[]THE PADLOCK.

SCENE I.

Urſula.

Here, an't pleaſe your worſhip.

Where is Leonora?

In her chamber, Sir.

There is the key of it; there the key of the beſt hall; there the key of the door upon the firſt flight of ſtairs; there the key of the door upon the ſecond; this double locks the hatch below; and this the door that opens into the entry.

I am acquainted with every ward of them.

You know, Urſula, when I took Leonora from her father and mother, ſhe was to live in the houſe with me three months; at the expiration of which time, I entered into a bond of four thouſand piſtoles, either to return her to them ſpotleſs, with half that ſum for a dowry, or make her my true and lawful wife.

And, I warrant you, they came ſecretly to enquire of me whether they might venture to truſt your worſhip; Lord! ſaid I, I have lived with the gentleman nine years and three quarters, come Lam⯑mas, and never ſaw any thing uncivil by him in my life; nor no more I ever did; and to let your worſhip know, if I had, you would have miſtaken your per⯑ſon; for, I bleſs Heaven, tho' I'm poor, I'm honeſt, and would not live with any man alive that ſhould want to handle me unlawfully.

Urſula, I do believe it; and, you are parti⯑cularly happy, that both your age and your perſon ex⯑empt you from any ſuch temptation. But, be this as it will, Leonora's parents, after ſome little difficulty, conſented to comply with my propoſal; and, being fully ſatisfied with their daughter's temper and conduct, which I wanted to be acquainted with, this day being the expiration of the term, I am reſolved to fulfil my bond by marrying her to-morrow.

Heaven bleſs you together.

During the time ſhe has lived with me, ſhe has never been a moment out of my ſight; and now, tell me, Urſula, what you have obſerved in her.

All meekneſs and gentleneſs, your worſhip; and yet, I warrant you, ſhrewd and ſenſible; egad, when ſhe pleaſes ſhe can be as ſharp as a needle.

You have not been able to diſcover any par⯑ticular attachments?

Why, Sir, of late I have obſerved——

Eh! how! what?

That ſhe has taken greatly to the young kitten.

O! is that all?

Ay, by my faith, I don't think ſhe is fond of any thing elſe.

Of me, Urſula?

Ay, ay, of the kitten, and your worſhip, and her birds, and going to maſs. I have taken notice of late, that ſhe is mighty fond of going to maſs, as your worſhip lets her early of a morning.

Well! I am now going to her parents, to let them know my reſolution; I will not take her with me, becauſe having been uſed to confinement, and it being the life I am determined ſhe ſhall lead, it will be only giving her a bad habit. I ſhall return with the good folks to morrow morning; in the mean time, Urſula, I confide in your attention, and take care as you would merit my favour.

I will, indeed, your worſhip; nay, if there is a widow gentlewoman in all Salamanca fitter to look after a young maiden—

Go, and ſend Leonora to me.

SCENE II.

I dreamt laſt night that I was going to church with Leonora to be married, and that we were met on the road by a drove of oxen—oxen—I don't like oxen; I wiſh it had been a flock of ſheep.

Leonora.

Here I am.

Look me in the face, and liſten to me at⯑tentively.

There.

I am going this evening to your father and mother, and I ſuppoſe you are not ignorant of the cauſe of my journey? Are you willing to be my wife?

I am willing to do whatever you, and my father and mother, pleaſe.

But that's not the thing; do you like me?

Y—es.

What do you ſigh for?

I don't know.

When you came hither, you were taken from a mean little houſe, ill ſituated, and worſe furniſhed; you had no ſervants, and were obliged with your mo⯑ther, to do the work yourſelf.

Yes, but when we had done, I could look out at window, or go a walking in the fields.

Perhaps you diſlike confinement?

No, I don't, I'm ſure.

I ſay, then, I took you from that mean habi⯑tation and hard labour, to a noble building, and this fine garden; where, ſo far from being a ſlave, you are abſolute miſtreſs; and, inſtead of wearing a mean ſtuff gown, look at yourſelf I beſeech you, the dreſs you have on is fit for a princeſs.

Its very fine, indeed.

Well, Leonora, you know in what manner you have been treated ſince you been my companion; aſk yourſelf again now, whether you can be content to lead a life with me according to the ſpecimen you have had.

Specimen!

Ay, according to the manner I have treated you—according—

I'll do whatever you pleaſe.

Then, my dear, give me a kiſs.

Good b'ye to you.

Here, Urſula.

SCENE III.

Heigho!—I think I'm ſick.—He's very good to me to be ſure, and its my duty to love him, becauſe we ought not to be ungrateful; but, I wiſh I was not to marry him for all that, tho' I am afraid to tell him ſo. Fine feathers, they ſay, make fine birds; but, I am ſure they don't make happy ones; a ſparrow is happier in the fields than a gold-finch in a cage. There is ſomething makes me mighty uneaſy. While he was talking to me, I thought I never ſaw any thing look ſo ugly in my life—O dear now, why did I forget to aſk leave to go to maſs to-morrow? I ſuppoſe becauſe he's abroad Urſula won't take me—I wiſh I had aſked leave to go to maſs.

SCENE IV.

His name is Don Deigo; there's his houſe like another monaſtery, or rather priſon; his ſervants are an ancient duenna, and a Negro ſlave—

And after having lived fifty years a bat⯑chelor, this old fellow has pick'd up a young thing of ſixteen, whom he by chance ſaw in a balcony.

Yes, her parents are decay'd gentry, that live about a mile or two from Salamanca here; and he has made the moſt ridiculous agreement with them.

And you are in love with the girl?

To deſperation, and I believe I am not in⯑different to her; for finding that her jealous guardian took her to the chapel of a neighbouring convent every morning before it was light, I went there in the habit of a pilgrim, planting myſelf as near her as I could; I then varied my appearance, continuing to do ſo from time to time, till I was convinced ſhe had ſufficiently remarked, and underſtood my meaning.

Well, Leander, I'll ſay that for you, there is not a more induſtrious lad in the univerſity of Salamanca, when a wench is to be feritted.

But, pr'ythee, tell us now, how did you get information?

Firſt, from report, which raiſed my curio⯑ſity; and afterwards from the Negro I juſt now men⯑tioned: I obſerv'd that when the family was gone to bed, he often came to air himſelf at yonder grate; you know I am no bad chanter, nor a very ſcurvy minſtrel, ſo taking a guittar, clapping a black patch on my eye, and a ſwathe upon one of my legs, I ſoon ſcraped ac⯑quaintance with my friend Mungo. He adores my ſongs and ſarabands, and taking me for a poor cripple, often repays me with a ſhare of his allowance, which I ac⯑cept to avoid ſuſpicion.

And ſo.

And ſo, Sir, he has told me all the ſecrets of his family, and one worth knowing; for he in⯑formed me laſt night, that his maſter will this evening take a ſhort journey into the country, from whence he propoſes not to return till to-morrow, leaving his young wife that is to be, behind him.

Zounds! let's ſcale the wall.

Fair and ſoftly, I will this inſtant go and put on my diſguiſe, watch for the Don's going out, attack my Negro a freſh, and try if by his means I cannot come into the houſe, or at leaſt get a ſight of my charming angel.

Angel! Is ſhe then ſo handſome!

It is time for us to withdraw: come to my chambers; and there you ſhall know all you can deſire.

SCENE V.

With the precautions I have taken, I think I run no riſk in quitting my houſe for a ſhort time; Leo⯑nora has never ſhewn the leaſt inclination to deceive me; beſides, my old woman is prudent and faithful, ſhe has all the keys, and will not part with them from herſelf: but, ſuppoſe—ſuppoſe—by the rood and Saint Francis, I will not leave it in her power to do miſ⯑chief; a woman's not having it in her power to de⯑ceive you is the beſt ſecurity for her fidelity, and the only one a wiſe man will confide in; faſt bind, faſt find, is an excellent proverb: I'll e'en lock her up with the reſt; there is a haſp to the door, and I have a padlock within which ſhall be my guarantee; I will wait till the Negro returns with proviſions, which he is gone to purchaſe; and clapping them all up together, make my mind eaſy by having the key they are under in my pocket.

SCENE VI.

Go, get you down, you damn hamper, you carry me now. Curſe my old Maſſa, ſending me al⯑ways here and dere for one ſomething to make me tire like a mule—curſe him imperance—and him damn inſurance.

How now.

Ah, Maſſa, bleſs you heart.

What's that you are muttering, Sirrah?

Noting, Maſſa, only me ſay, you very good Maſſa.

What do you leave your load down there for?

Maſſa, me lilly tire.

Take it up, raſcal.

Yes, bleſs you heart, Maſſa.

No, lay it down: now I think on't, come hither.

What you ſay, Maſſa?

Can you be honeſt?

Me no ſavee Maſſa, you never ax me before.

Can you tell truth?

What you give me, Maſſa?

There's a piſtreen for you; now tell me, do you know of any ill going on in my houſe?

Ah, Maſſa, a damn deal.

How! that I'm a ſtranger to?

No, Maſſa, you lick me every day with your rattan: I'm ſure Maſſa, that's miſchief enough for poor Neger man.

So, ſo.

La, Maſſa, how could you have a heart to lick poor Neger man, as you lick me laſt Thurſday?

If you have not a mind I ſhould chaſtiſe you now, hold your tongue.

Yes, Maſſa, if you no lick me again.

Liſten to me, I ſay.

You know, Maſſa, me very good ſervant.

Then you will go on.

And ought to be uſe kine—

If you utter another ſyllable—

And I'm ſure, Maſſa—

Take that—Now will you liſten to me?

La, Maſſa, if ever I ſaw—

I am going abroad, and ſhall not return till to-morrow morning. During this night I charge you not to ſleep a wink, but be watchful as a lynx, and keep walking up and down the entry, that if you hear the leaſt noiſe you may alarm the family.

So I muſt be ſtay in a cold all night, and have no ſleep, and get no tanks neither; then him call me tief, and rogue, and raſcal to temp me.

Stay here, perverſe animal, and take care that nobody approaches the door; I am going in, and ſhall be out again in a moment.

SCENE VII.

So,—my old Argus is departed, and the evening is as favourable for my deſign as I could wiſh. Now to attract my friend Mungo; if he is within hearing of my guitar, I am ſure he will quickly make his appearance.

Who goes dere?—Hip, hollo!

Heaven bleſs you my worthy maſter, will your worſhip's honour have a little muſic this evening; and I have got a delicious bottle of cordial here, given me by a charitable monk of a convent hard by, if your grace will pleaſe to taſte it.

Give me ſup, troo a grate; come cloſee man, don't be fear, old Maſſa gone out, as I ſay laſt night, and he no come back before to-morrow; come, trikee mooſic, and give us ſong.

I'll give your worſhip a ſong I learn'd in Barbary when I was a ſlave among the Moors.

Ay, do.

There was a cruel and malicious Turk, who was called Heli Abdallah Mahomet Scah; now this wicked Turk had a fair Chriſtian ſlave named Jezábel, who not conſenting to his beaſtly deſires, he draws out his ſabre, and is going to cut of her head; here's what he ſays to her

. Now you ſhall hear the ſlave's anſwer

. Now you ſhall hear how the wicked Turk, being greatly enraged, is again going to cut off the fair ſlave's head

. Now you ſhall hear—

SCENE VIII.

Mungo! Mungo!

Some one call dere—

Mungo I ſay.

What devil you want?

What lewd noiſe is that?

Lewd you ſelf, no lewd here; play away, never mind her.

I ſhall come down if you go on.

Ay, come along, more merrier; noting here but poor man, he ſing for bit of bread.

I'll have no poor man near our door: Hark'e fellow, can you play the Forſaken Maid's Delight, or Black Beſs of Caſtile? Ah, Mungo, if you had heard me ſing when I was young——

Gad, I'm ſure, I hear you voice often enough now you old.

I could quaver like any black-bird.

Come throw a poor ſoul a penny, he play a tune for you.

How did you loſe the uſe of your leg?

In the wars my good dame; I was taken by a Barbary corſair, and carried into Sallee, where I lived eleven years and three quarters upon cold water and the roots of the earth, without having a coat on my back, or laying my head on a pillow; an infidel bought me for a ſlave, he gave me the ſtrappado on my ſhoulders, and the baſtinado on the ſoles of my feet: now this infidel Turk had fifty-three wives, and one hundred and twelve concubines.

Then he was an unreaſonable villain.

SCENE IX.

Urſula!

Od's my life, what's here to do? Go back, go back; fine work we ſhall have indeed; good man, good bye.

I could not ſtay any longer by myſelf; pray let me take a little air at the grate?

Do, worthy madam, let the young gentle⯑woman ſtay, I'll play her a love ſong for nothing.

No, no, none of your love ſongs here; if you could play a ſaraband indeed, and there was room for one's motions—

I am but a poor man, but if your ladyſhip will let me in as far as the hall, or the kitchen, you may all dance, and I ſhan't aſk any thing.

Why, if it was not on my maſter's account, I ſhould think no harm in a little innocent recreation.

Do, do.

Has madam the keys then?

Yes, yes, I have the keys.

Have you the key of this padlock too, madam? Here's a padlock upon the door, Heaven help us, large enough for a ſtate priſon.

Eh—how—what—a padlock!

Here it is, I feel it.

He was afraid to truſt me then—

And if de houſe was a fire, we none of us get out to ſave ourſelves.

Well, madam, not to diſappoint you and the young Lady, I know the back of your garden wall, and I'll undertake to get up at the outſide of it, if you can let me down on the other.

Do you think you could with your lame leg?

O yes, madam, I'm very ſure.

Then, by my faith, you ſhall; for now I am ſet on't—A padlock! Mungo come with me into the garden.

SCENE X.

Pray let me go with you?

Stay, charming creature: why will you fly the youth that adores you?

Oh, Lord! I'm frighted out of my wits!

Have you not taken notice, beauteous Leo⯑nora, of the pilgrim who has ſo often met you at church? I am that pilgrim; one who would change ſhapes as often as Proteus, to be bleſs'd with a ſight of you.

Then do I ſeek your love in vain?

It is another's right;

Come round, young man, I've been to try,

And ſo have I.

Nay, marry, he ſhall take his oath.

Come, that's enough, aſcend, aſcend.

SCENE I.

BUT dear, good, kind Urſula, hear me.

I have heard too much, I have heard too much.

Tho' I have got admittance into your houſe, be aſſured I ſhall commit no outrage here; and if I have been guilty of any indiſcretion, let love be my excuſe.

Well, as I live, he's a pretty young fellow.

You, my ſweet Urſula, have known what it is to be in love; and, I warrant, have had admirers often at your feet; your eyes ſtill retain fire enough to tell me that.

They tell you no lie; for, to be ſure, when I was a young woman, I was greatly ſought after; nay, it was reported that a youth died for love of me; one Joſeph Perez, a taylor by trade; of the greyhound make, [18] lank; and, if my memory fail me not, his right ſhoul⯑der about the breadth of my hand higher than his left; but he was upright as an arrow, and, by all accounts, one of the fineſt workmen at a button-hole.

But where is Leonora?

Where is ſhe? By my troth I have ſhut her up in her chamber, under three bolts, and a double lock.

And will you not bring us together?

Who I!—How can you aſk me ſuch a queſtion? Really, Sir, I take it extremely unkind.

Well but you miſapprehend—

I told you juſt now, that if you mentioned that to me again it would make me ſick, and ſo it has, turn'd me upſide down as it were.

Indeed my beſt friend—

Oh, oh, hold me or I ſhall fall. Truly, Sir, you have a great deal to anſwer for, to bring tears into my eyes at this time o'day. I'm ſure they are the firſt I have ſhed ſince my poor dear huſband's death.

Nay, don't think of that now.

For you muſt underſtand, Sir, to play a trick upon a grave diſcreet matron.—And yet, after all, by my faith, I don't wonder you ſhould love the young thing under my care; for it is one of the ſweeteſt con⯑ditioned ſouls that ever I was acquainted with; and, between ourſelves, our Donn-ee is too old for ſuch a babe.

Urſula, take this gold.

For what, Sir?

Only for the love of me.

Nay, if that be all, I won't refuſe it, for I love you I aſſure you; you put me ſo much in mind of my poor dear huſband; he was a handſome man; I re⯑member he had a mole between his eye-brows, about the bigneſs of a hazel nut; but, I muſt ſay, you have the advantage in the lower part of the countenance.

The old beldam grows amorous—

Lord love you, you're a well-looking young man.

But Leonora.

Ha! ha! ha! but to pretend you were lame, I never ſaw a finer leg in my life.

Leonora!

Well, Sir, I'm a going.

I ſhall never get rid of her.

Sir—

How now?

Would you be ſo kind, Sir, as to indulge me with the favour of a ſalute?

Ugh!

Gad-a-mercy, your cheek—Well, well, I have ſeen the day; but no matter, my wine's upon the lees now; however, Sir, you might have had the politeneſs when a Gentlewoman made the offer.—But heav'n bleſs you.

SCENE II.

Ah! Maſſa—You brave Maſſa now, what you do here wid de old woman?

Where is your young miſtreſs, Mungo?

By Gog ſhe lock her up. But why yo no tell me before time, you a gentleman?

Sure I have not given the purſe for nothing.

Purſe!—what, you giving her money den? —curſe her impurance, why you no give it me—you give me ſometing as well as ſhe. You know, Maſſa, you ſee me firſt.

There, there—are you content?

Me get ſupper ready, and now me go to de cellar.—But I ſay, Maſſa, ax de old man now, what good him watching do, him bolts, and him bars, him walls, and him padlock.

Hiſt! Leonora comes.

But, Maſſa, you ſay you teach me play:

SCENE III.

Oh, charming Leonora, how ſhall I expreſs the rapture of my heart upon this occaſion? I almoſt doubt the kindneſs of that chance which has brought me thus happily to ſee, to ſpeak to you, without re⯑ſtraint.

Well, but it muſt not be without reſtraint, it can't be without reſtraint, it can't by my faith;—now you are going to make me ſick again.

La, Urſula, I durſt to ſay, the gentleman does'nt want to do me any harm—Do you, Sir? I'm ſure I would not hurt a hair of his head, nor no body's elſe for the lucre of the whole world.

Come, Sir, where is your lute? You ſhall ſee me dance a ſaraband; or, if you'd rather have a ſong; or the child and I will move a minuet, if you chuſe grace before agility.

This fulſome harridan—

I don't know what's come over her; Sir, I never ſaw the like of her ſince I was born.

I wiſh ſhe was at the devil.

Urſula, what's the matter with you?

What's the matter with me? Marry, come up; what's the matter with you? Signior Deigo can't ſhow ſuch a ſhape as that; well, there is nothing I like better than to ſee a young fellow with a well made leg.

Pry'thee, let us go away from her.

I don't know how to do it, Sir.

Nothing more eaſy; I will go with my guittar into the garden; 'tis moon-light, take an opportunity to follow me there; I ſwear to you, beautiful and in⯑nocent creature, you have nothing to apprehend.

No, Sir, I am certain of that, with a gentle⯑man ſuch as you are, and that have taken ſo much [22] pains to come after me; and I ſhould hold myſelf very ungrateful, if I did not do any thing to oblige you in a civil way.

Then you'll come?

I'll do my beſt endeavours, Sir.

And may I hope that you'll love me?

I don't know; as to that I can't ſay.

Beautiful Leonora, I find my being depends upon the bleſſing of your good opinion, do you deſire to put an end to my days—

No, indeed, indeed I don't.

But then—

SCENE IV.

Let me ſit down a little: come hither child, I am going to give you good advice, therefore liſten to me, for I have more years over my head than you.

Well, and what then?

What then?—Marry, then you muſt mind what I ſay to you—as I ſaid before—but, I ſay—what was I ſaying?

I'm ſure I don't know.

You ſee the young man that is gone out there, he has been telling me, that he's dying for love of you, can you find in your heart to let him expire?

I'm ſure I won't do any thing bad.

Why that's right, you learned that from me; have I not ſaid to you a thouſand times, never do any thing bad? have not I ſaid it, anſwer me that?

Well, and what then?

Very well, liſten to me; your guardian is old and ugly, and jealous, and yet he may live longer than a better man.

He has been very kind to me for all that, Ur⯑ſula, and I ought to ſtrive to pleaſe him.

There again, have not I ſaid to you a thou⯑ſand times, that he was very kind to you, and you ought to ſtrive to pleaſe him? It would be a hard thing to be preaching from morning till night with⯑out any profit.

Well, Urſula, after all, I wiſh this gentleman had never got into the houſe; Heaven ſend no ill comes of it.

Ay, I ſay ſo too, heaven ſend it; but I'm cruelly afraid; for how ſhall we get him out again? he'll never be able to crawl up the inſide of the wall, whatever he did the out.

Oh, Lord, wont he?

No, by my conſcience won't he; and when your guardian comes in, if we had fifty necks a-piece, he'd twiſt them every one, if he finds him here; for my part the beſt I expect is, to end my old days in a priſon.

You don't ſay ſo?

I do indeed, and it kills me to think of it; but every one has their evil day, and this has been mine.

I have promiſed to go to him into the garden.

Nay, you may do any thing now, for we are undone; though I think, if you could perſuade him to get up the chimney, and ſtay on the roof of the houſe till to-morrow night, we might then ſteal the keys from your guardian; but I'm afraid you won't be able to perſuade him.

I'll go down upon my knees.

Find him out, while I ſtep up ſtairs.

Pray for us dear Urſula.

I will, if I poſſibly can.

SCENE V.

All dark, all quiet, gone to bed and faſt aſleep I warrant them; however I am not ſorry that I altered my firſt intention of ſtaying out the whole night; and meeting Leonora's father on the road, was at any rate a lucky incident. I will not diſturb them; but, ſince I have let myſelf in with my maſter key, go ſoftly to bed; I ſhall be able to ſtrike a light, and then I think I may ſay, my cares are over.

Good heavens! what a wonderful deal of uneaſi⯑neſs may mortals avoid by a little prudence! I doubt not now, there are ſome men who would have gone out in my ſituation; and, truſting to the goodneſs of fortune, left their houſe and their honour in the care of an unexperienced girl, or the diſcretion of a mer⯑cenary ſervant. While he is abroad, he is tormented with fears and jealouſies; and when he returns home, he pro⯑bably finds diſorder, and perhaps ſhame. But what do I do—I put a padlock on my door, and all is ſafe.

SCENE VI.

Tol, lol, lol, lol.

Hold, did'nt I hear a noiſe!

Hola.

Heavens and earth what do I ſee!

Where are you young Maſſa, and Miſy? Here wine for ſupper.

I'm thunder-ſtruck!

My old maſſa, little tink we be ſo merry— hic—hic—What's the matter with me, the room turn round.

Wretch do you know me?

Know you—damn you.

Horrid creature! what makes you here at this time of night; is it with a deſign to ſurprize the innocents in their beds, and murder them ſleeping?

Huſh, huſh—make no noiſe—hic—hic.

The ſlave is intoxicated.

Make no noiſe, I ſay; deres young Gentle⯑man wid young Lady; he play on guitar, and ſhe like him better dan ſhe like you. Fal, lal, lal.

Monſter, I'll make an example of you!

What you call me names for, you old dog?

Does the villain dare to lift his hand againſt me!

Will you fight?

He's mad.

Deres one in de houſe you little think. Gad, he do you buſineſs.

Go lie down in your ſtye and ſleep.

Sleep you ſelf, you drunk—ha! ha! ha! look a Padlock, you put a padlock on a door again, will you?—Ha! ha! ha!

Did'nt I hear muſic?

Hic—hic—

Was it not the ſound of a guitar?

Yes, he play on de guittar rarely—Give me hand; you're old raſcal—an't you?

What dreadful ſhock effects me, I'm in a cold ſweat, a miſt comes over my eyes, and my knees knock together, as if I had got a fit of the ſhaking palſy.

I'll tell you a word in you ear.

Has any ſtranger broke into my houſe?

Yes, by—hic—a fine young Gentleman, he now in a next room with miſſy.

Holy Saint Francis! is it poſſible?

Go you round ſoftly—you catch them to⯑geder.

Confuſion! diſtraction! I ſhall run mad.

SCENE VII.

O ſhame, monſtrous, you drunken ſwab, you have been in the cellar, with a plague to you.

Let me put my hands about you neck—

Oh, I ſhall be ruin'd! Help, help, ruin! ruin!

Goodneſs me, what's the matter?

O dear child, this black villain has frighten'd me out of my wits; he has wanted—

Me, curſe a heart, I want nothing wid her—

Urſula, the gentleman ſays he has ſome friends waiting for him at the other ſide of the garden wall, that will throw him over a ladder made of ropes which he got up by.

Then muſt I go;

Yes, good Sir, yes.

A parting kiſs!

No, good Sir, no.

Oh fortune's ſpight.

Good night, good night.

SCENE THE LAST.

Stay, Sir, let nobody go out of the room.

Ah! ah! a ghoſt! a ghoſt!

Woman ſtand up.

I won't, I won't: murder: don't touch me.

Leonora, what am I to think of this?

Oh, dear Sir, don't kill me.

Young man, who are you, who have thus clandeſtinely, at an unſeaſonable hour, broke into my houſe? Am I to conſider you as a robber, or how?

As of one whom love has made indiſcreet; of one whom love taught induſtry and art to compaſs his deſigns. I love the beautiful Leonora, and ſhe me; but, farther than what you hear and ſee, neither one nor the other have been culpable.

Hear him, hear him.

Don Diego, you know my father well, Don Alphonſo de Luna; I am a ſcholar of this univerſity, and am willing to ſubmit to whatever puniſhment he, thro' your means, ſhall inflict; but wreak not your vengeance here.

Thus then my hopes and cares are at once fruſtrated; poſſeſs'd of what I thought a jewel, I was deſirous to keep it for myſelf; I rais'd up the walls of this houſe to a great height, I barr'd up my windows towards the ſtreet, I put double bolts on my doors; I baniſh'd all that had the ſhadow of man, or male kind; and I ſtood continually centinel over it myſelf, to guard my ſuſpicion from ſurprize; thus ſecur'd, I left my watch for one little moment, and in that mo⯑ment——

Pray, pray, guardian, let me tell you the ſtory, and you'll find I am not to blame.

No, child, I only am to blame, who ſhould have conſider'd that ſixteen and ſixty agree ill together. [30] But, tho' I was too old to be wiſe, I am not too old to learn; and ſo, I ſay, ſend for a ſmith directly, beat all the grates from my windows, take the locks from my doors, let egreſs and regreſs be given freely.

And will you be my huſband, Sir?

No, child, I will give you to one that will make you a better huſband; here, young man, take her; if your parents conſent, to-morrow ſhall ſee you join'd in the face of the church; and the dowry which I promiſed her in caſe of failure on my ſide of the contract, ſhall now go with her as a marriage portion.

Signior, this is ſo generous——

No thanks, perhaps I owe acknowledgments to you; but you Urſula have no excuſe, no paſſion to plead, and your age ſhould have taught you betrer. I'll give you five hundred crowns, but never let me ſee you more.

And won't give me noting.

Yes, baſtinadoes for your drunkenneſs and infidelity. Call in my neighbours and friends. Oh, man! man! how ſhort is your foreſight, how inef⯑fectual your prudence, while the very means you uſe are deſtructive of your ends.