No More Learning

[_Exit_. ]

_Enter_ DON ANTONIO.

_Don Ferd_. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you chanting before our
door--was my father waked?

_Don Ant_. Yes, yes; he has a singular affection for music; so I left
him roaring at his barred window, like the print of Bajazet in the
cage. And what brings you out so early?

_Don Ferd_. I believe I told you, that to-morrow was the day fixed by
Don Pedro and Clara's unnatural step-mother, for her to enter a
convent, in order that her brat might possess her fortune: made
desperate by this, I procured a key to the door, and bribed Clara's
maid to leave it unbolted; at two this morning, I entered unperceived,
and stole to her chamber--I found her waking and weeping.

_Don Ant_. Happy Ferdinand!

_Don Ferd_. 'Sdeath! hear the conclusion. --I was rated as the most
confident ruffian, for daring to approach her room at that hour of the
night.

_Don Ant_. Ay, ay, this was at first.

_Don Ferd_. No such thing! she would not hear a word from me, but
threatened to raise her mother, if I did not instantly leave her.

_Don Ant_. Well, but at last?

_Don Ferd_. At last! why I was forced to leave the house as I came in.

_Don Ant_. And did you do nothing to offend her?

_Don Ferd_. Nothing, as I hope to be saved! --I believe, I might snatch
a dozen or two of kisses.

_Don Ant_. Was that all? well, I think, I never heard of such
assurance!

_Don Ferd_. Zounds! I tell you I behaved with the utmost respect.

_Don Ant_. O Lord! I don't mean you, but in her. But, hark ye,
Ferdinand, did you leave your key with them?

_Don Ferd_. Yes; the maid who saw me out, took it from the door.

_Don Ant_. Then, my life for it, her mistress elopes after you.

_Don Ferd_. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps. I am in a humour to
suspect everybody. --You loved her once, and thought her an angel, as I
do now.

_Don Ant_. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't love me, and
then I discovered that she hadn't a good feature in her face.

AIR.

I ne'er could any lustre see
In eyes that would not look on me;
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,
But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart
Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art?
I will own the colour true,
When yielding blushes aid their hue.

Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it, grateful, press again.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so, when I see
That heaving bosom sigh for me.

Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in my love for your sister;
help me there, and I can never disturb you with Clara.

_Don Ferd_. As far as I can, consistently with the honour of our
family, you know I will; but there must be no eloping.

_Don Ant_. And yet, now, you would carry off Clara?

_Don Ferd_. Ay, that's a different case! --we never mean that others
should act to our sisters and wives as we do to others'. --But, to-
morrow, Clara is to be forced into a convent.

_Don Ant_. Well, and am not I so unfortunately circumstanced? To-
morrow, your father forces Louisa to marry Isaac, the Portuguese--but
come with me, and we'll devise something I warrant.

_Don Ferd_. I must go home.

_Don Ant_. Well, adieu!

_Don Ferd_. But, Don Antonio, if you did not love my sister, you have
too much honour and friendship to supplant me with Clara--

AIR--_Don Ant_.

Friendship is the bond of reason;
But if beauty disapprove,
Heaven dissolves all other treason
In the heart that's true to love.

The faith which to my friend I swore,
As a civil oath I view;
But to the charms which I adore,
'Tis religion to be true. [_Exit_. ]

_Don Ferd_. There is always a levity in Antonio's manner of replying
to me on this subject that is very alarming. --'Sdeath, if Clara should
love him after all.

SONG.

Though cause for suspicion appears,
Yet proofs of her love, too, are strong;
I'm a wretch if I'm right in my fears,
And unworthy of bliss if I'm wrong.
What heart-breaking torments from jealousy flow,
Ah! none but the jealous--the jealous can know!

When blest with the smiles of my fair,
I know not how much I adore:
Those smiles let another but share,
And I wonder I prized them no more!
Then whence can I hope a relief from my woe,
When the falser she seems, still the fonder I grow? [_Exit_. ]




SCENE III. --_A Room in_ DON JEROME'S _House_.

_Enter_ DONNA LOUISA _and_ DUENNA.


_Don. Louisa_. But, my dear Margaret, my charming Duenna, do you think
we shall succeed?

_Duen_. I tell you again, I have no doubt on't; but it must be
instantly put to the trial. Everything is prepared in your room, and
for the rest we must trust to fortune.

_Don. Louisa_. My father's oath was, never to see me till I had
consented to----

_Duen_. 'Twas thus I overheard him say to his friend, Don Guzman,--_I
will demand of her to-morrow, once for all, whether she will consent
to marry Isaac Mendoza; if she hesitates, I will make a solemn oath
never to see or speak to her till she returns to her duty_. --These
were his words.

_Don. Louisa_. And on his known obstinate adherence to what he has
once said, you have formed this plan for my escape. --But have you
secured my maid in our interest?

_Duen_. She is a party in the whole; but remember, if we succeed, you
resign all right and title in little Isaac, the Jew, over to me.

_Don. Louisa_. That I do with all my soul; get him if you can, and I
shall wish you joy most heartily. He is twenty times as rich as my
poor Antonio.

AIR.
Thou canst not boast of fortune's store,
My love, while me they wealthy call:
But I was glad to find thee poor--
For with my heart I'd give thee all.
And then the grateful youth shall own
I loved him for himself alone.

But when his worth my hand shall gain,
No word or look of mine shall show
That I the smallest thought retain
Of what my bounty did bestow;
Yet still his grateful heart shall own
I loved him for himself alone.

_Duen_. I hear Don Jerome coming. --Quick, give me the last letter I
brought you from Antonio--you know that is to be the ground of my
dismission. --I must slip out to seal it up, as undelivered. [_Exit_. ]


_Enter_ DON JEROME _and_ DON FERDINAND.

_Don Jer_. What, I suppose you have been serenading too! Eh,
disturbing some peaceable neighbourhood with villainous catgut and
lascivious piping! Out on't! you set your sister, here, a vile
example; but I come to tell you, madam, that I'll suffer no more of
these midnight incantations--these amorous orgies, that steal the
senses in the hearing; as, they say, Egyptian embalmers serve mummies,
extracting the brain through the ears. However, there's an end of your
frolics. --Isaac Mendoza will be here presently, and to-morrow you
shall marry him.

_Don. Louisa_. Never, while I have life!

_Don Ferd_. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can think of such a man for
a son-in-law.

_Don Jer_. Sir, you are very kind to favour me with your sentiments--
and pray, what is your objection to him?

_Don Ferd_. He is a Portuguese, in the first place.

_Don Jer_. No such thing, boy; he has forsworn his country.

_Don. Louisa_. He is a Jew.

_Don Jer_. Another mistake: he has been a Christian these six weeks.

_Don Ferd_. Ay, he left his old religion for an estate, and has not
had time to get a new one.

_Don. Louisa_. But stands like a dead wall between church and
synagogue, or like the blank leaves between the Old and New Testament.

_Don Jer_. Anything more?

_Don Ferd_. But the most remarkable part of his character is his
passion for deceit and tricks of cunning.

_Don. Louisa_. Though at the same time the fool predominates so much
over the knave, that I am told he is generally the dupe of his own
art.

_Don Ferd_. True; like an unskilful gunner, he usually misses his aim,
and is hurt by the recoil of his own piece.

_Don Jer_. Anything more?

_Don. Louisa_. To sum up all, he has the worst fault a husband can
have--he's not my choice.

_Don Jer_. But you are his; and choice on one side is sufficient--two
lovers should never meet in marriage--be you sour as you please, he is
sweet-tempered; and for your good fruit, there's nothing like
ingrafting on a crab.

_Don. Louisa_. I detest him as a lover, and shall ten times more as a
husband.

_Don Jer_. I don't know that-marriage generally makes a great change--
but, to cut the matter short, will you have him or not?

_Don. Louisa_. There is nothing else I could disobey you in.

_Don Jer_. Do you value your father's peace?

_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 passions and would befriend all under their
influence.

_Don Jer_. The tender passions! 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 passions, 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
passion 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.

_Don. Clara_. Louisa's respect for her father is so great, she would
not credit the unkindness of mine.

[DONNA LOUISA _turns and sees_ DONNA CLARA _and_ MAID. ]

_Don. Louisa_. Ha! who are those? sure one is Clara--if it be, I'll
trust her. Clara! [_Advances_. ]

_Don. Clara_. Louisa! and in masquerade too!

_Don. Louisa_. You will be more surprised when I tell you, that I have
run away from my father.

_Don. Clara_. Surprised indeed! and I should certainly chide you most
horridly, only that I have just run away from mine.

_Don. Louisa_. My dear Clara! [_Embrace_. ]

_Don. Clara_. Dear sister truant! and whither are you going?

_Don. Louisa_. To find the man I love, to be sure; and, I presume, you
would have no aversion to meet with my brother?

_Don. Clara_. Indeed I should: he has behaved so ill to me, I don't
believe I shall ever forgive him.

AIR.

When sable night, each drooping plant restoring,
Wept o'er the flowers her breath did cheer,
As some sad widow o'er her babe deploring,
Wakes its beauty with a tear;
When all did sleep whose weary hearts did borrow
One hour from love and care to rest,
Lo! as I press'd my couch in silent sorrow,
My lover caught me to his breast!
He vow'd he came to save me
From those who would enslave me!
Then kneeling, Kisses stealing,
Endless faith he swore;
But soon I chid him thence,
For had his fond pretence
Obtain'd one favour then,
And he had press'd again,
I fear'd my treacherous heart might grant him more.

_Don. Louisa_. Well, for all this, I would have sent him to plead his
pardon, but that I would not yet awhile have him know of my flight.
And where do you hope to find protection?

_Don. Clara_. The Lady Abbess of the convent of St. Catherine is a
relation and kind friend of mine--I shall be secure with her, and you
had best go thither with me.

_Don. Louisa_. No; I am determined to find Antonio first; and, as I
live, here comes the very man I will employ to seek him for me.

_Don. Clara_. Who is he? he's a strange figure.

_Don. Louisa_. Yes; that sweet creature is the man whom my father has
fixed on for my husband.

_Don. Clara_. And will you speak to him? are you mad?

_Don. Louisa_. He is the fittest man in the world for my purpose; for,
though I was to have married him to-morrow, he is the only man in
Seville who, I am sure, never saw me in his life.

_Don. Clara_. And how do you know him?

_Don. Louisa_. He arrived but yesterday, and he was shown to me from
the window, as he visited my father.

_Don. Clara_. Well, I'll begone.

_Don. Louisa_. Hold, my dear Clara--a thought has struck me: will you
give me leave to borrow your name, as I see occasion?

_Don. Clara_. It will but disgrace you; but use it as you please: I
dare not stay. --[_Going_. ]--But, Louisa, if you should see your
brother, be sure you don't inform him that I have taken refuge with
the Dame Prior of the convent of St. Catherine, on the left hand side
of the piazza which leads to the church of St. Anthony.

_Don. Louisa_.