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A Grand Saloon.
Enter Don JEROME, SERVANTS, and Lopez.
Jerome. Be sure now let every thing 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 aftersupper. So, Lopez, where's your master ? sha’n't we have him at supper?
Lopez. Indeed, I believe not, sir-he's mad, I doubt; I'm sure he has frighted me from him.
Ferome. Ay, ay, he's after some wench, I suppose ? a young rake! Well, well, we'll be merry without him.
Enter a SERVANT.
Sero. Sir, here is Signor Isaac.
Jerome. So, my dear son-in-law--there, take my blessing and forgiveness. But where's my daughter? wbere's Louisa?
Isaac. She's without, impatient for a blessing, but almost afraid to enter.
Jerome. Oh, fly and bring her in. Erit Isaac.) Poor giri, i long to see her pretty face.
Isaac, Witroui.] Come, my charmer! my trembling angel !
Enter Isaac and DuennA ; Don JEROME runs to
meet them; she kneels.
Jerome. 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 !
Jerome. 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 !
Jerome. Wife with a vengeance! Why, zounds, you have not married the Duenna!
Duenna. [Kneeling.] O dear papa! you'll not disown me, sure !
Jerome. 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
Duenna. Oh, sir, forgive me! [Embraces him.
Jerome. Why, here, this damned Jew has brought an old harridan to strangle me.
Isaac. Lord, it is his own daughter, and he is 50 hard-hearted he won't forgive her.
Enter ANTONIA and LOVISA; they kneel. Jerome. Zounds and fury! what's here now? who sent for
you, sir, and who the devil are you? Ant. This lady's husband, sir. Isaac. Ay, that he is, I'll be sworn; for I left them with the priest, and was to have given her away.
Jerome. You were ?
that's the little girl, I told you I had hampered him with.
Jerome. Why, you are either drunk or mad—this is my daughter.
Isaac. No, no ; 'lis you are both drunk and mad, I think--here's your daughter.
Jerome. Hark ye, old iniquity, will you explain all this, or not?
Duenna. 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 ?
Duenna. The truth is, that in your passion this morning, you made a small mistake; for 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.
Jerome. And, O lud! O lud! here's a pretty fellow, to marry an old Duenda instead of my daughter but how came the rest about?
Duenna. 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.
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.
Jerome. Overreach me!
Louisa. 'Tis so, indeed, sir, and we can prove it to you.
Jerome. Why, gad take me, it must be so, or he
could never have put up with such a face as Margaret's-so, little Solomon, I wish you joy of your wifəs with all my soul.
Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love-let you alone for the plot.
Ant. A cunning dog, ar'n't you? A sly little villain, heh?
Louisa. Roguish, perhaps ; but keen, devilish keen.
Jerome. 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 ?
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 bee come the dupe of his own art.
Isaac. I don't care-I'll not endure this Don Je. rome, '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.
Duenna. Why, you little insignificant reptile !
Duenna. Dares 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! La beard like an artichoke, with dry shrivelled jaws, that would disgrace the mummy of a monkey!
Jerome. Well done, Margaret!
Duenna. But you shall know that I have a brother, who wears a sword, and if you don't do me jus. tice
Isaac. Fire seize your brother, and you too ! I'll dy to Jerusalem, to avoid you !
Duenna. Fly where you will, I'll fo.low you
Jerome. Throw your snowy arms about him, Margaret. [Exeunt Isaac and DuennA.)-But, Louisa, are you really married to this modest gentleman ?
Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands, I gave him my hand within this hour.
Jerome. My commands !
Jerome. How! would you rob me of my child by a trick, a false pretence and do you think to get her förtuné by the same means? Why, 'slife, you are as great a rogue as Isaac !
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 dowe., 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.
Jerome. 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 lie'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 FERDINAND and CLARA. Another wonder still! why, sirrah! Ferdinand, you have not stole a nun, have you?
Ferd. She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sirlook 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.