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THE
STOLEN HEIRESS:
OR THE
_Salamanca_ Doctor Outplotted.
A
COMEDY.
Drawn from:
THE
WORKS
OF THE CELEBRATED
Mrs. CENTLIVRE.
VOLUME ONE
LONDON:
Printed for J. KNAPTON, C. HITCH and L. HAWES,
J. and R. TONSON, S. CROWDER and Co. W. BATHOE,
T. LOWNDS, T. CASLON, and G. KEARSLY.
M.DCC.LXI.
PROLOGUE.
Spoke by Mrs. PRINCE.
_Our Author fearing his Success to Day,_
_Sends me to bribe your Spleen against his Play,_
_And if a Ghost in_ Nelly's _Time cou'd sooth ye,_
_He hopes in these that Flesh and Blood may move ye,_
_Nay, what is more, to win your Hearts, a Maid!_
_If ever such a Thing the Play-house had._
_For Cold and Shade the waxen Blossom's born,_
_Not to endure the Regions of the Sun,_
_Let every Beau then his Applause begin,_
_And think the Rarity was born for him:_
_Your true-bred Knights for fancy'd Dames advance,_
_And think it Gallantry to break a Launce,_
_And shall a real Damsel e'er be found_
_To plead her Cause in vain on_ English _Ground,_
_Unless that dreadful Prophecy's begun,_
_In which Seven Women are to share----one Man!_
_But thanks my Stars that Danger I disown,_
_For in the Pit, I see 'tis--one--to one._
_And while the Fair can all their Rights enjoy,_
_We'll keep our Title up to being Coy,_
_So let your Praise be noisy as your Wine,_
_And grant your Favours, if you'd purchase mine._
* * * * *
A SONG design'd to be sung by Mr. DOGGET.
_The Man you Ladies ought to fear,_
_Behold and see his Picture here._
_With Arms a-cross, and down-cast Eyes_
_Thus languishes, and thus he dies,_
_Then gives his Hat a careless Pull,_
_Thus he sighs, and thus looks dull,_
_Thus he ogles, thus he sneers,_
_Thus he winks, and thus he lears._
_This, this is he alone can move,_
_And this the Man the Ladies love._
THE
EPILOGUE.
Spoke by Mr. DOGGET.
_You have seen what Scholar is in Cap and Gown,_
_Before his Breeding's polish'd by this Town:_
_'Tis not enough, that he can_ Hebrew _speak,_
Greek, Latin, Chaldeac, _and_ Arabick;
_He may perform his Task in Church and School,_
_Ne'er drop a Word, that is not Grammar-Rule._
_Run through the Arts; can each Degree commence,_
_Yet be a Freshman still, to Men of Sense._
_Tho' the learn'd Youth, can all the Sages quote,_
_Has_ Homer, Hesiod, _and the rest by Wrote;_
_Yet what's all this to Picquet, Dress or Play?_
_Or to the Circle, on a Visiting-Day?_
_A finish'd Beau; for such fine things I have seen,_
_That heretofore, has of some College been:_
_But that Despising, nothing now retains,_ }
_For Learning is a Thing requires Brains;_ }
_And that's a Perquisite the Gentleman disdains._ }
_The Great Dull Ass, from breaking Head of_ Priscian;
_Hither he comes, and writes approv'd Physician._
_The Noise of Chariot brings the Patients in;_
_Grant them Patience, that Physick for their Sin._
_Well then----_
_Since Learning's useless, I'll the Task defy;_
_Practice to Ogle, Flatter, Swear and Lye;_
_For that's the Way the Ladies Hearts to gain,_
_Burn all my Books; my Studies are but vain:_
_To gain their Looks, each Shape and Dress I'll try;_
_Smile when they Smile; and when they Frown, I Die._
Dramatis Personae.
MEN.
_Governor of_ Palermo, _Mr._ Bowman.
_Count_ Pirro, _Nephew to the Governor_, _Mr._ Griffith.
Gravello, a Sicilian _Lord, Father to_ }
Lucasia, } _Mr._ Freeman.
Larich, _his Brother_, _Mr._ Fieldhouse.
_Lord_ Euphenes, _an old_ Sicilian _General_, _Mr._ Arnold.
Palante, _Son to_ Euphenes, _but unknown_ }
_in Love with_ Lucasia, } _Mr._ Powel.
Clerimont, _his Friend_, _Mr._ Baile.
Eugenio, _Son to_ Gravello _in Disguise_ }
_under the Name of_ Irus, } _Mr._ Booth.
Alphonso, _formerly an Officer under_ }
Euphenes, } _Mr._ Knap.
Francisco, _in Love with_ Lavinia, _Mr._ Pack.
Sancho, _a Pedant, bred at_ Salamanca, }
_design'd by_ Larich, _a Husband for_ } _Mr._ Dogget.
Lavinia, }
Tristram, _his Man_, _Mr._ Lee.
Rosco, _Servant to Count_ Gravello, _Mr._ Bright.
WOMEN.
Lucasia, _Daughter to_ Gravello, _in_ }
_Love with_ Palante, } _Mrs._ Barry.
Lavinia, _Daughter to_ Larich, _in Love_ }
_with_ Francisco, } _Mrs._ Prince.
Laura, _Woman to_ Lucasia, _Mrs._ Lawson.
_The_ SCENE _in_ PALERMO.
THE STOLEN HEIRESS:
OR, THE
SALAMANCA DOCTOR Outplotted.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_Enter Count_ Gravello _and_ Rosco.
_Gravello. ROSCO!_
_Rosco._ My Lord.
_Grav._ Hast thou divulg'd the News that my Son died at _Rome_?
_Rosco._ Yes, my Lord, with every Circumstance, the Time, the Place, and
Manner of his Death; that 'tis believed, and told for Truth with as much
Confidence, as if they had been Spectators of his End.
_Grav._ That's well, that's very well, now _Rosco_ follows my Part, I
must express a most unusual Grief, not like a well-left Heir for his
dead Father, or a lusty Widow for an old decrepit Husband; no, I must
counterfeit in a far deeper Strain; weep like a Parent for an only Son:
Is not this a hard Task? Ha, _Rosco_?
_Rosco._ Ah, no, my Lord, not for your Skill; in your Youth your
Lordship saw Plays, conversed with Players, knew the fam'd _Alberto_.
_Grav._ 'Tis true, by Heav'n, I have seen that Knave paint Grief in such
a lively Colour, that for false and acted Passion he has drawn true
Tears, the Ladies kept Time with his Sighs, and wept to his sad Accents
as if he had truly been the Man he seem'd, then I'll try my Part, thou
hast still been privy to my Bosom Secrets; know'st Wealth and Ambition
are the Darlings of my Soul; nor will I leave a Stratagem unessay'd to
raise my Family. My Son is well and safe, but by Command from me he
returns not this three Months. My Daughter, my _Lucasia_, is my only
Care, and to advance her Fortune have I fram'd this Project; how dost
like it, _Rosco_, ha!
_Rosco._ Rarely, my Lord, my Lady will be now suppos'd the Heir to all
your vast Revenues, and pester'd with more Suitors than the _Grecian_
Queen, in the long Absence of her Lord. You'll have the Dons, Lords and
Dukes swarm about your House like Bees.
_Grav._ My Aim is fix'd at the Rich and Great, he that has Wealth
enough, yet longs for more, Count _Pirro_, the Governor's Heir and
Nephew, that rich Lord that knows no End of his large Fortunes, yet
still gapes on, for Gold is a sure Bait to gain him, no other Loadstone
can attract his Iron Heart, 'tis proof against the Force of Beauty, else
I should not need this Stratagem, for Nature has not prov'd a Niggard to
my Daughter.
_Rosco._ To him, I'm sure, she's play'd the Step-Dame, I much fear
_Lucasia_ will not relish such a Match.
_Grav._ Ha! not relish it! has she any other Taste but mine, or shall
she dare to wish ought that may contradict my Purpose--But hold, perhaps
you know how she's inclin'd, you may be confederate with her, and manage
her Intrigues with that Beggar _Palante_, who is only by Lord
_Euphene_'s Bounty, my mortal Enemies, kept from starving.
_Rosco._ Who I, my good Lord? Heav'n knows, I have learnt by your
Lordship's Example, always to hate the Poor, and like the Courtier,
never to do ought without a Bribe.
_Enter a Servant._
_Serv._ My Lord, Count _Pirro_, to wait upon your Lordship.
_Grav._ Conduct him in. [_Exit. Serv._] Now _Rosco_, to my Couch; if my
Plot takes, I'm a happy Man.
_Enter Count_ Pirro.
_Pirro._ Is your Lord asleep?
_Ros._ I think not, my Lord, but thus he lies, Heav'n knows when this
Grief will end--My Lord, my Lord, the Count of _Pirro_.
_Grav._ I pray your Lordship pardon me, at this Time I'm not fit to
entertain Persons of your Worth.
_Pir._ Alas! my Lord, I know your Grief.
_Ros._ Ay, 'twas that brought his good Lordship hither.
_Pir._ You have lost a worthy, and a hopeful Son, but Heav'n that always
gives, will sometimes take, and there's no Balsam left to cure these
Wounds but Patience; there's no disputing with it, yet if there were, in
what could you accuse those Pow'rs, that else have been so liberal to
you, and left you to bless your Age a beauteous Daughter.
_Ros._ Now it begins to work. [_Aside._
_Pirro._ Your Blood is not extinct, nor are you Childless, Sir, from
that fair Branch may come much Fruit to glad Posterity; think on this,
my Lord.
_Grav._ I know I should not repine, my Lord, but Nature will prevail, I
cannot help reflecting on my Loss; alas, my Lord, you know not what it
is to lose a Son; 'tis true, I have still a Child, Heav'n has now
confin'd my Care to one, to see her well bestow'd shall be the Business
of my Life--Oh! my _Eugenio_.
_Ros._ Egad, he does it rarely. [_Aside._
_Pirr._ How shall I manage, that he may not suspect my Love to his
Daughter proceeds from his Son's Death, [_Aside._] I was just coming to
make a Proposal to your Lordship as the News reach'd my Ear, I much fear
the Time's improper now to talk of Business.
_Grav._ Pray Heaven it be the Business I wish; were my Grief more great,
if possible, yet would I suspend it to hear my Lord of _Pirro_.
_Ros._ Cunningly insinuated. [_Aside._
_Pirro._ Your Lordship is too obliging.
_Grav._ Not at all, pray proceed, my Lord.
_Pirro._ It was, my Lord, to have ask'd the fair _Lucasia_ for my Wife.
_Ros._ So he has swallow'd the Bait. [_Aside._
_Grav._ As I could wish. [_Aside._
_Pirro._ 'Twas not out of any Consideration of her present Fortune,
my Lord, I hope you'll not believe, since I designed it e'er I knew
_Eugenio_ dead. I wish he may believe me. [_Aside._
_Grav._ If 'twas, my Lord of _Pirro_ does deserve it all, nor would I
wish my Child a better Match. But 'tis too soon to treat of Marriage
after such a Loss.
_Rosco._ Dear Sir, consent to this good Lord, so will your Care be over,
and hopeful Grandsons make up poor _Eugenio_'s Loss.
_Grav._ What would you have me think of Joy and Death at once, and
mingle the Grave and Marriages together.
_Pirro._ If you'll consent, my Lord, a private Marriage may be had, and
so dispense with the usual Solemnities of Joy. If you refuse me, I shall
think you slight my Claim.
_Grav._ That Argument alone prevails: No, I will never give the Count of
_Pirro_ Cause to doubt of my Esteem.
_Rosco._ Consider, my Lord, she's an Heiress, that may set bold
desperate Youths on rash Attempts; and tho' they know _Sicilian_ Laws
gives Death to him that steals an Heiress, yet I'll not warrant her
Safety till to-morrow Night.
_Pirro._ He's in the right, my Lord.
_Grav._ Away, and call her, tho' she's disorder'd with her Griefs. Now
thou hast rais'd another Fear, and my poor Heart trembles for _Lucasia_,
as it for _Eugenio_ bleeds. [_Ex._ Rosco.
_Pirro._ Within my Arms she shall be safe and happy, the Governor, my
noble Uncle, and my Friend, her great Protector.
_Enter_ Rosco _with_ Lucasia.
_Grav._ Come near _Lucasia_, like the Ambassadors from this World's
great Rulers, I bring thee Grief and Joy, pause not upon a Brother's
Loss, tho' 'twas a dear one; but fix thy Thoughts here, upon this Lord;
thus I bequeath thee to the illustrious Count of _Pirro_.
_Pirro._ Thus I with Extasy receive her.
[_Kneels and kisses her Hand._
_Luc._ You'll give me Leave, my Lord, to wake from this Confusion:
Is't possible! do I behold my Father?
Can he resolve, at once, to part with both
His Children, my Brother, the best of Men,
No more will bless his Roof, no more will grace
This Palace with his Presence----
Must I be cast out too, far more unblest
Than he who's lodg'd within the peaceful Grave.
Oh, send me to him, e'er you condemn me
To perpetual Bondage, to a Life of Woe;
To a Marriage unthought of, unforeseen.
_Pirro._ Madam----
_Grav._ Mind her not, my Lord, 'tis Grief, 'tis mere Distraction, she
shan't dispute my Will. Please to walk in, my Lord, we'll peruse the
Writings of your Estate, and hear what Settlement you'll make her, and
to-morrow the Priest shall join you, to alleviate her Griefs, and Mine.
_Pirro._ But to see her weep thus, damps all my rising Joy.
_Grav._ They are but Virgin Tears, pray come with me, Daughter, you know
my Will, I expect you be obedient; you know 'tis your Duty.
_Luc._ I know 'tis Sir.----
But you, I hope, will give my Tortur'd Heart
Your Leave to break, and that may shew my Duty.
_Pirro._ Fair _Lucasia_.
_Luc._ Oh, Distraction! [_Flings from him._
_Grav._ Pray come, my Lord, let her have her Way, the Fits of Women's
Grief last not long, at least when I command she shall obey.
[_Exeunt, all but_ Lucasia.
_Luc._ A dismal Sentence, it strikes me upon my Soul,
And raises Terrors far more grim than Death;
Forgive me, Brother, if t' thy Memory
I pay not one Tear more, all now are due
To Love, and my _Palante_.
_Enter_ Laura.
_Lau._ You name the Man that waits by me conceal'd,
For one blest Minute to comfort his _Lucasia_.
_Luc._ All Minutes now are curs'd, no chearful day,
Will ever bring the lost _Lucasia_ Peace.
_Lau._ Come forth, Sir, I believe you'll prove the best Physician.
_Enter_ Palante.
_Luc._ Oh _Palante_, art thou come prepar'd to weep,
Else, for me, thou art no fit Companion,
For I have News will rack thy very Soul.
_Pal._ Yes, I have heard of brave _Eugenio_'s Death;
He was thy Brother, and my early Friend:
Thus doubly ty'd, thou need'st not doubt I mourn
Him truly----
_Luc._ Oh poor _Palante_!
So wretched _Alcione_ did at Distance grieve,
When she beheld the floating Corps,
And knew not 'twas her Husband.
_Pal._ What means my Love?
_Luc._ Dost thou not love me, my _Palante_?
_Pal._ Oh! after so many Years of faithful Service,
Why am I ask'd that Question?
_Luc._ It were better that thou didst not, for when
Thou hear'st the Story 'twill turn thee into Marble;
'Twill shock thy manly Heart, and make each Nerve
Lose its accustomed Faculty, chill all
Thy Blood, and make thine Eyes run o'er like mine,
For we must part for ever.
_Pal._ Can that Voice pronounce a Sound so dreadful?
Art thou then alter'd with thy Fortune? Must
I lose thee?
_Luc._ O thou unkind one to suspect my Love,
My promis'd Faith, or think me in the least
Consenting to my rigid Father's Will,
Who, but now has given me to the Count of _Pirro_.
_Pal._ Ha! to the Count of _Pirro_, that Lump of Deformity:
My Sword has been my Fortune hitherto,
And ne'er was wont to fail its Master, and
Whilst this Arm can hold it, I'll maintain my Right.
_Luc._ Which Way rash Man, is he not surrounded
By numerous Friends, and waiting Slaves?
Does not inevitable Death attend
Thy desperate Purpose?
_Pal._ Then let that same Sword, the old Acquaintance
Of my Arm, pierce its lost Master's Breast, and
End my Sorrows.
_Luc._ Forbid it Heaven, is there no other Way?
_Pal._ But one, and that I dare not name.
_Luc._ Oh! how has thy _Lucasia_, since first our
Mutual Vows were plighted, given Cause for Doubt.
Why dost thou fear to ask, since all is thine, within
The Bounds of Honour.
_Pal._ When I attempt ought against _Lucasia_,
Contrary to the nicest Rules of Virtue,
May Heaven, and she, forsake me.
_Luc._ Oh, I know it, and when I refuse what
May advance our Loves, may I be curst
With that hated Count of _Pirro_. Speak, my _Palante_.
_Pal._ Can I--Ye all-seeing Powers, move so bold a Suit,
Oh! let me humbly ask it on my Knees,
To quit her cruel Father's House,
And all the Grandeur of a pompous Court.
To bear a Part in my hard Fortunes;
Oh! 'tis too much to think, to wish, to hope.
_Luc._ Yes, dear _Palante_, more than this I'd do for thee.
What's Pomp and Greatness when compared with Love?
Oh! that thou wert some humble Shepherd on
Our _Sicilian_ Plain, I thy chearful Mate,
Wou'd watch with Pleasure till the Ev'ning Tide,
And wait thy blest Return, with as much Joy
As Queens expect Victorious Monarchs, and
Think myself more blest than they. But, oh _Palante_!
Thou know'st our Country's Laws gives Death without
Reprieve to him that weds an Heiress against her Parents Will,
Tho' with her own Consent.
_Pal._ Who would not die to purchase thee? For I
Must die without thee.
_Luc._ No, live _Palante_, we'll together tread
The Maze of Life, and stand the Shock of Fate.
The Power's Decree, or both our Happiness,
Or both our Miseries, where shall we meet?
For I will leave this loathsome House, before their
Watch grows stricter.
_Pal._ Will thou then forsake the World for thy _Palante_?
Everlasting Blessings fall around thee,
And crown thy Days and Nights with Peace and Joy.
Oh! my fond Heart, I cannot half express
The Raptures thou hast rais'd, thou Treasure of
My Soul, let me embrace thee, and while thus
I hold thee in my Arms, I'm richer than
The _Eastern_ Monarch, nor wou'd I quit thee
To be as great as he----
Oh! let but what my Arms infolds be mine;
Take all the rest the World contains, my Life.
_Luc._ My _Palante_----
_Pal._ I have an only Friend, faithful and just
As men of old before Deceit became
A Trade, he shall assist us in our Flight;
He shall prepare a Priest, if thou wilt meet
Me in the _Eastern_ Grove; when we are wed
We'll fly to _Spain_, till Time and Friends procure
My Pardon.
_Luc._ In some Disguise I'll meet thee there,
Just at the Hour of Noon,
For then my Father sleeps, and I will take
The Opportunity----
And, oh! I fear no Danger but for thee.
_Pal._ For me there's none, whilst thou'rt safe, and with
Me thy Loss alone can make _Palante_ die.
_Enter_ Laura.
_Laura._ Madam, your Father----
_Luc._ Away _Palante_, may all the Pow'rs preserve thee.
_Pal._ And thou the best of Woman-kind.
[_Exeunt severally._
Luc. _O Love, thou that hast join'd a faithful Pair,_
_Guard my_ Palante, _make him all thy Care_.
_Fate's utmost Rigor we resolve to try,_
_Live both together, or together die._
_Enter Count_ Gravello, Larich, _and_ Lavinia.
_Grav._ Brother, you are welcome to the House of Sorrow; but I have
learnt so much Philosophy, to cease to mourn when the Cause is past
Redress. Once more, forgetting Grief, you are welcome, you, and my fair
Niece.
_Lar._ Thank you Brother--the Girl's a foolish Girl--Marriageable, but
foolish--You understand me.
_Lavin._ I thank you, Sir.
_Larich._ Why, are you not a Fool, Hussy--look'e Brother, I have
provided the Mynx a rich Husband, a Scholar too, Body of me bred all
his youth at _Salamanca_, learn'd enough to commence Doctor--I love a
learn'd Man, especially when Riches too concur; he's the Son and Heir of
my old Friend _Don Sancho_, of _Syracuse_--and the Baggage cries _I hate
him_, and yet has never seen him; but she is in Love, forsooth, with a
young beggarly Dog, not worth a Groat; but I'll prevent her, I'll
warrant her.
_Grav._ Just, just my Case, we are Brothers in every Thing, my Daughter
too thinks her Judgment wisest, and flies a Fortune for a Princess, but
her Reign's at an End, to-morrow I'm rid of her; I warrant you,
Brother, we'll hamper the young Sluts.
_Lavin._ You may be both mistaken, old Gentlemen, if my Cousin is of my
Mind.
_Larich._ What's that you mutter, Mrs. _Littlewit_?
_Lavin._ I say, I long to see my Cousin _Lucasia_, Sir, I hope that's no
Crime.
_Grav._ No, no, _Rosco_, wait of her in to my Daughter, and dost hear
_Lavinia_? Pr'ythee, let Obedience be thy Study, and teach it her.
_Lavin._ I'll warrant you, Sir, I'll teach her to be Obedient, if she'll
but follow my Advice, [_Aside._] but 'tis something hard, though Uncle,
to marry a Man at first Sight one's heard but an indifferent Character
of.
_Larich._ How, Hussy, are you a Judge of Characters? Is he not a
Scholar? Answer me that.
_Lavin._ A meer Scholar is a meer----You know the old Proverb, Father.
_Larich._ Do you hear the perverse Baggage; get you out of my Sight,
Hussy.
_Lavin._ I am obedient, Sir--I dare swear I shall find better Company
than two old arbitrary Dons. [_Exit with_ Rosco.
_Larich._ Did you ever see such a Slut? body o'me these wild Wenches are
enough to make old Men mad.
_Grav._ My Daughter is of another Strain, solid as Man but obstinate as
Woman; but no Matter, when she is married my Care is over, let Count
_Pirro_ look to't.
_Larich._ Count _Pirro_! body o'me a mighty Fortune for my Cousin; why,
he's rich enough to buy a Principality; my Son's rich too, and a great
Scholar, which I admire above all Things.
_Enter_ Rosco.
_Rosco._ Oh! Sir, such News, such a Sight, Sir!
_Larich._ What's the Matter?
_Rosco._ Don _Sancho_ come to Town in his _Salamanca_ Habit, his Dress,
and grave Phiz has alarm'd the Mob, that there's such a crowd about the
Inn Door, I'll maintain't his Landlord gives him free Quarter for a
Twelve-month, if he'll let him expose him to Advantage, ha, ha, ha, he
makes as odd a Figure, Sir, as the famous _Don Quixot_, when he went in
Search of his _Dulcinea_.
_Larich._ Brother, pray correct your Servant, I like not his ridiculous
Jests upon the Habit of the Learned, my Son-in-Law that is to be, minds
nothing but his Books.
_Rosco._ Sir, I ask your Pardon, my niggard Stars have not allow'd Line
enough to my Judgment, to fathom the Profundity of your Son's Shallow
Capacity-- [_Bowing comically._
_Grav._ Peace, Sirrah--Come, Brother, now your Son's arriv'd, I hope we
shall have a double Match to-morrow----We'll not consult the Women, but
force them to their Happiness.
_Experienc'd Age knows what for Youth is fit;_
_With Wise Men, Wealth out-weighs both Parts and Wit._
[Exeunt.