The Duenna | Page 5

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,