You dread reformers of an impious age,
You awful cat-a-nine tails to the stage,
This once be just, and in our cause engage.
To gain your favour, we your rules obey,
And treat you with a moral piece to-day;
So moral, we're afraid 'twill damn the play.

For though ye have long been leagued (as people tell)

To reduce the power exorbitant of hell;
No troops you send, to abate it in this field,
But leave us still exposed, to starve or yield.
Your scouts indeed sometimes come stealing in,
To observe this formidable camp of sin,
And whisper, if we'll piously declare,

What aids you then will send to help us through

the war.

To this we answer, We're a feeble state,
And cannot well afford to love or hate,
So should not meddle much in your debate.
But since your cause is good, thus far we'll
go,

When Portugal declares, we'll do so too.
Our cases, as we think, are much alike,
And on the same conditions we should strike;
Send to their aid a hundred men-of-war,
To ours a hundred squadrons of the fair;

Rig out your wives and daughters all around,
(I mean who are fit for service, tight and sound
And for a proof our meaning is sincere,
See but the ships are good, and if you fear
A want of equipage, we'll man them here.

These are the terms, on which you may engage

| The poet's fire, to batter from the stage.
Useful ally! whose friendship lets you in
Upon the weak and naked side of sin;
Against your old attack, the foe's prepared,
Well fortified, and always on his guard;
The sacred shot you send are flung in vain ;
By impious hands, with insolent disdain,
They're gather'd up, and fired at you again.
Through baffled toils, and unsuccessful cares,
In slaughter, blood, and wounds, and pious snares,
Ye have made a Flanders war these fifteen hundred
years.

Change then your scheme, if you'd your foe annoy,
And the infernal Bajazet destroy :
Our aid accept,

We have gentler stratagems which may succeed;
We'll tickle 'em, where you would make 'em bleed:
In sounds less harsh we'll teach 'em to obey;
In softer strains the evil spirit lay,

And steal their immorality away.

Lop. Your patience, sir, indeed is great; I feel at this time forty proofs on't upon my shoulders. But really, sir, I would advise you to

Don John. Again! I can bear thee no longer. Here, pen and ink, I'll give thee thy discharge. Did I take you for a valet, or a privy-counsellor, sir?

Lop. 'Tis confessed, sir, you took me but for humble employment; but my intention was agreeably to surprise you with some superior gifts of nature, to your faithful slave. I profess, my noble master, a most perfect knowledge of men and manners. Yours, gracious sir, (with all respect I speak it) are not irreprehensible. And I'm afraid in time, sir, I am indeed, they'll wriggle you into some ill-favoured affair, whence with all my understanding I shall be puzzled to bring you off.

Don John. Very well, sir.

Lop. And therefore, sir, it is, that I (poor Lopez as I am) sometimes take leave to moralise.

Don John. Go, go, moralise in the market-place; I'm quite worn out. Once more, march. Lop. Is the sentence definitive?

Don John. Positive.

Lop. Then pray let us come to account, and see what wages are due.

Don John. Wages! Refund what you have had, you rascal you, for the plague you have given me.

Lop. Nay, if I must lose my money, then let me claim another right; losers have leave to speak. Therefore advance, my tongue, and say thy pleasure; tell this master of mine, he should die with shame at the life he leads: so much unworthy of a man of honour. Tell him

Don John. I'll hear no more.
Lop. You shall indeed, sir.

Don John. Here, take thy money and begone. Lop. Counters all; adieu you glistering spangles of the world! farewell ye tempters of the great; not me! Tell him

Don John. Stay.

Lop. Go on.-Tell him he's worse among the women than a ferret among the rabbits; at one and all, from the princess to the tripe-woman; handsome, ugly, old women and children, all go down. Don John. Very well.

Lop. It is indeed, sir, and so are the stories you tell them to bring them to your matters. The handsome, she's all divinity to be sure; the ugly, she's so agreeable, were it not for her virtue, she'd be overrun with lovers; the light airy flipflap, she kills him with her motions; the dull heavy-tailed maukin melts him down with her modesty; the scragged lean pale face has a shape for destruction; the fat overgrown sow has an air of importance; the tall awkward trapes with her majesty wounds; the little short trundle-tail shoots a je-ne-sais-quoi: in a word, they have all something for him-and he has something for 'em all.

Don John. And thus, you fool, by a general attack, I keep my heart my own; lie with them that like me, and care not sixpence for them that don't.

Lop. Well said, well said, a very pretty amusement truly ! But pray, sir, by your leave (ceremony aside) since you are pleased to clear up into conversation, what mighty matters do you expect from boarding a woman you know is already heart and soul engaged to another?

Don John. Why I expect her heart and soul

should disengage in a week. If you live a little longer with me, sirrah, you'll know how to instruct your next master to the purpose: and therefore that I may charitably equip you for a new service, now I'm turning you out of my own, I'll let you know, that when a woman loves a man best, she's in the most hopeful way of betraying him; for love, like fortune, turns upon a wheel, and is very much given to rising and falling.

Lop. Like enough. But as much upon the weathercock as the ladies are, there are some the wind must blow hard to fetch them about. When such a sturdy hussy falls in your honour's way, what account may things turn to then, an't please ye?

Don John. They turn to a bottle, you puppy. Lop. I find they'll always turn to something; but when you pursue a poor woman only to make her lover jealous, what pleasure can you take in that?

Don John. That pleasure.

Lop. Look you there again!

Don John. Why, sirrah, d'you think there's no pleasure in spoiling their sport, when I can't make my own?

Lop. Oh! to a good-natured man, be sure there must; but suppose, instead of fending and proving with his mistress, he should come to-a-parrying and thrusting with you; what becomes of your joy then, my noble master?

Don John. Why do you think I'm afraid to fight, you rascal ?

Lop. I thought we were talking of what we loved, not what we feared, sir.

Don John. Sir, I love everything that leads to what I love most.

Lop. I know, sir, you have often fought upon these occasions.

Don John. Therefore that has been no stop to my pleasures.

Lop. But you have never been killed once, sir; and when that happens, you will for ever lose the pleasure of—

Don John. [Striking him.] Breaking your head, you rascal, which will afflict me heartily. -[Knocking at the door.] See who knocks so hard.

Lop. Somebody that thinks I can hear no better than you think I can feel.

Enter DON GUZMAN.

Don Guz. Don John de Alvarada, is he here? Lop. There's the man.-[Aside.] Show me such another if you can find him.

Don Guz. Don John, I desire to speak with you alone.

Don John. You may speak before this fellow, sir; he's trusty.

Don Guz. 'Tis an affair of honour, sir.
Don John. Withdraw, Lopez.

Lop. [Aside.] Behind the door I will, and no farther. This fellow looks as if he came to save me a broken head.

[Retires.

Don Guz. I call myself Don Guzman de Torrellas, you know what blood I spring from; I am a cadet, and by consequence not rich; but I am esteemed by men of honour: I have been forward to expose myself in battles abroad, and I have met with applause in our feasts at home.

Lop. So much by way of introduction. [Aside

Don John. I understand your merit, sir, and should be glad to do as much by your business.

Don Guz. Give attention, and you'll be instructed. I love Leonora, and from my youth have done so. Long she rejected my sighs, and despised my tears, but my constancy at last has vanquished. I have found the way to her heart, and nothing is wanting to complete my joy but the consent of her father, whom I cannot yet convince that the wants in my fortune are recompensed by the merits of my person.

Lop. He's a very dull fellow indeed. [Aside. Don Guz. In the meanwhile the object of my vows is a sharer in my grief, and the only cordial we have is the pleasure of a secret conversation, through a small breach I have made in a thin partition that divides our lodgings. I trust you, Don John, with this important secret; friend or enemy, you are noble, therefore keep it, I charge your honour with it.

Lop. You could not put it in better hands.

[Aside.

Don Guz. But what's still farther, you take the liberty to copy me; my words, my actions, every motion is no sooner mine, but yours. In short, you ape me, Don; and to that point, I once designed to stab myself, and try if you would follow me in that too.

Lop. No, there the monkey would have left you. [Aside.

Don Guz. But to conclude.
Don John. "Tis time.

Don Guz. My patience, Don, is now no more; and I pronounce, that if henceforth I find you under Leonora's window, who never wished, fond man, to see you there, I by the ways of honour shall fix you in another station. I leave you to

Don John. I was afraid he came to forbid me seeing his sister Isabella, with whom I'm upon very good terms.

Lop. Why now that's a hard case, when you have got a man's sister, you can't leave him his mistress.

Don John. No, changeling, I hate him enough, to love every woman that belongs to him: and the fool has so provoked me by his threatening, that I believe I shall have a stroke at his mother before I think myself even with him.

Lop. A most admirable way to make up accounts truly!

Don John. A son of a whore ! 'sdeath, I did not care sixpence for the slut before, but now I'll have her maidenhead in a week, for fear the rogue should marry her in ten days.

Lop. Mum; here's her father: I'll warrant this old spark comes to correct our way of living

too.

Don Fel. You know that I have some reputation in the world.

Don John. I know your reputation equals your birth.

Don Fel. And you are not ignorant, that heaven for the consolation of my grey hairs has given me an only daughter, who is not deformed. Don John. Beauteous as light.

Don Fel. Well shaped, witty, and endowed with

Don John. All the good qualities of mind and body.

Don Fel. Since you are satisfied with all this, hearken, I pray, with attention, to the business that brings me hither.

Don John I shall.

Don Fel. We all know, Don John, some by their own experience, some by that of others, how nice a gentleman's honour is, and how easily tarnished; an éclaircissement managed with prudence, often prevents misfortunes that perhaps might be upon the point of attending us. I have thought it my duty to acquaint you, that I have seen your designs upon my daughter. You pass nights entire under her window, as if you were searching an oppor.

tunity to get into my house; there is nobody in the town but has taken notice of your proceedings; you give the public a subject for disadvantageous discourse; and though in reality Leonora's virtue receives no prejudice by it, her reputation daily runs some risk. My years have taught me to judge right of things: and yet I have not been able to decide what your end can be; you can't regard my daughter on a foot of gallantry, you know her virtue and my birth too well; and for a wife you seem to have no thought, since you have yet made no demand to me: what then is your intention? You have heard perhaps, I have hearkened to a gentleman of Toledo, a man of merit. I own I have, and I expect him daily here; but, Don John, if 'tis that which hinders you from declaring in form, I'll ease you of a great deal of trouble, which the customs of the world impose upon these occasions, and in a word, I'll break with him, and give you Leonora.

Lop. [Aside.] Good.

Don Fel. You don't answer me! what is't that troubles you?

Don John. That I have been such a sot, old gentleman, to hear you with so much patience.

[Rising.

Don Fel. How, Don! I'm more astonished at your answer than I was with your silence.

Don John. Astonished! why han't you talked to me of marriage? He asks me to marry, and wonders what I complain of!

Don Fel. "Tis well-'tis well, Don John, the outrage is violent! You insult me in your own house. But know, sir[Rising.

Don John. But know, sir, there needs no quarrel, if you please, sir; I like your daughter very well; but for marrying her-serviteur.

Don Fel. Don Guzman de Torrellas has not less merit than you, Don.

Don John. Agreed; what then?

Don Fel. And yet I have refused him my daughter.

Don John. Why then you have used him better than you have done me, which I take very unkindly. Don Fel. I have used you, sir

Don John. Used me, sir! you have used me very ill, to come into my own house to seduce

me.

Don Fel. What extravagance!
Don John. What persecution!

Don Fel. Am I then to have no other answer? Don John. Methinks you have enough in all conscience.

Don Fel. Promise me at least you'll cease to love my daughter.

Don John. I won't affront your family so far

neither.

Lop. Egad my master shines to-day.

[Aside.

Don Fel. Know, Don, that I can bear no more. Lop. If he could, I think there's no more to lay upon him. [Aside. Don Fel. If I find you continue to importune Leonora, I shall find a way to satisfy my offended honour, and punish your presumption.

Don John. You shall do what you please to me provided you don't marry me.

Don Fel. Know, Alvarada, there are ways to revenge such outrageous affronts as these.

Don John. I won't marry.

Don Fel. 'Tis enough.

[Exit.

Lop. [Aside.] So; the old fellow's gone at last, and has carried great content along with him. Don John. Lopez.

Lop. Sir

Re-enter Lopez.

Don John. What dost think? he would have married me!

Lop. Yes, he had found his man. But you have been even with him.

Don John. What, thou hast heard us then?

Lop. Or I were no valet. But pray what does your honour intend to do now? Will you continue the siege of a place, where 'tis probable they will daily augment the fortifications, when there are so many open towns you may march into without the trouble of opening the trenches?

Don John. I am going, Lopez, to double my attacks: I'll beat up her quarters six times a-night, I am now downright in love; the difficulties pique me to the attempt, and I'll conquer or I'll die.

Lop. Why to confess the truth, sir, I find you much upon my taste in this matter; difficulties are the rocambole of love, I never valued an easy conquest in my life. To rouse my fire, the lady must cry out (as softly as ever she can) Have a care my dear, my mother has seen us; my brothers suspect me; my husband may surprise us: oh, dear heart, have a care, I pray! Then I play the devil: but when I come to a fair-one, where I may hang up my cloak upon a peg, get into my gown and slippers

Don John. Impudent rogue!

[Aside.

Lop. See her stretched upon the couch in great security, with-My dear, come kiss me, we have nothing to fear; I droop, I yawn, I sleep.

Don John. Well, sir, whatever you do with your fair-one, I am going to be very busy with mine; I was e'en almost weary of her, but Guzman and this old fellow have revived my dying fire; and so have at her.

Lop. 'Tis all mighty well, sir, mighty well, sir, as can be in the world. But if you would have the goodness to consider en passant, or so, a little now and then, about swords and daggers, and rivals and old fellows, and pistols and great guns, and such-like baubles, only now and then at leisure, sir, not to interrupt things of more con

sequence.

Don John. Thou art a cowardly rascal, I have often considered that.

Lop. Ay, that's true, sir, and yet a blunderbuss is presently discharged out of a garret window. Don John. Come, no more words; but follow me.-How now! what impertinence have we here now to stop me?

Enter Don Pedro.

Lop. 'Tis Don Pedro, or I'm a dog.

Don John. Impossible! Don Pedro returned! Don Ped. 'Tis I, my dearest friend; I'm come to forget all the miseries of a long absence, in one happy embrace. [They embrace. Don John. I'm overjoyed to see you. Don Ped. Mine's not to be expressed.-What, friend Lopez here still! how dost do, Lopez ? What, dost not know me?

Lop. As well as my father's seal, sir, when he sends me a bill of exchange.

Don Ped. Just as he was, I find galliard still.

Lop. I find it very unwholesome to be otherwise, sir.

Don John. You have then quitted the service in Flanders, I suppose.

Don Ped. I have so, friend; I have left the ensigns of Mars, and am listing myself in a softer militia.

Don John. Explain, pray.

I

Don Ped. Why, when your father's death obliged you to leave Brussels, and return hither to the plentiful fortune he left you, I stayed in Flanders, very triste for your loss, and passed three years in the trade of war. About two months since, my father writ to me from Toledo, that he was going to marry me very advantageously at Valencia. He sent me the picture of the lady, and I was so well pleased with it, that I immediately got my congé, and embarked at Dunkirk; I had a quick passage to the Groyne, from whence, by the way of Madrid, I am come hither with all the speed I could. have. you must know, been two days in town, but I have lain incognito, that I might inform myself of the lady's conduct I'm to marry; and I have discovered that she's served by two cavaliers of birth and merit. But though they have both given many proofs of a most violent passion, I have found for the quiet of my honour that this virtuous lady, out of modesty or prudence, has shown a perfect indifference to them and their gallantries; her fortune is considerable, her birth is high, her manners irreproachable, and her beauty so great, that nothing but my love can equal it.

Don John. I have hearkened to you, Don Pedro, with a great deal of attention, and Heaven's my witness I have a mighty joy in seeing you; but the devil fetch me, it makes my heart bleed to hear you are going to be married.

Don Ped. Say no more of that, I desire you, we have always been friends, and I earnestly beg we ever may be so; but I am not come to ask counsel about my marriage, my party is taken, and my inquiries have so much heightened my desire, that nothing can henceforth abate it. I must therefore expect from you, dear friend, that you won't oppose it, but that you'll aid me in hastening the moment of my happiness.

Don John. Since 'tis so impossible for you to resolve for your own good, I must submit to what you'll have me. But are not we to know the name of this piece of rarity, that is to do you this good

turn?

Don Ped. You'll know it presently; for I'm going to carry you to her house.

Don John. You shall tell me at least who are her two gallants.

Don Ped. One, they could not tell me his name; t'other is-But before we talk any more of these affairs, can you let me dispose of Lopez till the return of a servant I sent three days ago to

Don John. Carry news of you to papa, I sup

pose.

Don Ped. You are right; the good man is thirty leagues off, and I have not seen him this six years.

Don John. Lopez, do you wait upon Don Pedro.

Lop. With all my heart.-[Aside.] It's at least a suspension of Doxes o' th' ear, and kicks o' the backside.

Don Ped. Then, honest Lopez, with your master's leave, go to the new inn, the King of France on horseback, and see if my servant's returned; I'll be there immediately, to charge thee with a commission of more importance.

Lop. I shall perform your orders, sir, both to your satisfaction and my own reputation. [Exit. Don John. Very quaint.-Well, old acquaintance, we are going to be married then? 'Tis resolved ha!

Don Ped. So says my star.

Don John. The foolishest star that has said anything a great while.

Don Ped. Still the same, I see! or, more than ever, resolved to love nothing.

Don John. Love nothing! why, I'm in lɔ.e at this very time.

Don Ped. With what? Don John. A woman. Don Ped. Impossible! Don John. True.

Don Ped. And how came you in love with her?

Don John. Why I was ordered not to be in love

with her.

Don Ped. Then there's more humour than love in't.

Don John. There shall be what you please in't: but I shan't quit the gentlewoman till I have convinced her there's something in't.

Don Ped. Mayn't I know her name?

Don John. When you have let me into your conjugal affection.

Don Ped. Pray stay here but till I have sent Lopez to my father-in-law: I'll come back and carry you with me in a moment.

Don John. I'll expect you.

Don Ped. Adieu, dear friend; may I in earnest see you quickly in love.

Don John. May I, without a jest, see you quickly a widower.-[Exit DON PEDRO.] He comes, he says, to marry a woman of quality that has two lovers. If it should be Leonora ?-But why she? There are many, I hope, in that condition in Valencia.-I'm a little embarrassed about it, how

ever.

Friendship, take heed; if woman interfore, Be sure the hour of thy destruction's near. {Exit