Part 8

_Jacin._ Madam, never doubt me; I'm charged to the mouth with fury, and if ever I meet that fat traitor of mine, such a volley will I pour about his ears----Now heav'n prevent all hasty vows; but in the humour I am, methinks I'd carry my maiden-head to my cold grave with me, before I'd let it simper at the rascal. But soft; here comes your father.

_Enter ~Alvarez~._

_Alv._ _Leonora_, I'd have you retire a little, and send your brother's tutor to me, _Metaphrastus_.

[_Exit ~Leo.~ and ~Jacin~._

_Solus._

I'll try if I can discover, by his tutor, what it is that seems so much to work his brain of late; for something more than common there plainly does appear, yet nothing sure that can disturb his soul, like what I have to torture mine upon his account. Sure nothing in this world is worth a troubled mind: what racks has avarice stretch'd me on! I wanted nothing, kind heav'n had given me a plenteous lot, and seated me in great abundance; why then approve I of this imposture? What have I gain'd by it? Wealth and misery. I have barter'd peaceful days for restless nights; a wretched bargain! and he that merchandises thus, must be undone at last.

_Enter ~Metaphrastus~._

_Metaph._ _Mandatum tuum curo diligenter._

_Alv._ Master, I had a mind to ask you----

_Metaph._ The title, master, comes from _Magis_ and _Ter_, which is as much, to say, _thrice worthy_.

_Alv._ I never heard so much before, but it may be true for ought I know: but, master----

_Metaph._ Go on.

_Alv._ Why so I will if you'll let me, but don't interrupt me then.

_Metaph._ Enough, proceed.

_Alv._ Why then, master, for a third time, my son _Camillo_ gives me much uneasiness of late; you know I love him, and have many careful thoughts about him.

_Metaph._ 'Tis true. _Filio non potest præferri nisi filius._

_Alv._ Master, when one has business to talk on, these scholastic expressions are not of use; I believe you a great Latinist; possibly you may understand _Greek_: those who recommended you to me, said so, and I am willing it should be true: but the thing I want to discourse you about at present, does not properly give you an occasion to display your learning. Besides, to tell you truth, 'twill at all times be lost upon me; my father was a wise man, but he taught me nothing beyond common sense; I know but one tongue in the world, which luckily being understood by you as well as me, I fancy whatever thoughts we have to communicate to one another, may reasonably be convey'd in that, without having recourse to the language of _Julius Cæsar_.

_Metaph._ You are wrong, but may proceed.

_Alv._ I thank you: what is the matter, I do not know; but tho' it is of the utmost consequence to me to marry my son, what match soever I propose to him, he still finds some pretence or other to decline it.

_Metaph._ He is, perhaps, of the humour of a brother of _Marcus Tullius_, who----

_Alv._ Dear master, leave the _Greeks_, and the _Latins_, and the _Scotch_, and the _Welsh_, and let me go on in my business; what have those people to do with my son's marriage?

_Metaph._ Again you are wrong; but go on.

_Alv._ I say then, that I have strong apprehensions from his refusing all my proposals, that he may have some secret inclination of his own; and to confirm me in this fear, I yesterday observed him (without his knowing it) in a corner of the grove, where nobody comes----

_Metaph._ A place out of the way, you would say; a place of retreat.

_Alv._ Why, the corner of the grove, where nobody comes, is a place of retreat, is it not?

_Metaph._ In _Latin_, _secessus_.

_Alv._ Ha!

_Metaph._ As _Virgil_ has it. _Est in secessu locus._

_Alv._ How could _Virgil_ have it, when I tell you no soul was there but he and I?

_Metaph._ _Virgil_ is a famous author, I quote his saying as a phrase more proper to the occasion than that you use, and not as one who was in the wood with you.

_Alv._ And I tell you, I hope to be as famous as any _Virgil_ of 'em all, when I have been dead as long, and have no need of a better phrase than my own to tell you my meaning.

_Metaph._ You ought however to make choice of the words most us'd by the best authors. _Tu vivendo bonos_, as they say, _scribendo sequare peritos_.

_Alv._ Again!

_Metaph._ 'Tis _Quintilian_'s own precept.

_Alv._ Oons----

_Metaph._ And he hath something very learned upon it, that may be of service to you to hear.

_Alv._ You son of a whore, will you hear me speak?

_Metaph._ What may be the occasion of this unmanly passion? What is it you would have with me?

_Alv._ What you might have known an hour ago, if you had pleas'd.

_Metaph._ You would then have me hold my peace.----I shall.

_Alv._ You will do very well.

_Metaph._ You see I do; well, go on.

_Alv._ Why then, to begin once again, I say my son _Camillo_----

_Metaph._ Proceed; I shan't interrupt you.

_Alv._ I say, my son _Camillo_----

_Metaph._ What is it you say of your son _Camillo_?

_Alv._ That he has got a dog of a tutor, whose brains I'll beat out, if he won't hear me speak.

_Metaph._ That dog is a philosopher, contemns passion, and yet will hear you.

_Alv._ I don't believe a word on't, but I'll try once again; I have a mind to know from you, whether you have observ'd any thing in my son----

_Metaph._ Nothing that is like his father. Go on.

_Alv._ Have a care.

_Metaph._ I do not interrupt you; but you are long in coming to a conclusion.

_Alv._ Why, thou hast not let me begin yet.

_Metaph._ And yet 'tis high time to have made an end.

_Alv._ Dost thou know thy danger? I have not----thus much patience left.

[_Shewing the end of his finger_.

_Metaph._ Mine is already consum'd. I do not use to be thus treated; my profession is to teach, and not to hear, yet I have hearken'd like a school-boy, and am not heard, altho' a master.

_Alv._ Get out of the room.

_Metaph._ I will not. If the mouth of a wise man be shut, he is, as it were, a fool; for who shall know his understanding? Therefore a certain philosopher said well, Speak, that thou may'st be known; great talkers, without knowledge, are as the winds that whistle; but they who have learning, should speak aloud. If this be not permitted, we may expect to see the whole order of nature o'erthrown; hens devour foxes, and lambs destroy wolves, nurses suck children, and children give suck; generals mend stockings, and chambermaids take towns; we may expect, I say----

_Alv._ That, and that, and that, and----

[_Strikes him, and kicks him; and then follows him off with a bell at his ear._

_Metaph. O tempora! O mores!_

+ACT+ III. +SCENE+ I.

+SCENE+, _the Street_.

_Enter ~Lopez~._

_Lop._ Sometimes fortune seconds a bold design, and when folly has brought us into a trap, impudence brings us out on't. I have been caught by this hot-headed lover here, and have told like a puppy what I shall be beaten for like a dog. Come! courage, my dear _Lopez_; fire will fetch out fire: thou hast told one body thy master's secret, e'en tell it to half a dozen more, and try how that will thrive; go tell it to the two old Dons, the lovers fathers. The thing's done, and can't be retriev'd; perhaps they'll lay their two ancient heads together, club a pennyworth of wisdom a-piece, and with great penetration at last find out, that 'tis best to submit, where 'tis not in their power to do otherwise. This being resolv'd, there's no time to be lost.

[_Knocks at ~Alvarez~'s door._

_Alv._ Who knocks?

[_Within._

_Lop._ _Lopez_.

_Alv._ What dost want?

[_Looking out._

_Lop._ To bid you good-morrow, Sir.

_Alv._ Well, good-morrow to thee again.

[_Retires._

_Lop._ What a----I think he does not care for my company.

[_Knocks again._

_Alv._ Who knocks?

_Lop._ _Lopez_.

_Alv._ What would'st have?

[_Looking out._

_Lop._ My old master, Sir, gives his service to you, and desires to know how you do.

_Alv._ How I do? Why well: how shou'd I do? Service to him again.

[_Retires._

_Lop._ Sir.

_Alv._ [_Returning._] What the deuce wouldst thou have with me, with thy good-morrows, and thy services?

_Lop._ This man does not understand good breeding, I find. [_Aside._] Why, Sir, my master has some very earnest business with you.

_Alv._ Business! About what? What business can he have with me?

_Lop._ I don't know, truly; but 'tis some very important matter: he has just now (as I hear) discover'd some great secret, which he must needs talk with you about.

_Alv._ Ha! a secret, say'st thou?

_Lop._ Yes; and bid me bring him word, if you were at home, he'd be with you presently. Sir, your humble servant.

[_Exit ~Lopez~._

_~Alvarez~ solus._

A secret: and must speak with me about it! Heav'ns, how I tremble! What can this message mean? I have very little acquaintance with him, what business can he have with me? An important secret 'twas, he said, and that he had just discover'd it. Alas, I have in the world but one, if it be that----I'm lost; an eternal blot must fix upon me. How unfortunate am I, that I have not follow'd the honest counsels of my heart, which have often urg'd me to set my conscience at ease, by rendering to him the estate that is his due, and which by a foul imposture I keep from him. But 'tis now too late; my villainy is out, and I shall not only be forc'd with shame to restore him what is his, but shall be perhaps condemned to make him reparation with my own. O terrible view!

_Enter Don ~Felix~._

Don _Fel._ My son to go and marry her, without her father's knowledge? This can never end well. I don't know what to do, he'll conclude I was privy to it, and his power and interest are so great at court, he may with ease contrive my ruin: I tremble at his sending to speak with me----Mercy on me, there he is.

[_Aside._

_Alv._ Ah! Shield me, kind heaven! There's Don Felix come: how I am struck with the sight of him! O the torment of a guilty mind!

[_Aside._

Don _Fel._ What shall I say to soften him?

[_Aside._

_Alv._ How shall I look him in the face?

[_Aside._

Don _Fel._ 'Tis impossible he can forgive it.

[_Aside._

_Alv._ To be sure he'll expose me to the whole world.

[_Aside._

Don _Fel._ I see his countenance change.

[_Aside._

_Alv._ With what contempt he looks upon me!

[_Aside._

Don _Fel._ I see, Don _Alvarez_, by the disorder of your face, you are but too well inform'd of what brings me here.

_Alv._ 'Tis true.

Don _Fel._ The news may well surprize you, 'tis what I have been far from apprehending.

_Alv._ Wrong, very wrong, indeed.

Don _Fel._ This action is certainly to the last point to be condemn'd, and I think nobody should pretend to excuse the guilty.

_Alv._ They are not to be excus'd, tho' heaven may have mercy.

Don _Fel._ That's what I hope you will consider.

_Alv._ We should act as Christians.

Don _Fel._ Most certainly.

_Alv._ Let mercy then prevail.

Don _Fel._ It is indeed of heavenly birth.

_Alv._ Generous Don _Felix_!

Don _Fel._ Too indulgent _Alvarez_!

_Alv._ I thank you on my knee.

Don _Fel._ 'Tis I ought to have been there first.

[_They kneel._

_Alv._ Is it then possible we are friends?

Don _Fel._ Embrace me to confirm it.

[_They embrace._

_Alv._ Thou best of men!

Don _Fel._ Unlook'd-for bounty!

_Alv._ Did you know the torment [_Rising._] this unhappy action has given me----

Don. _Fel._ 'Tis impossible it could do otherwise; nor has my trouble been less.

_Alv._ But let my misfortune be kept secret.

Don _Fel._ Most willingly; my advantage is sufficient by it, without the vanity of making it publick to the world.

_Alv._ Incomparable goodness! That I should thus have wronged a man so worthy! [_Aside._] My honour then, is safe?

Don _Fel._ For ever, even for ever let it be a secret, I am content.

_Alv._ Noble gentleman! [_Aside._] As to what advantages ought to accrue to you by it, it shall be all to your entire satisfaction.

Don _Fel._ Wonderful bounty! [_Aside._] As to that, Don _Alvarez_, I leave it entirely to you, and shall be content with whatever you think reasonable.

_Alv._ I thank you, from my soul I must, you know I must.----This must be an angel, not a man.

[_Aside._

Don _Fel._ The thanks lie on my side, _Alvarez_, for this unexpected generosity, but may all faults be forgot, and heav'n ever prosper you.

_Alv._ The same prayer I, with a double fervour, offer up for you.

Don _Fel._ Let us then once more embrace, and be forgiveness seal'd for ever.

_Alv._ Agreed; thou best of men, agreed.

[_They embrace._

Don _Fel._ This thing then being thus happily terminated, let me own to you, Don _Alvarez_, I was in extreme apprehensions of your utmost resentment on this occasion; for I could not doubt but you had form'd more happy views in the disposal of so fair a daughter as _Leonora_, than my poor son's inferior fortune e'er can answer; but since they are join'd, and that----

_Alv._ Ha!

Don _Fel._ Nay, 'tis very likely to discourse of it may not be very pleasing to you, tho' your christianity and natural goodness have prevail'd on you so generously to forgive it. But to do justice to _Leonora_, and skreen her from your too harsh opinion in this unlucky action, 'twas that cunning wicked creature that attends her, who by unusual arts wrought her to this breach of duty, for her own inclinations were dispos'd to all the modesty and resignation a father could ask from a daughter; my son I can't excuse, but since your bounty does so, I hope you'll quite forget the fault of the less guilty _Leonora_.

_Alv._ What a mistake have I lain under here! And from a groundless apprehension of one misfortune, find myself in the certainty of another.

[_Aside._

Don _Fel._ He looks disturb'd; what can this mean?

[_Aside._

_Alv._ My daughter marry'd to his son!----Confusion. But I find myself in such unruly agitation, something wrong may happen if I continue with him; I'll therefore leave him.

[_Aside._

Don _Fel._ You seem thoughtful, Sir, I hope there's no----

_Alv._ A sudden disorder I am seiz'd with; you'll pardon me, I must retire.

[_Exit ~Alvarez~._

_Don ~Felix~ solus._

I don't like this: He went oddly off--I doubt he finds this bounty difficult to go through with. His natural resentment is making an attack upon his acquir'd generosity: pray heaven it ben't too strong for't. The misfortune is a great one, and can't but touch him nearly. It was not natural to be so calm; I wish it don't yet drive him to my ruin. But here comes this young hot-brain'd coxcomb, who with his midnight amours has been the cause of all this mischief to me.

_Enter ~Lorenzo~._

So, Sir, you are come to receive my thanks for your noble exploit? You think you have done bravely now, ungracious offspring, to bring perpetual troubles on me. Must there never pass a day, but I must drink some bitter potion or other of your preparation for me?

_Lor._ I am amaz'd, Sir; pray what have I done to deserve your anger?

Don _Fel._ Nothing; no manner of thing in the world; nor never do. I am an old testy fellow, and am always scolding, and finding fault for nothing; complaining that I have got a coxcomb of a son, that makes me weary of my life, fancying he perverts the order of nature, turning day into night, and night into day; getting whims in my brain, that he consumes his life in idleness, unless he rouses now and then to do some noble stroke of mischief; and having an impertinent dream at this time, that he has been making the fortune of the family, by an underhand marriage with the daughter of a man who will crush us all to powder for it. Ah----ungracious wretch; to bring an old man into all this trouble! The pain thou gav'st thy mother to bring thee into the world, and the plague thou hast given me to keep thee here, make the getting thee (tho' 'twas in our honey-moon) a bitter remembrance to us both.

[_Exit Don ~Felix~._

_~Lorenzo~ solus._

So----all's out----Here's a noble storm arising, and I'm at sea in a cock-boat. But which way could this business reach him? By this traitor _Lopez_----it must be so; it could be no other way; for only he, and the priest that marry'd us, knew of it. The villain will never confess tho'. I must try a little address with him, and conceal my anger. O, here he comes.

_Enter ~Lopez~._

_Lor._ _Lopez_.

_Lop._ Do you call, Sir?

_Lor._ I find all's discover'd to my father, the secret's out; he knows my marriage.

_Lop._ He knows your marriage. How the pest should that happen? Sir, 'tis impossible; that's all.

_Lor._ I tell thee 'tis true; he knows every particular of it.

_Lop._ He does!----Why then, Sir, all I can say is, that Satan and he are better acquainted than the devil and a good Christian ought to be.

_Lor._ Which way he has discover'd it I can't tell, nor am I much concern'd to know, since beyond all my expectations, I find him perfectly easy at it, and ready to excuse my fault with better reasons than I can find to do it myself.

_Lop._ Say you so?----I am very glad to hear that, then all's safe.

[_Aside._

_Lor._ 'Tis unexpected good fortune; but it could never proceed purely from his own temper, there must have been pains taken with him to bring him to this calm; I'm sure I owe much to the bounty of some friend or other; I wish I knew where my obligation lay, that I might acknowledge it as I ought.

_Lop._ Are you thereabout's, I'faith? Then sharp's the word; I'gad I'll own the thing, and receive his bounty for't. [_Aside._] Why, Sir----not that I pretend to make a merit o'the matter, for alas, I am but your poor hireling, and therefore bound in duty to render you all the service I can----But----'tis I have don't.

_Lor._ What hast thou done?

_Lop._ What no man else could have done; the job, Sir, told him the secret, and then talk'd him into a liking on't.

_Lor._ 'Tis impossible; thou dost not tell me true.

_Lop._ Sir, I scorn to reap any thing from another man's labours, but if this poor piece of service carries any merit with it, you now know where to reward it.

_Lor._ Thou art not serious!

_Lop._ I am; or may hunger be my mess-mate.

_Lor._ And may famine be mine, if I don't reward thee for't, as thou deserv'st----Dead.

[_Making a pass at him._

_Lop._ Have a care there [_Leaping on one side._] What do you mean, Sir? I bar all surprise.

_Lor._ Traitor, is this the fruit of the trust I plac'd in thee, villain?

[_Making another thrust at him._

_Lop._ Take heed, Sir; you'll do one a mischief before you're aware.

_Lop._ What recompence can'st thou make me, wretch, for this piece of treachery? Thy sordid blood can't expiate the thousandth----But I'll have it however.

[_Thrusts again._

_Lop._ Look you there again: pray, Sir, be quiet; is the devil in you? 'Tis bad jesting with edg'd tools. I'gad that last push was within an inch o' me. I don't know what you make all this bustle about, but I'm sure I've done all for the best, and I believe it will prove for the best too at last, if you'll have but a little patience. But if gentlemen will be in their airs in a moment--Why, what the deuce----I'm sure I have been as eloquent as _Cicero_, in your behalf; and I don't doubt to good purpose too, if you'll give things time to work. But nothing but foul language, and naked swords about the house, sa, sa; run you through you dog; why, nobody can do business at this rate.

_Lor._ And suppose your project fails, and I'm ruin'd by it, Sir.

_Lop._ Why, 'twill be time enough to kill me then, Sir? won't it? What should you do it for now? Besides, I an't ready, I'm not prepar'd, I might be undone by't.

_Lor._ But what will _Leonora_ say to her marriage being known, wretch?

_Lop._ Why may be she'll draw----her sword too. [_Shewing his tongue._] But all shall be well with you both, if you will but let me alone.

_Lor._ Peace; here's her father.

_Lop._ That's well: we shall see how things go presently.

_Enter Don ~Alvarez~._

_Alv._ The more I recover from the disorder this discourse has put me in, the more strange the whole adventure appears to me. _Leonora_ maintains there is not a word of truth in what I have heard; that she knows nothing of marriage: and indeed she tells me this, with such a naked air of sincerity, that for my part I believe her. What then must be their project? Some villainous intention, to be sure; tho' which way, I yet am ignorant. But here's the bridegroom; I'll accost him----I am told, Sir, you take upon you to scandalize my daughter, and tell idle tales of what can never happen.

_Lop._ Now methinks, Sir, if you treated your son-in-law with a little more civility, things might go just as well in the main.

_Alv._ What means this insolent fellow by my son-in-law! I suppose 'tis you, villain, are the author of this impudent story.

_Lop._ You seem angry, Sir----perhaps without cause.

_Alv._ Cause, traitor! Is a cause wanting where a daughter's defam'd, and a noble family scandaliz'd?

_Lop._ There he is, let him answer you.

_Alv._ I shou'd be glad, he'd answer me, why, if he had any desires to my daughter, he did not make his approaches like a man of honour.

_Lop._ Yes; and so have had the doors bolted against him like a house-breaker.

[_Aside._

_Lor._ Sir to justify my proceeding, I have little to say; but to excuse it, I have much; if any allowance may be made to a passion, which in your youth you have yourself been sway'd by: I love your daughter to that excess----

_Alv._ You would undo her for a night's lodging.

_Lor._ Undo her, Sir?

_Alv._ Yes, that's the word; you knew it was against her interest to marry you, therefore you endeavour'd to win her to't in private; you knew her friends would make a better bargain for her, therefore you kept your designs from their knowledge, and yet you love her to that excess----

_Lor._ I'd readily lay down my life to serve her.

_Alv._ Could you readily lay down fifty thousand pistoles to serve her, your excessive love would come with better credentials; an offer of life is very proper for the attack of a counterscarp, but a thousand ducats will sooner carry a lady's heart; you are a young man, but will learn this when you are older.

_Lop._ But since things have succeeded better this once, Sir, and that my master will prove a most incomparable good husband (for that he'll do, I'll answer for him) and that 'tis too late to recall what's already done, Sir----

_Alv._ What's done, villain?

_Lop._ Sir, I mean, that since my master and my lady are marry'd, and----

_Alv._ Thou ly'st; they are not marry'd.

_Lop._ Sir!----I say, that since they are marry'd, and that they love each other so passing dearly, indeed I fancy that----

_Alv._ Why, this impudence is beyond all bearing; Sir, do you put your rascal upon this?

_Lor._ Sir, I am in a wood; I don't know what it is you mean.

_Alv._ And I am in a plain, Sir, and think I may be understood; do you pretend you are marry'd to my daughter?

_Lor._ Sir, 'tis my happiness on one side, as it is my misfortune on another.

_Alv._ And do you think this idle project can succeed? do you believe your affirming you are marry'd to her, will induce both her and me to consent it shall be so?

_Lop._ Sir, I see you make my master almost out of his wits to hear you talk so: but I, who am but a stande-by now, as I was at the wedding, have mine about me, and desire to know, whether you think this project can succeed? Do you believe your affirming they are not marry'd, will induce both him and I to give up the lady? One short question to bring this matter to an issue, Why do you think they are not marry'd?

_Alv._ Because she utterly renounces it.