Part 1 (1/2)

The Duenna.

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE, NOV. 21, 1775

DON FERDINAND _Mr. Mattocks_.

DON JEROME _Mr. Wilson_.

DON ANTONIO _Mr. Dubellamy_.

DON CARLOS _Mr. Leoni_.

ISAAC MENDOZA _Mr. Quick_.

FATHER PAUL _Mr. Mahon_.

FATHER FRANCIS _Mr. Fox_.

FATHER AUGUSTINE _Mr. Baker_.

LOPEZ _Mr. Wewitzer_.

DONNA LOUISA _Mrs. Mattocks_.

DONNA CLARA _Mrs. Cargill_.

THE DUENNA _Mrs. Green_.

Masqueraders, Friars, Porter, Maid, _and_ Servants.

SCENE--SEVILLE.

ACT I.

SCENE I.--_The Street before_ DON JEROME'S _House_.

_Enter_ LOPEZ, _with a dark lantern_.

_Lop_. Past three o'clock!--Soh! a notable hour for one of my regular disposition, to be strolling like a bravo through the streets of Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young lover is the hardest.--Not that I am an enemy to love; but my love and my master's differ strangely.--Don Ferdinand is much too gallant to eat, drink, or sleep:--now my love gives me an appet.i.te--then I am fond of dreaming of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her.--This cannot be done without good sleep and good liquor: hence my partiality to a feather- bed and a bottle. What a pity, now, that I have not further time, for reflections! but my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his retreat from Donna Clara's window, as I guess.--[_Music without_.]

Hey! sure, I heard music! So, so! Who have we here? Oh, Don Antonio, my master's friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my young mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: so! we shall have the old gentleman up presently.--Lest he should miss his son, I had best lose no time in getting to my post. [_Exit_.]

_Enter_ DON ANTONIO, _with_ MASQUERADERS _and music_.

SONG.--_Don Ant_.

Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain So gently speak thy master's pain?

So softly sing, so humbly sigh, That, though my sleeping love shall know Who sings--who sighs below, Her rosy slumbers shall not fly?

Thus, may some vision whisper more Than ever I dare speak before.

_I. Mas_. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, while you sing so dolefully; love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody.

_Don Ant_. I do not wish to disturb her rest.