Lop. Mercy, Don Pedro ! Don Ped. Are you not a villain? Lop. Yes, if you please. [Kneeling. Don Ped. Is there so great a one upon earth? Lop. Give me but time, and I will. But noble Don Pedro, just Don Pedro, generous Don Pedro, what is it I have done? Don Ped. What if thou darest deny, I'll plunge this dagger deep into thy throat, and drive the falsehood to thy heart again. Therefore take heed, and on thy life declare; didst thou not this last night open my doors to let Don Guzman in ? Lop. Don Guzman ! Don Ped. Don Guzman? Yes, Don Guzman, traitor, him! Lop. Now may the sky crush me, if I let in Don Guzman. Don Ped. Who did you let in then? It wan't your master sure! if it was him, you did your duty, I have no more to say. Lop. Why then if I let in anybody else, I'm a son of a whore. [Rising. Don Ped. Did he order you beforehand, or did you do't upon his knocking? Lop. Why he; I'll tell you, sir, he-pray put up that brilliant; it sparkles so in my eyes, it almost blinds me.-[DON PEDRO sheathes his poniard.] Thank you, sir.-Why, sir, I'll tell you just how the matter was, but I hope you won't consider me as a party? Don Ped. Go on, thou art safe. Lop. Why then, sir, (when for our sins,) you had left us, says my master to me, Lopez, says he, go and stay at old Don Felix's house, till Don Pedro returns, they'll pass thee for his servant, and think he has ordered thee to stay there. And then says he, dost hear, open me the door by Leonora's apartment to-night, for I have a little business, says he, to do there. Don Ped. [Aside.] Perfidious wretch ! Lop. Indeed, I was at first a little wresty, and stood off; being suspicious (for I knew the man) that there might be some ill intentions. But he knew me too, takes me upon the weak side, whips out a long sword, and by the same means makes me do the thing as you have made me discover it. [Aside.] There's neither liberty nor property in this land, since the blood of the Bourbons came amongst us. Don Ped. Then you let him in, as he bid you? Lop. I did: if I had not, I had never lived to tell you the story. Yes, I let him in. Don Ped. And what followed? Lop. Why he followed. Don Ped. What? Lop. His inclinations. Don Ped. Which way? Lop. The old way; to a woman. Don Ped. Confound him! Lop. In short, he got to madam's chamber, and before he had been there long, (though you know, sir, a little time goes a great way in some matters) I heard such a clutter of small shot, murder! murder! murder! rape! fire! help! and so forth.-But hold, here he comes himself, and can give you a more circumstantial account of the skirmish. [Exit. Don Ped. I thank thee, Heaven, at last, for having pointed me to the victim I am to sacrifice. Don Ped. In the heart of a sworn friend. Don John. [Aside.] I saw Lopez go from him: without doubt he has told him all.-[Aloud.] Of what am I suspected? Don Ped. Of betraying the greatest trust that man could place in man. Don John. And by whom am I accused. Don John. Hold! and be not quite a madman! Pedro, you know me well. You know I am not backward upon these occasions, nor shall I refuse you any satisfaction you'll demand; but first, I will be heard, and tell you, that for a man of sense, you are pleased to make very odd conclusions. Don Ped. Why, what is't possible thou canst invent to clear thyself? Don John. To clear myself! Of what? I'm to be thanked for what I have done, and not reproached. I find I have been an ass, and pushed my friendship to that point, you find not virtue in yourself enough to conceive it in another. Buts henceforward I shall be a better husband on't. Don Ped. I should be loath to find ingratitude could e'er be justly charged upon me: but after what your servant has confessed Don John. My servant! right, my servant! the very thing I guessed. Fy, fy, Don Pedro! is from a servant's mouth a friend condemns a friend? or can servants always judge at what their masters outward actions point? But some allowances should make for the wild agitations you must needs be in. I'm therefore calm, and thus far pass all by Don Ped. If you are innocent, Heaven be my aid, that I may find you so. But still Don John. But still you wrong me, if you suspect. Hear then, in short, my part of this adventure. In order to acquit myself of the charge you laid upon me in your absence, I went last night, just as 'twas dark, to view the several approaches to the house where you had left your wife; and I observed not far from one of the back doors two persons in close eager conference. I* disguised, so ventured to pass near 'em, and by word or two I heard, I found 'twas Guzman tak ing to Jacinta. My concern for your honor made me at first resolve to call him to an immediate account. But then reflecting that I might possi bly o'erhear some part of their discourse, and by that judge of Leonora's thoughts, I reined my passion in; and by the help of an advancing bate tress, which kept me from their sight, I learned the black conspiracy. Don Guzman said, be ba great complaint to make; and since his honourable love had been so ill returned, he could with forgive himself, if by some rougher means should procure what prayers, and tears, and sighs had urged in vain. Don Ped. Go on. Don John. His kind assistant closed smerthly with him, and informed him with what ease that very night she'd introduce him to her chamber. At last they parted, with this agreement, that some overture in a wall, he should expect her inform him when Leonora was in bed, and all th coast was clear. Don Ped. Despatch the rest.-[Aside.] Is't possible after all he should be innocent! Don John. I must confess the resolution taken made me tremble for you. How to prevent it now and for ever was my next care. I immediately ordered Lopez to go lie at Don Felix's and to open me the door when all the family were in bed. He did as I directed him. I entered, and in the dark found my way to Leonora's apartment; I found the door open, at which I was surprised. I thought I heard some stirring in her chamber, and in an Estant heard her cry to aid. At this I drew, and rushed into the room; which Guzman alarmed at, cried out to her assistance. His ready impudence, I must confess, at first quite struck me speechless; sat in a moment I regained my tongue, and loud roclaimed the traitor. Don Ped. Is't possible! Don John. Yet more: your arrival hindering ae at that time from taking vengeance for your Trong, I at this instant expect him here, to punish im (with heaven's righteous aid) for daring to ttempt my ruin with the man, whose friendship I refer to all the blessings Heaven and earth disense. And now, Don Pedro, I have told you is, if still you have a mind to take my life, I shall tfend it with the self-same warmth I intended to spose it in your service. [Draws. Don Ped. [Aside.] If I did not know he was love with Leonora, I could be easily surprised ith what he has told me. But-but yet 'tis cerin he has destroyed the proofs against him; and I only hold him guilty as a lover, why must Don uzman pass for innocent? Good Gods, I am ain returning to my doubts! Don John. [Aside.] I have at last reduced him to a balance, it one lie more toss'd in will turn the scale.loud.] One obligation more, my friend, you owe me ; hought to have let it pass, but it shall out. ored, like you, the beauteous Leonora ; ore my passion from my bleeding heart, I've no more to plead; if still you think ar vengeance is my due, come pay it me. Don Ped. Rather ten thousand poniards strike Alvarada! [me dead. no more. a you forgive a wild distracted friend? ds! whither was my jealous frenzy leading me? a you forget this barbarous injury? Don John. I can : But for the ure, think me what I am, a faithful and a zealous nd. Retire, and leave me here. In a few ments I hope to bring you farther proofs on't. aman I instantly expect; leave me to do you tice on him. Don Ped. That must not be. My revenge can Don Ped. You mistake, he won't be here. Don Ped. He has not had your challenge. His ter intercepted it, and desired I'd come to prent the quarrel. Don John. What then is to be done? Don John. Attack him by his own laws of war. -"Twas in the night he would have had your honour, and in the night you ought to have his life. Don Ped. His treason cannot take the guilt from mine. Don John. There is no guilt in fair retaliation. When 'tis a point of honour founds the quarrel, the laws of swordmen must be kept, 'tis true: but if a thief glides in to seize my treasure, methinks I may return the favour on my dagger's point, as well as with my sword of ceremony six times as long. Don Ped. Yet still the nobler method I would choose; it better satisfies the vengeance of a man of honour. Don John. I own it, were you sure you should succeed but the events of combats are uncertain. Your enemy may 'scape you: you perhaps may only wound him; you may be parted. Believe me, Pedro, the injury's too great for a punctilio satisfaction. Don Ped. Well, guide me as you please, so you direct me quickly to my vengeance. What do you propose? Don John. That which is easy, as 'tis just to execute. The wall he passed, to attempt your wife, let us get over to prevent his doing so any more. "Twill let us in to a private apartment by his garden, where every evening in his amorous solitudes he spends some time alone, and where I guess his late fair scheme was drawn. The deed done, we can retreat the way we entered; let me be your pilot, 'tis now e'en dark, and the most proper time. Don Ped. Lead on; I'll follow you. Don John. [Aside.] How many villanies I'm forced to act, to keep one secret! [Exeunt. SCENE II.-DON GUZMAN'S Apartment. DON GUZMAN discovered sitting. Don Guz. With what rigour does this unfaithful woman treat me ! Is't possible it can be she, who appeared to love me with so much tenderness? How little stress is to be laid upon a woman's heart? Sure they're not worth those anxious cares they give.-[Rising.] Then burst my chains, and give me room to search for nobler pleasures. I feel my heart begin to mutiny for liberty; there is a spirit in it yet, will struggle hard for freedom: but solitude's the worst of seconds.-Ho, Sancho! Galindo! who waits there? Bring some lights. Where are you? Enter GALINDO, rubbing his eyes, and drunk. Gal. I can't well tell. Do you want me, sir? Don Guz. Yes, sir, I want you. Why am I left in the dark? what were you doing? Gal. Doing, sir! I was doing-what one does when one sleeps, sir. Don Guz. Have you no light without? Gal. [Yawning.] Light !-No, sir,-I have no light. I am used to hardship. I can sleep in the dark. Don Guz. You have been drinking, you rascal, you are drunk! Gal. I have been drinking, sir, 'tis true, but I am not drunk. Every man that is drunk, has been drinking; confessed. But every man that has been drinking, is not drunk. Confess that too. Don Guz. Who is't has put you in this condition, you sot? Gal. A very honest fellow: Madam Leonora's coachman, nobody else. I have been making a little debauch with Madam Leonora's coachman; yes. Don Guz. How came you to drink with him, beast? Gal. Only par complaisance, sir. The coachman was to be drunk upon madam's wedding; and I being a friend, was desired to take part. Don Guz. And so, you villain, you can make yourself merry with what renders me miserable! Gal. No, sir, no; 'twas the coachman was merry: I drank with tears in my eyes. The remembrance of your misfortunes, made me so sad, so sad, that every cup I swallowed, was like a cup of poison to me. Don Guz. Without doubt. Gal. Yes; and to mortify myself upon melancholy matters, I believe I took down fifty. Yes. Don Guz. Go fetch some lights, you drunken sot, you! Gal. I will if I can find the door, that is to say. -The devil's in the door! I think 'tis grown too little for me.-Feeling for the door, and running against it.] Shrunk this wet weather, I presume. [Exit. Gal. Well; since my master has banished me his sight, I'll redeem by my obedience what I have lost by my debauch. I'll go sleep twelve hours in some melancholy hole where the devil shan't find me. Yes. [Exit. Don John. He's gone; but hush, I hear somebody coming. Don Guz. Ho, there! will nobody bring light? [Behind the scent Don Ped. 'Tis Guzman. Don John. 'Tis so, prepare. Don Ped. Shall I own my weakness? I feel an inward check; I wish this could be done some other way. Don John. Distraction all! is this a time to balance? Think on the injury he would have done you, 'twill fortify your arm, and guide your dagger to his heart. Don Ped. Enough, I'll hesitate no more; be satisfied, hark! he's coming. Re-enter DON GUZMAN, he crosses the stage. Don Guz. I think these rogues are resolved to leave me in the dark all night. [Erit Don John. Now's your time; follow him, and strike home. it. Don Ped. To his heart, if my dagger will reach Don John. [Aside.] If one be killed, I'm satis fied; 'tis no great matter which. Re-enter DoN GUZMAN, DON PEDRO following him, with his dagger ready to strike. Don Guz. My chamber-door's locked, and I think I hear somebody tread.-Who's there? Nobody answers. But still I hear something stit Holo there! Sancho, are you all drunk? Sont lights here quickly. [Passes by the corner where DON JOHN stands, and got off the stage; DON PEDRO following him. Don Guz. Absence, the old remedy for love, Don Ped. [Aside.] I think I'm near him no must e'en be mine; to stay and brave the danger-Traitor, take that! my wife has sent it thee. were presumption: Farewell, Valencia, then! and farewell, Leonora ! And if thou canst, my heart, redeem thy liberty; secure it by a farewell eternal to her sex. Re-enter GALINDO, with a candle. Gal. Here's light, sir.-[He falls and puts it out.] So! Don Guz. Well done! You sottish rascal, come no more in my sight. [Exit into an adjoining chamber. Gal. These boards are so uneven!-You shall see now I shall neither find the candle-nor the candlestick; it shan't be for want of searching however. [Rising, and feeling about for the candle.] O ho, have I got you! Enough, I'll look for your companion to-morrow. Enter DON PEDRO and DON JOHN. Don Ped. Where are we now? Don John. We are in the apartment I told you of-softly-I hear something stir.-Ten to one but 'tis he. Gal. Don't I hear somewhat?-No.-When one has wine in one's head, one has such a bustle in one's ears. Don Ped. [To DON JOHN.] Who is that talking to himself? Don John. 'Tis his servant, I know his voice, keep still. [Stabs Don Joss Don John. Ah, I'm dead! Don Ped. Then thou hast thy due. Don John. I have indeed, 'tis I that have trayed thee. Don Ped. And 'tis I that am revenged on the for doing it. Don John. I would have forced thy wife. Don Ped. Die then with the regret to have faile in thy attempt. Don John. Farewell, if thou canst forgive me Don Ped. I have done the deed: there's nothin left, but to make our escape. Don John, when are you? let's be gone, I hear the servants coming [Knocking at the delt th Lop. [Without.] Open there quickly, open door! Don Ped. That's Lopez, we shall be discovered But 'tis no great matter, the crime will justify the execution. But where's Don John?-Don Joha where are you? [Knocking at the do Lop. [Without.] Open the door there, quickly -Madam, I saw 'em both pass the wall, the dev in't if any good comes on't. Leo. [Without.] I am frightened out of senses!-Ho, Isabella! Don Ped. 'Tis Leonora.-She's welcomeWith her own eyes let her see her Guzman dead VHAT say you, sirs, d'ye think my lady'll 'scape? I's devilish hard to stand a favourite's rape. bould Guzman, like Don John, break in upon her, or all her virtue, heaven have mercy on her! ler strength, I doubt, 's in his irresolution, here's wondrous charms in vigorous execution. ndeed you men are fools, you won't believe bat dreadful things we women can forgive : know but one we never do pass by, nd that you plague us with eternally; When in your courtly fears to disoblige, We can't receive those terms you gently tender, YE gods! what crime had my poor father done, The honour, I must needs confess, is great, A world of blessings to that fire we owe; [Looking behind the scenes. A busy man amongst us here to-night : Your fire has made him play a thousand pranks. For which, no doubt, you've had his daily thanks He has thank'd you, first, for all his decent plati Where he so nick'd it, when he writ for praise. Next for his meddling with some folks in black, And bringing-souse !-a priest upon his back: For building houses here to oblige the peers, And fetching all their house about his ears; For a new play, he'as now thought fit to write, To soothe the town-which they—will damn ti night. These benefits are such, no man can doubt But he'll go on, and set your fancy out, Till for reward of all his noble deeds, At last like other sprightly folks he speeds: Has this great recompense fix'd on his brow At famed Parnassus; has your leave to bow And walk about the streets-equipp’d—as I = now. |