the time of writing this drama, these circumstances may be his excuse for having here slandered a noble science, which he has since pursued with unremitting industry; and which, no doubt, has long given him reason to recant that unguarded declaration, in page 44, which alleges that “ conscience has nothing to do with politics."

A %

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

THE DUENNA.

ACT THE FIRST,

SCENE I.

A Street.

Enter LOPEZ, with a dark Lanthorn, Lopez. 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 appetite-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 : soh! 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.

(Erit.

Enter ANTONIO, with Masks and Music.

SONG. ANTONIO.

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 Mask. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, while you sing so dolefully; love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody,

Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest.

1 Mask. The reason is, because you know she does not regard you enough to appear, if you awaked her.

Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you. [Sings.

The breath of morn bids hence the night,
Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fuir ;
For till the dawn of love is there,
I feel no day, I own no light.

LOUISA-replies from a Window.
Waking, I heard thy numbers chide,

Waking, the dawn did bless my sight,
'Tis Phæbus sure, that woos, I cried,
Who speaks

song, who moves in light.

DON JEROME-From a Window.

What vagabonds are these, I hear,
Fiddling, fluting, rhyming ranting,
Piping, scraping, whining, canting,

Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!

TRIO.

Louisa. Nay, prythee, father, why so rough?
Ant. An humble lover I.
Jerome. How durst you, daughter, lend an ear

To such deceitful stuff?

Quick, from the window, fly! Louisa. Adieu, Antonio ! Ant. Must you go? Louisa. 2 We soon, perhaps, may meet again ; Ant. For though hard

}