ACT I.

_The room in the inn._

_Enter +Don Fernando+, and at another door his servant +Fabio+, both in riding-clothes._

+Don F.+ Have you not been with him, Fabio, and given him The note?

+Fab.+ I found him newly got out of his bed; He seem'd much satisfied, though much surpris'd, With your arrival; and as soon as possibly He can get ready, he'll be with you here. He says he hopes some good occasion brings you To Valencia, and that he shall not be At quiet till he know it. 'Twas not fit For me, without your orders, to give him Any more light than what your ticket did.

+Don. F.+ 'Tis well: go now, and see if Donna Elvira Be stirring yet, for I would gladly have her A witness, even at first, to what shall pass Betwixt my friend and me in our concernments: If she be still asleep, Fabio, make bold To knock, and wake her; w' have no time to lose. O, here she comes. Wait you Don Julio. [_Exit +Fabio+._

_Enter +Donna Elvira+._

+Elv.+ Ah! can you think my cares and sleep consistent? Slumber and tears have sometimes met in dreams; But hearts, with such a weight as mine opprest, Find still the heaviest sleep too light a guest.

+Don F.+ Madam, though such least pity do deserve, Who by their own unsteadiness have drawn Misfortune on themselves, yet truly, Elvira, Such is my sense of yours and my compassion, To see a lady of your quality Brought to such sad extremes in what is dearest, As makes me even forget my own resentments, Granting to pity the whole place of love; And at that rate I'll serve you. Yet thus far You must allow the eruption of a heart So highly injur'd, as to tell you frankly, 'Tis to comply with my own principles Of honour now, without the least relation To former passion or to former favours.

+Elv.+ Those you have found a ready way to cancel; Your sullen silence, during all our journey, Might well have spar'd you these superfluous words; That had sufficiently instructed me What power mere appearances have had, Without examination, to destroy With an umbrageous nature all that love Was ever able on the solid'st grounds To found and to establish. Yet, methinks, A man that boasts such principles of honour, And of such force to sway him in his actions, In spite of all resentments, should reflect, That honour does oblige to a suspense, At least of judgment, when surprising chances, Yet uninquired into, tempt gallant men To prejudicial thoughts of those with whom They had settled friendship upon virtuous grounds. But 'tis from Heav'n, I see, and not from you, Elvira must expect her vindication; And until then submit to th' hardest fate That ever can befall a generous spirit-- Of being oblig'd by him that injures her.

+Don F.+ Nay, speak, Elvira, speak; you've me attentive: [_With a kind of scornful accent._ It were a wonder worthy of your wit To make me trust my ears before my eyes.

+Elv.+ Those are the witnesses, indeed, Fernando, To whose true testimony's false inference You owe my moderation and my silence, And that I leave it to the gods and time To make appear both to the world and you The maxim false, that still the worst proves true.

_Enter +Fabio+._

+Fab.+ Don Julio is without.

+Don F.+ Wait on him in---- [_Exit +Fabio+._ And now, Elvira, If you'll be pleas'd to rest yourself awhile Within that closet, you may hear what passes Betwixt my friend and me, until such time As I by some discourse having prevented Too great surprise, you shall think fit t' appear. He is the man (as I have often told you During my happy days) for whom alone I have no reserves; and 'tis to his assistance That I must owe the means of serving you In the concernments of your safety and honour; And therefore, madam, 'twill be no offence, I hope, to trust him with the true occasion That brings me hither to employ his friendship; Observing that respect in the relation Which I shall always pay you.

+Elv.+ [_Retiring as into the closet._] There needs no management in the relation. I am indifferent what others think, Since those who ought t' have thought the best have fail'd me: Sir, I obey, resign'd up to your conduct, Till mistress of my own. [_Exit._

_Enter +Don Julio+: +Don Fernando+ and he embrace._

+Don J.+ My joy to have my dear Fernando here So unexpectedly, as great as 'tis, Cannot make Julio insensible Of th' injury you have done him, t' have alighted, And pass'd a night within Valencia At any other place than at his house: Donna Blanca herself will scarce forgive it, When she shall know it.

+Don F.+ I hope she's well.

+Don J.+ She is so, thanks to heaven: But I must bid you expect a chiding from her.

+Don F.+ You both might well accuse me of a failure, Did not th' occasion of my coming hither Bring with it an excuse, alas! too just, As you will quickly find.

+Don J.+ Nay, then you raise disquiet; ease me quickly, By telling me what 'tis. Of this be sure: Heart, hand and fortune are entirely yours At all essays.

+Don. F.+ [_After pausing awhile._] It is not new t' ye that I was a lover, Engaged in all the passion that e'er beauty, In height of its perfection, could produce; And that confirm'd by reason from her wit, Her quality and most unblemish'd conduct; Nor was there more to justify my love, Than to persuade my happiness in her Just correspondence to it, by all the ways Of honourable admission, that might serve To make esteem transcend the pitch of love.

+Don J.+ Of all this I have not only had knowledge, But great participation in your joys: Than which I thought nothing more permanent, Since founded on such virtue as Elvira's.

+Don F.+ Ah, Julio! how fond a creature is the man That founds his bliss upon a woman's firmness! Even that Elvira, when I thought myself Securest in my happiness, nothing wanting To make her mine, but those exterior forms, Without which men of honour, that pretend In way of marriage, would be loth to find Greater concession, where the love is greatest; As I was sitting with her, late at night, By usual admittance to her chamber, As two whose hearts in wedlock-bands were join'd, And seem'd above all other care, but how Best to disguise things to a wayward father, Till time and art might compass his consent; A sudden noise was heard in th' inner room, Belonging to her chamber: she starts up In manifest disorder, and runs in, Desiring me to stay till she had seen What caus'd it. I, impatient, follow, As fearing for her, had it been her father: My head no sooner was within the room, But straight I spied, behind a curtain shrinking, A goodly gallant, but not known to me.

+Don J.+ Heavens, what can this be?

+Don F.+ You will not think that there, and at that hour, I stay'd to ask his name. He ready as I To make his sword th' expresser of his mind, We soon determin'd what we sought: I hurt But slightly in the arm; he fell as slain, Run through the body: what Elvira did, My rage allow'd me not to mark: but straight I got away, more wounded to the heart Than he I left for dead.

+Don J.+ Prodigious accident! where can it end?

+Don F.+ I got safe home where, carefully conceal'd, I sought by Fabio's diligence to learn Who my slain rival was, and what became Of my unhappy mistress, and what course Don Pedro de Mendoça took to right The honour of his house.

+Don J.+ You long'd not more To know it then, than I do now.

+Don F.+ All could be learn'd was this: that my rival, Whom I thought dead, was likely to recover, And that he was a stranger lately come Up to the court, to follow some pretensions: His name he either learn'd not perfectly, Or did not well retain. As for Elvira, That none knew where she was; and that Don Pedro Had set a stop to prosecution In any public way, with what reserves Was not yet known.

+Don J.+ More and more intricate.

+Don F.+ I must now come to that you least look for. I had but few days pass'd in my concealment (Resentment and revenge still boiling in me) When late one evening, as I buried was In deepest thought, I suddenly was rous'd By a surprising apparition, Julio-- Elvira in my chamber, speaking to me With rare assurance thus:--Don Fernando, I come not here to justify myself, That were below Elvira towards one, Whose action in deserting me hath shown So disobligingly his rash judgment of me. I come to mind you of honour, not of love: Mine can protection seek from none but yours. I've hitherto been shelter'd from the fury Of my enrag'd father by my cousin Camilla: But that's no place, you easily may judge, For longer stay: I do expect from you To be convey'd where, free from violence And from new hazards of my wounded fame, I may attend my righting from the gods.

+Don J.+ Can guilt maintain such confidence in a maid? Yet how to think her innocent, I know not.

+Don F.+ 'Twere loss of time to dwell on circumstances, Either of my wonder or reply: in short, What I found honour dictated, I did. Within two hours, I put her in a coach, And, favour'd by the night, convey'd her safe Out of Madrid to Ocana, and thence In three days hither to Valencia, The only place where (by your generous aid) I could have hopes to settle and secure Her person and her honour. That once done, Farewell to Spain: I'll to the wars of Milan, And there soon put a noble end to cares.

+Don J.+ Let us first think how to dispose of her, Since here you say she is; that done (which presses), You will have time to weigh all other things.

+Don F.+ My thoughts can pitch upon no other way Decent or safe for her, but in a convent, If you have any abbess here to friend.

+Don J.+ I have an aunt, ruling the Ursulines, With whom I have full power; and she is wise, In case that course were to be fix'd upon. But that's not my opinion.

+Don F.+ What can Your reason be?

+Don J.+ Last remedies, in my judgment, Are not to be used, till easier have been tried. Had this strange accident been thoroughly Examined in all its circumstances, And that from thence she were convicted guilty, Nought else were to be thought on but a cloister; But, as things stand imperfectly discover'd, Although appearances condemn her strongly, I cannot yet conclude a person guilty Of what throughout so contradictory seems To the whole tenor of her former life, As well as to her quality and wit; And therefore let's avoid precipitation, Let my house be her shelter for awhile; You know my sister Blanca is discreet, And may be trusted; she shall there be serv'd By her and me with care and secrecy.

+Don F.+ The offer's kind, but nowise practicable, And might prove hazardous to Blanca's honour, When it should once break out (as needs it must) From servants seeing such a guest so treated.

+Don J.+ That, I confess, I know not how to answer: But, could Elvira's mind submit unto it, I could propose a course without objection.

+Don F.+ That she can soon resolve; what is it, Julio?

+Don J.+ A gentlewoman, who waited on my sister, Hath newly left her service for a husband, And it is known she means to take another: I have a ready way to recommend one-- By Violante, of whose love and mine You are not ignorant, since that ere this We had been married, had not kindred forc'd us To wait a dispensation for 't from Rome. Blanca (I am sure) will readily Embrace any occasion of obliging her.

+Don F.+ That were a right expedient indeed, Could but Elvira's spirit brook it.

_Enter +Elvira+ as from the closet._

+Elv.+ You have ill measures of Elvira's spirit, Mistaken Don Fernando. Till Heaven's justice Shall her entirely to herself restore, The lowlier shape her fate shall hide her under, The more 'twill fit her humour. [_+Don Julio+ starts back as it were amazed._

+Don J.+ [_Aside._] O heavens! can guilt with such perfection dwell, And put on such assurance? It cannot be.

+Don J.+ [_Addressing himself to her, and beginning; she holding out her hand and interrupting him._] Madam----

+Elv.+ Spare compliments, and let your actions speak: Those may oblige both him and me; your words Cannot comply with both.

+Don J.+ [_Aside._] Did ever yet Such majesty with misery combine, But in this woman? [_To her._] Madam, I obey, And, since you're pleas'd t' approve what I proposed, No moment shall be lost in th' execution.

[_Exit +Julio+, +Fernando+ accompanying him, and +Fabio+._

+Elv.+ O, how unkindly have the heavens dealt With womankind above all other creatures! Our pleasure and our glory to have placed All on the brink of precipices, such As every breath can blow the least light of us Headlong into, past all hopes of redemption: Nor can our wit or virtue give exemption. 'Tis true, I lov'd; but justified therein By spotless thoughts and by the object's merit, I deem'd myself above the reach of malice; When in an instant, by another's folly, I am more lost than any by her[6] own. Accurs'd Don Zancho, what occasion E'er gave Elvira to thy mad intrusion? Unless disdain and scorn incentives are To make men's passions more irregular. Ah, matchless rigour of the Pow'rs above! Not only to submit our honour's fate Unto the vanity of those we love, But to the rashness even of those we hate. [_Exit._

_Enter +Donna Blanca+ at one door, reading a paper, with great marks of passion and disturbance; and her waiting-woman +Francisca+ at another, observing her._

+Blan.+ Ah, the traitor!

+Fran.+ What can this mean? [_Aside._

+Blan.+ Was this thy sweet pretension at Madrid, Drawn out in length, and hind'ring thy return? Thy fair pretence, thou shouldst have said, false man.

+Fran.+ For love's sake, madam, what can move you thus?

+Blan.+ For hate's sake, say, and for revenge, Francisca, And so thou may'st persuade me to discover My shame unto thee. Read, read that letter; 'Tis from your favourite Chichon.

[_+Francisca+ takes the letter and reads it._

"Madam, to make good my engagements of concealing nothing from you during this absence of my master, I am bound to tell you that some ten days since, late at night, he was left for dead, run through the body by another unknown gallant, in the chamber of a famed beauty of the court. Whilst the danger continued, I thought it not fit to let you know either the accident or the occasion; which, now he is recovered, and thinking of his return to Valencia, I must no longer forbear. I hope you will have a care not to undo me for being more faithful to you than to the master you gave me.--Your creature,

"+Chichon.+"

+Blan.+ Have I not a worthy gallant, think you?

+Fran.+ Madam, this comes of being over-curious, And gaining servants to betray their masters. How quiet might you have slept, and never felt What pass'd with your Don Zancho at Madrid! His pale and dismal looks at his return, Though caus'd by loss of blood in the hot service Of other dames, might fairly have been thought Effects of care and want of sleep for you, And (taken so) have pass'd for new endearments. Who ever pry'd into another's letter, Or slyly hearken'd to another's whisper, But saw or heard somewhat that did not please him? 'Twas Eve's curiosity undid us all.

+Blan.+ Away with thy moralities,[7] dull creature! I'll make thee see, and false Don Zancho feel, That Blanca's not a dame to be so treated. But who are those I hear without? Whoe'er They be, they come at an unwelcome hour. [_+Francisca+ looks out._

+Fran.+ Madam, it is a page of Violante's, Ushering [in] a handsome maid.

_Enter a Page with a letter, and +Elvira+. The Page presents the letter to +Blanca+; she addresses herself to +Elvira+, and she throws up her veil._

+Blan.+ This letter is in your behalf, fair maid, [_Having read the letter._ There's no denying such a recommender; But such a face as yours is needed none. Page, tell your lady as much: and you, Silvia, [_Turning._ (For so she says you are call'd) be confident Y'are fallen into the hands of one that knows How to be kind, more as your friend than mistress, If your demeanour and good-nature answer But what your looks do promise.

+Elv.+[8] Madam, it is the noble charity Of those you cast upon me, not mine own, To which I must acknowledge any advantage I ever can pretend to, more than what Fair Violante's meditation gives me.

+Blan.+ She's strangely handsome, and how well she speaks! [_Aside to +Francisca+._

+Fran.+ So, so, methinks: you know new-comers, madam, Set still the best foot forward.

+Blan.+ And know as well, that you decaying stagers Are always jealous of new-comers, young And handsome.

+Fran.+ You may be as sharp upon me as you please; I know to what t' attribute your ill-humour.

+Blan.+ Francisca, entertain her: I'll go write To Violante, and then rest awhile, In hopes to ease the headache that hath seiz'd me; That done, sweet Silvia, we shall talk at leisure. [_Exit +Blanca+._

+Fran.+ _Sweet Silvia!_ kind epithets are for new faces. [_Aside._

+Elv.+ Now comes the hard part of my task indeed, To act the fellow waiting-woman right. But, since the gods already have conform'd My mind to my condition, I do hope They'll teach me words and gestures suitable. [_Aside. +Francisca+ embraces +Elvira+._

+Fran.+ Let me embrace thee, my sweet sister, and beg you To be no niggard of a little kindness: A very little serves, with such a face, To gain what heart you please.

+Elv.+ If it can help to gain me yours, I'll take it For the best office that it ever did me, And love it much the better.

+Fran.+ Make much on't then, for that 't has done already.

+Elv.+ If you will have me vain enough to think it, You must confirm it by the proof of being My kind instructor how to please my lady, For I am very raw in service.

+Fran.+ O, that I were so too, and had thy youth t' excuse it. But my experience, sister, shall be yours By free communication. Come, let's in, And rest us in my chamber; there I'll give you First handsel of the frankness of my nature. [_Exeunt +Elvira+ and +Francisca+._

_Enter +Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+ his man, in riding-habits._

+Don Z.+ I must confess, Chichon, the very smell Of sweet Valencia has e'en reviv'd my spirits. There's no such pleasure as to suck and breathe One's native air.

+Chi.+ Chiefly after being in so fair a way, As you, of never breathing any more!

+Don Z.+ Prythee, no more of that; since I have forgot it, Methinks thou easily may'st.

+Chi.+ Faith, hardly, sir, whilst still your ghastly face Doth bear such dismal memorandums of it, Apter to raise inquisitiveness in those Knowing nothing of the matter, than t' allay Remembrance in partakers.

+Don Z.+ Heaven shield us from Donna Blanca's queries! No matter for the rest.

+Chi.+ You would not wish to find her so unconcern'd; I'm sure you would not: faith, I long to hear Th' ingenious defeats, I make account, You are prepar'd to give to her suspicions.

+Don Z.+ Let me alone for that: but, on thy life, Be sure that nothing be screw'd out of thee, Neither by her nor by her sly Francisca.

+Chi.+ Be you, sir, sure, that from your true Chichon They'll know no more to-day, than yesterday They did; nor thence more to the world's end, Than what they did before we left Madrid.

+Don Z.+ Truly, Chichon, we needs must find the means To get a sight of her this very night: I die, if I should miss it.

+Chi.+ Last week left gasping for Elvira's love. And scarce reviv'd, when presently expiring For Blanca's again! I did not think Don Cupid Had been a merchant of such quick returns.

+Don Z.+ Thou art an ass, and want'st distinctiveness 'Twixt love and love: that was a love of sport To keep the serious one in breath.

+Chi.+ Faith, sir, I must confess my ignorance, That when I saw you grovelling in your blood, I thought your love had been in sober sadness.

+Don Z.+ Prythee, leave fooling, and let's carefully Gain the back way into my house unseen, That none may know of my return, till Blanca Find me at her feet. And be you industrious T' observe Don Julio's going forth this evening: Doubtless he'll keep his usual hours abroad At Violante's, since not married yet.

+Chi.+ I shall observe your orders punctually. [_Exeunt._

_Enter +Don Julio+, and knocks as at +Blanca's+ door._

+Don J.+ What, sister, at your siesta[9] already? if so, You must have patience to be wak'd out of it, For I have news to tell you.

_Enter +Blanca+._

+Blan.+ No, brother, I was much more pleasingly Employ'd--in serving you; that is, making My court to Violante by receiving To wait upon me, in Lucilla's place, A gentlewoman of her recommending.

+Don J.+ Where is she? let me see her.

+Blan.+ 'Twere not safe: She is too handsome. You think now I jest? But, without raillery, she is so lovely, That, were not Violante very assur'd Of her own beauty and the strong ideas That still upholds within you, one might question Her wit to have set her in her gallant's way. But what's the news you mean?

+Don J.+ That our dear friend and kinsman, Don Fernando, Is come to town, and going for Italy: The secret of it doth so much import him, It forc'd him to forbear alighting here, And lodging with us, as he us'd to do; But yet he says, nothing shall hinder him From waiting on you in the dusk of th' evening: I hope you'll find wherewith to regale[10] him.

+Blan.+ As well as you have drain'd my cabinets Of late in presents to your mistress, some Perfumes will yet be found, such as at Rome Itself shall not disgrace Valencia.

+Don J.+ I know your humour, and that the best present Can be given you is to give you the occasion Of presenting; but I am come in now Only to advertise you, and must be gone; Yet not, I hope, without a sight of one So recommended and commended so.

+Blan.+ I should have thought you strangely chang'd in humour, Should you have gone away so uncuriously. Francisca, ho! [_She knocks._

_Enter +Francisca+._

+Fran.+ What please you, madam?

+Fran.+ Prythee, tell Silvia I would speak with her. [_Exit +Francisca+._ Well, clear your eyes, and say I have no skill, If she appears not t' ye exceeding handsome.

_Enter +Francisca+ with +Elvira+. +Don Julio+ salutes her._

+Don J.+ Welcome, fair maid, into this family, Where, whilst you take a servant's name upon you, To do my sister honour, you must allow Its master to be yours, and that by strongest ties, Knowing who plac'd you here, and having eyes.

+Elv.+ I wish my service, sir, to her and you May merit such a happy introduction.

+Don J.+ Farewell, sister, till anon: accompanied As now you are, I think you'll miss me little. [_Exit +Julio+._

+Blan.+ I must confess, I ne'er could better spare you Than at this time, but not for any reason That you, I hope, can guess at. Francisca, you and Silvia may retire, [_Exeunt +Elvira+ and +Francisca+._ And entertain yourselves: I'll to my closet, And try to rest, or (rather) to vent freely My restless thoughts. O, the self-torturing part [_Aside._ To force complaisance from a jealous heart! [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[5] The errors Dodsley committed, and Reed allowed to remain, in the course of this play, were very numerous: it has been thought worth while to point out only a few of them in the notes.--_Collier._

[6] The substitution of _my_ for _her_, in opposition to the authority of the old copy, till now made this passage unintelligible.--_Collier._

[7] In former editions misprinted--

"Away with thy _formalities_, dull creature!"--

which destroys all the spirit of the exclamation.--_Collier._

[8] The old copy inserts in the margin opposite Elvira the words _by the name of Silvia_ merely to show more distinctly that Elvira was to pass by that name, which is inserted before what she says.--_Collier._

[9] The heat of the day, from noon forwards. So called from Hora Sexta, noonday, a time when the Spanish ladies retire to sleep.

[10] It is singular that in the old copy the author should here have inserted the Spanish verb _regalar_ instead of the English one.--_Collier._