I have not in any means offended him?
I can conceal my knowledge
her no longer,
Aside.
Oh no, my dear,
at all.
My dear!
Aside.
I declare I like you so well—
much better than I expected—I can no long
treat you with cold reserve—Come sit dow
They si
How kind is this!
Drawing
chair near to her.
Looking at him from head to fo
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. I protest I can't help laug
ing—Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
Ha, ha, ha, ha—I protest
more can I—Sure fate directed me to this heav
pot, where ceremony has no share in polite
And did you suppose I should use
ceremony with such a sweet, sweet fellow as
?
Egad, I'll use no ceremony either.
ide.
Thus, on my knees, let me pour my
ks.
Oh you artful creature!
Stroking
heek.
Art! I disclaim it—and so do you.
ou are all pure nature.
Well, I positively do think you
of the cleverest of your whole sex.
Thank you—Thank you—my
creature-
Kissing her hand.
So negligent—so easy—not the
awkward or embarrassed!
Egad, I think you as little embar
ed to the full.
Aside.
My dear Madam,
charming society has inspired me.
Salutes
Now, if you were really a
man,
t would you
deserve
for that?
Madam!
Astonished.
I say, if you were
really
a m
what would you deserve for that freedom?
Really
a man! Why?—What? Don't I look like a man?
Yes—that you do—and a
pretty man—Come, come, don't be frightened▪ shake hands—I forgive you—forgive you all
impertinence—and, carry the jest as far as
will, I am resolved not to be angry.
I am very much obliged to you▪ infinitely obliged to you—I assure you this fav
—this honour.—I don't know what to say—
absolutely puts me out of countenance.
Asi
What confused?—Come,
your gaiety—Come, come—
Come, come, then.
seizing
Enter
DON ANTONIO.
Hah!—What! Struggling?
Oh, Uncle, I have been so
used by this Gentleman, that I must beg you
resent his behaviour.
How!
Certainly, my dear, if you
have
used ill.
Most scandalously—Frighten her a
le.
Aside to Antonio.
Upon my honour, Sir—
Zounds, Sir, my niece is one of the
st reserved, prudent young women—and who
ver offers an insult to her, it is my place, and
sistent but with my honour, to resent it.—How
ite she looks.
Aside.
Sir, I shall not draw my sword be
e the Countess, and therefore I beg you will
up your's.
And so I will, my poor Lady—I
it has frightened you—Here, Niece, have you
hartshorn or drops at hand—the poor thing
errified out of her life. Come, come, my poor
e creature—Poor thing—Poor rogue.
He
up to sooth him, and the Marquis gives him a
.
Don Antonio, this insolence shall
ive the correction it deserves.
Draws.
She is not in earnest, sure.
Aside.
I have received many a blow from
ady, but never such a one as this!
Do you dare to call me a Lady
n, Sir?
A Lady, oh no—you are a tyge
a fury—
I never met with such usage!—Damnation!
What a profligate she is! I d
not think such a word could come out of a woman mouth!
How, Sir!—Dare to say that aga
and I'll nail you to the wall.
Retreating.
Why, what
this about? I won't fight—I only drew
to frighten you.
To frighten me!—Did you
was to be frightened?
Why not? You see I am.
Yes, I see, and scorn you for it.
Why, Uncle, the tables are fa
turned upon you.
Yes, Niece, and I'm much oblig
to you, for your advice in the business—But
may depend upon it, I shall take care h
w attempt to frighten one of your sex again.
Going.
Come back, Sir, I insist upon yo
coming back, and recalling what you have sa
d▪
ist upon your begging me pardon for your im
inent insinuation.—
What insinuation?—That I think
a female?—I am sure there is no offence
nt in that—for, when I suppose you a wo
, I suppose you what I like better than any
g in the world; what I am never happy with
and what I even make myself poor, de
ed, and ridiculous, in the daily pursuit of.
And pray, Sir, in what, do I ap
like a woman?
And pray, Sir, in what, does any
our modern coxcombs appear like a man?
yet they don't scruple to call themselves
.
Then you will not recall your
iments and beg my pardon?
Beg your pardon?—No—Yes, yes
ut on your petticoats, and I'll fall at your feet
oon as you please.—
I'll bear this no longer—Draw.
Marquis draws.
Here Jerome, Jerome, come and
end me, where it would be a dishonour to de
myself.
Enter
JEROME.
See, Jerome, how my life is a
sailed.
Aye, your Honour, I always tol
you the women would be the death of you
last.
You too, rascal!—
Well, I declare with her sword i
her hand, she is as fine a creature as ever I saw!—Oh you audacious minx.
Scoundrel—
Sure, your Honour, she must be t
Maid of Orleans.
I am no maid, Sir.
I am sorry for your misfortune.
Don Antonio, this treatment
suppose you inflict as a just recompence for
presumption in daring to hope for an alliance
your family, spite of the prejudice which I kn
the Countess had conceived—I cannot deny t
justice of the accusation—I came into he ho
with the vain hope—
By no means
vain
—I am ready
comply, be your hopes what they will.
Can I believe what you say real?
Certainly—Were you going to say
hoped to marry me? If you were, call the
est, and we'll be married immediately.
Aye, if that is what your Lord
p wants, the Priest shall tack you together in
minutes.
This sudden consent staggers me—
was not prepared for it—one likes a little pre
ation before marriage as well as before death.
Aside.
What! you are cast down—
med—want to recant—but I won't let you—
shall
marry me—I insist upon it.
What, directly?
Yes, directly—I am in a hurry.
I believe this is mere trifling—
ar you will marry me
I do swear.
You are witness to the oath.
We are witness.
SERVANT
with
DONNA ISABELLA
veiled.
A Lady, Madam, who says she is
to the Marquis.
Has the Marquis more sisters th
one?
No.
Then this, I suppose, is your br
ther?
Aye, in womens' clothes—O de
another fine sight!
Oh Heavens, if it is a man, ta
him out of the room or I shall faint.
Sister Isabella, when I shall rela
to you the strange reception I have met with
this house, you will be amazed—but I think y
will sincerely rejoice at the final event of my vi
when I tell you it is a solemn promise from t
Lady to become my wife.
I give you joy most unfeigned
Pulls off her vei
It is a
woman.
Aye, that it is—Madam, let me
you welcome to the castle.
Goes and salutes
To the Marquis.
Why,
are you—
After trembling as if much terrified
you
a woman?
Countess, I knew you never wo
have consented to have seen the Marquis, had
been introduced into the house as a man, therei
I formed this stratagem, unknown to him,
to bring you together.
To the Countess.
Do not droop,
dearest wife.
And are you really the Marquis?
at a strange blunder have I made!
I am the Marquis—and it shall be
future care to banish for ever from your me
y, the recollection of that marriage which has
n the source of so much woe to you.
Donna Isabella, we are all infinite
bliged to you for this stratagem, by which you
e induced the Countess, innocently to break a
, which she could not have kept without draw
upon herself both ridicule and melancholy—
dear Niece, depend upon it, there is but
one
a woman is authorized to take.
And what vow is that
one
Uncle?
A vow to LOVE, HONOUR and OBEY.
Exeunt omnes.
THE END.
Just published, by G. G. J. and J. ROBINSON
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