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! CLAYTON'S EDITION. 
 
 ■\ 
 
 BOLD STROKE FOR A HUSBAND 
 
 i 
 
 PR 3379 
 .C3 B6 
 1831 
 Copy 1 
 
 A Comedy, in Five Acts; 
 BY MRS. COWLEY. 
 
 ( 
 
 As Perforine<J at the 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN, 
 
 AND 
 
 PARK THEATRE, NEVV-YORK. 
 
 PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS, FROM THE 
 PROMPT BOOK. 
 
 With Remarks, 
 BY MRS. INCHBALD. 
 
 |>eltJ^J?Oih : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY E. B. CLAYTON, 
 No. 9 Chambers-Street. 
 
 1831. 
 
?^ 
 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS, 
 
 Covad Garden. Park, 1830, 
 
 Don CfTsnr .Mr. Miiuden. Miv Jjarnes. 
 
 Don Julio Mr. Lewis Mr. Simpson, 
 
 Don Carlos Mr. Cooke Mr. Barry. 
 
 Don Vinceniio. ...... .Mr. Fawcet Mr. Ricliingp, 
 
 Don Garcia Mr. Brunton Mr. WoodliulL 
 
 Don Vasquez Mr. Simmons .Mr. Foot. 
 
 Gasper Mi-. Blanchard Mr. Blakelev. 
 
 Fedro Mr. Harley Mr. Nexseii". 
 
 c, . ( Mr. Havden 
 
 ^^'•««"^* • \ Mr.Bissett. 
 
 Donna Olivia. Mrs. Glover.. Miss Fisher. 
 
 Donna Victoria Mrs. Litchfield Mrs. Hiison. 
 
 Donna, Laura Mrs. Dibdin Mrs. Durie. 
 
 Minette Mrs. Gihbs Mrs. Wheatley. 
 
 Marcella Miss Waddy Mrs. Godey. 
 
 Sancha Mrs. Whitmore Miss TurnbulL 
 
 Inis Mrs. Beverly.. » Miss Jessup. 
 
 SCENE— »Sf/?«?H. 
 
 STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 
 EXITS AND ENTRANCES. 
 
 R. means Right; L. Left ; F. the Flat, or Scene rvn- 
 vAng across the back of the Stage ; D. F. Door in Flat : 
 R. b. Right Door; L.'D. Left Door; S. E. Second En- 
 trance; U. E. Upper Entrance ; C. D. Centre Door. 
 
 RELATIVE POSITIONS. 
 
 R. means Right; L. Left; C. Centre; R. C. Right of 
 Centre; L. C. Left of Centre. 
 
 R. RC. C. LC. L. 
 
 *^*The Reader is supposed to he on the Stage, facing the 
 Audience. 
 
 HJ? 
 
 17- 
 1/ 
 
RE3IARKS. 
 
 Although " The Bold Stroke for a Husband," by 
 Mrs, Cowley, does not equal *' The Bold Stroke lor a 
 Wife," by Mrs. Centlivre, either in originality of 
 <lesign, wit, or humour, it has other advantages more 
 honourable to her sex, and more conducive to the 
 reputation of the stage. 
 
 Here is contained no oblique insinuation, detri- 
 mental to the cause of morality — but entertainment 
 and instruction unite, to make a pleasant exhibition 
 at a theatre, or give an hour's amusement in the 
 closet. 
 
 Plays, where the scene is placed in a foreign 
 country, particularly when that country is Spain, 
 have a license to present certain improbabilities to 
 the audience, without incurring the danger of having 
 them called such; and the authoress, by the skill 
 with which she has used this dramatic permittance, 
 in making the wife of Don Carlos pass for a man, 
 has formed a most interesting plot, and embellished 
 it with lively, humorous, and affecting incident. 
 
 Still there is another plot, of which Ohva is the 
 heroine, as Victoria is of the foregoing; and this 
 more comic fable, in which the former is chieHy 
 concerned, seems to have been the favourite story of 
 the authoress, as from this she has taken her title. 
 
 But if Oliva makes a bold stroke to obtain a hus- 
 band, surely Victoria makes a still bolder, to preserve 
 one; and there is something less honourable in the 
 enterprises of the young maiden, in order to re- 
 nounce her state, than in those of a married woman 
 to avert the dangers that are impending over hers. 
 
 Whichever of those females becomes the most ad- 
 mired object with the reader, lie will not be insensi- 
 
ble to the trials of the other, or to the various inte- 
 rests of the whole dramatis personse, to whom the 
 writer has artfully given a kind of united influence ; 
 and upon a happy combination it is, that sometimes, 
 the success of a drama more depends, than upon the 
 most powerful supportofany particularly prominent, 
 yet insulated, character. 
 
 The part of Don Vincentio was certainly meant as 
 a moral satire upon the extravagant love or the fool- 
 ish affectation, of pretending to love, to extrava- 
 gance — music. This satire was aimed at so many» 
 that the shaft struck none. The charm of music 
 still prevails in England, and the folly of affected 
 admirers. 
 
 Vincentio talks music, and Don Julio speaks 
 poetry. Such, at least, is his fond description of 
 his mistresa Oliva, in that excellent scene in the 
 third act, where she first takes off her veil, and fas- 
 cinates him at once by the force of her beauty. 
 
 In the delineation of this lady, it is implied that 
 she is no termagant, although she so frequently 
 counterfeits the character. This insinuation the 
 reader, if he pleases, may trust — but the man who 
 who would venture to marry a good impostor of 
 this kind, could not excite much pity, if his help- 
 mate was often induced to act the part which she 
 had heretofore, with so much spirit, assumed. 
 
 The impropriety of making fraud and imposition 
 neeessary evils, to counteract tyranny and injustice, 
 is the fault of all Spanish dramas — and perhaps th^ 
 only one which attaches to the present comedy. 
 
A Bold Stroke for a Huisband. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I— A Street in Madrid. 
 
 Entpr Sancha from a House, r. d. She advances, 
 then runs back, and beckons to Pedro within. 
 
 San. Hist ! Pedro ! Pedro ! 
 
 Enter Pedro, r. d. 
 There he is: dost see him ? just turning by St. An- 
 tony in the corner. Now, do you tell him that your 
 mistress is not at home ; and if his jealous douship 
 should insist on searching the house, as he did yes- 
 terday, say that somebody is ill — ^the black has got 
 a fever, or that 
 
 Ped. Pho, pho, get you in. Don't I know that the 
 duty of a lacquey in Madrid is to lie with a good 
 grace ? I have been studying it now for a whole week, 
 and I'll defy don or devil to surprise me into a truth. 
 Get you in, I say — here he comes. 
 
 [Exit Sancha, r. d. f. 
 Enter Carlos, l. 
 [Pedro struts up to him.] Donna Laura is not at 
 home, sir. 
 
 Car. Not at home ! — come, sir, what have you re- 
 ceived for telling that lie ? 
 
 Ped. Lie ! — lie ! — Signior ! — 
 
 Oar. It must be a lie, by your promptness in de- 
 livering it. — What a fool does your mistress trust — 
 A clever rascal would have waited my approach, 
 and, delivering the message with easy coolness, de- 
 ceived me — thou hast been on the watch, and run- 
 nest towards me with a face of stupid importance, 
 liawling, that she may hear through the lattice how 
 1* 
 
6 A BOLD STROKE [Actl. 
 
 well thou obeyest her, — " Donna Laura is not at 
 home, sir." 
 
 Ped. Hear through the lattice — hah ! by'r lady, 
 she must have long ears, to reach from the grotto iu 
 the garden to the street. 
 
 Car. Hah ! [<Seizes him.'] Now, sir, your ears shall 
 be longer, if you do not tell me who is with her in 
 the grotto. 
 
 Fed. In the grotto, sir! — did I say any thing 
 about the grotto ? I 1 only meant that 
 
 Car. Fool ! — dost thou trifle with me ? who is with 
 her? [Pinching his ear. 
 
 Ped. Oh I — why, nobody, sir — only the pretty 
 young gentleman's valet, waiting for an answer to 
 a letter he brought. There ! I have saved my ears 
 at the expense of my place. 1 have worn this fine 
 coat but a week, and I shall be sent back to Segovia 
 for not being able to lie, though I have been learning 
 the art six days and nights. 
 
 Car. Well — come this way — if thou wilt promise 
 to be faithful to me, I will not betray thee : nor at 
 present enter the house. 
 
 Ped. Oh, sir, blessings on you ! 
 
 Car. How often does the pretty young gentleman 
 visit her? 
 
 Ped. Every day, sir — If he misses, madam's stark 
 wild. 
 
 Car. Where does he live ? 
 
 Ped. Truly, I know not, sir. 
 
 Car. HoAV ! [Menacing. 
 
 Ped. By the honesty of my mother, I cannot tell, 
 sir. She calls him Florio ; — that's his christian name 
 — his heathen name I never heard. 
 * Car. You must acquaint me when they are next 
 together. 
 
 Ped. Lord, sir, if there should be any blood spilt ! 
 
 Car. Promise, — or I'll lead thee by the ears to the 
 grotto. 
 
 Fed. 1 promise, 1 promise. 
 
 Car. There, take that, [Gives money.] and if thou 
 
Scene L] FOR A HUSBAND. 7 
 
 art faithful, I'll treble it. Now go in and he a gootl 
 lad — and, d'ye hear? — you may tell lies to every 
 body else, but remember you must always speak 
 truth to me. 
 
 Ped. I will, sir, — I will. 
 
 [Exit^ looking at the money, r. d. f. 
 
 C'ir. 'Tis well my passion is extinguished, for I can 
 now act with coolness; I'll wait patiently, for the 
 hour of their security, and take them in the softest 
 moments of their love. But if ever I trust to wo- 
 man more — may every 
 
 Enter tivo Women, veiled, followed by Julio, r.] ; 
 
 Julio. Fie, ladies ! keep your curtains drawn so 
 late ! The sun is up — 'tis time to look abroad — [Tries 
 to remove the veils.] Nay, if you are determined on 
 night and silence, I take my leave. A woman with- 
 out prattle, is like burgundy without spirit. — Bright 
 eyes, to touch me, must belong to sweet tongues. 
 [Going, R. Ladies exit l. 
 
 Car. Sure, 'tis Julio. Hey ! 
 
 Julio. [Returning.) Don Carlos? Yes, by all the 
 sober gods of matrimony ! — Why, what business, 
 good man gravity, canst thou have in Madrid ? I un- 
 derstand you are married — quietly settled in yoin- 
 own pastures — father of afamily, and the instructive 
 companion of country vine dressers — ha ! ha ! 
 
 Car. 'Tis false, by Heaven ! — I have forsworn the 
 country — left my family, and run away from my 
 wife. 
 
 Jvlio. Really ! then matrimony has not totally de- 
 stroyed thy free will. 
 
 Car. 'Tis with difficulty I have preserved it 
 though; for women, thou knowest, are most unrea- 
 sonable beings ! as soon as 1 had exhausted my slock 
 of love tales, which, with management, lasted beyond 
 the honey-moon, madam grew sullen, — I found 
 home dull, and amused myself with the pretty pea- 
 sants of the neighbourhood Worse and worse ! — 
 
 we had nothing now but faintings, tears and hysterics. 
 
8 A BOLD STROKE [Act I. 
 
 for twenty-four honey-moons more. — So one morn- 
 ing I gave her in her sleep a farewell kiss, to comfort 
 her when she should awake, and posted to Madrid ; 
 where, if it was not for the remembrance of the clog 
 at my heel, I should bound o'er the regions of plea- 
 sure, with more spirit than a young Arabian on his 
 mountains. 
 
 Julio. Do you find this clog no hindrance in af- 
 fairs of gallantry? 
 
 Car. Not much. — In that house there — but, damn 
 her, she's perfidious ! — in that house is a woman of 
 beauty, with pretensions to character and fortune, 
 who devoted herself to my passion. 
 
 Julio. If she's perfidious, give her to the winds. 
 
 Car. Ah, but there is a rub, Julio, I have been a 
 fool — a woman's fool ! — In a state of intoxication, 
 she wheedled me, or rather cheated me, out of a set- 
 tlement. 
 
 Julio. Pho ! is that 
 
 Car. Oh ! but you know not its nature. A settle- 
 ment of lands, that both honour and gratitude ought 
 to have preserved sacred from such base alienation. 
 In short, if I cannot recover them, I am a ruined man. 
 
 Julio. Nay, this seems a worse clog than t'other — 
 Poor Carlos! so bewived and be 
 
 Car. Pr'ythee, have compassion. 
 
 Enter a Servant, r. loith a letter to Julio ; he 
 reads it, and then nods to the Servant, who 
 exits, R. 
 
 Car. An appointment, I'll be sworn, by that air 
 of mystery and satisfaction — come, be friendly, and 
 communicate. 
 
 Julio. [Putting up the letter.] You are married, 
 Carlos ; — that's all I have to say — you are married. 
 
 Car. Pho ! that's past long ago, and ought to be 
 forgotten ; but if a man does a foolish thing once, 
 he'll hear of it all his life. 
 
 Julio. Ay, the time has been when thou might'st 
 have been intrusted with such a dear secret, — when 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. ^ 
 
 I might have opened the billet, and feasted thee 
 with the sweet meandering strokes at the bottom, 
 which form her name, when 
 
 Car. What, 'tis from a woman then ? 
 
 Julio. It is. 
 
 Car. Handsome ? 
 
 Julio. Hum — not absolutely handsome, but she'll 
 pass, with one who has not had his taste spoiled 
 by — matrimony. 
 
 Car. Malicious dog ! — Is she young ? 
 
 Julio. Under twenty — fair complexion, azure 
 eyes, red lips, teeth of pearl, polished neck, fine turn- 
 ed shape, graceful 
 
 Car. Hold, Julio, if thou lov'st me ! — Is it pos- 
 sible she can be so bewitching a creature ? 
 
 Julio. 'Tis possible — though, to deal plainly, I 
 never saw her : but I love my own ])leasure so well, 
 that t could fancy all that, and ten times more. 
 
 Car^ What star does she inhabit? 
 
 Julio. 'Faith, I know not; my orders are to be in 
 waiting, at seven, at the Prado. 
 
 Car. Prado ! — hey ! — gad ! can't you take me 
 with you ? for though I have forsw orn the sex my- 
 self, and have done with them for ever, yet I maybe 
 of use to you, you know. 
 
 Julio. 'Faith, I can't see that — however, as you 
 are a poor wo-begone married mortal, I'll have 
 compassion, and sufler thee to come. 
 
 Car. Then 1 am a man again! Wife, avaunt! 
 mistress, farcAvell ! — At seven, you say ! 
 
 Julio. Exactly. 
 
 Car. I'll meet thee at Philippi ! 
 
 [Exeunt^ Jul.io, l,. Carlos, r. 
 
 SCENE II. — A spacious Garden, belonging to Don 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 Enter Minette and Ims, r. 2d e. 
 Min. There, will that do ! My lady sent me to 
 make her up a nosegay ; these orange flowers are de- 
 licious, and this rose, how sweet ? 
 
10 A BOLD STROKE [Act I. 
 
 Inis. Pho ! what signifies wearing sweets in her 
 bosom, unless they would sweeten her manners? — 
 'tis amazing you can be so much at your ease ; one 
 might think your lady's tongue was a lute, and her 
 morning scold an agreeable serenade. 
 
 Min. 80 they are — Custom, you know. I have 
 been used to her music now these two years, and I 
 don't believe I could relish my breakfast without it. 
 
 Inis, I would rather never break my fast, than do 
 it on such terms. What a difference between your 
 mistress and mine ! Donna Victoria is as much too 
 gentle, as her cousin is too harsh. 
 
 Min. Ay, and you see what she gets by it ; had 
 she been more spirited, perhaps her husband would 
 not have forsaken her ; — men enlisted under the 
 matrimonial banner, like those under the king's, 
 would be often tempted to run away fioni their 
 colours, if fear did not keep them in dread of deser- 
 tion. 
 
 Inis. If making a husband afraid is the way to 
 keep him faithful, I believe your lady will be the 
 happiest wife in Spain. 
 
 Min. Ha ! ha ,' ha ! how people may be deceived ! 
 — nay, how people are deceived I — but time will 
 discover all things. 
 
 Inis. What ! what, is there a secret in the busi- 
 ness, Minette ? if there is, hang time ! let's have it 
 directly. 
 
 Mi?i. Now, if I dared but tell ye — lud I lud ! how 
 I could surprise ye ! [Going. 
 
 Inis. [Stoppijig her.] Don't go. 
 
 Min I must go ; I am on the very brink of be- 
 traying my mistress, — I must leave you — mercy 
 upon me ! — it rises like new bread. 
 
 Ifiis. I hope it will choke ye, if you stir till I 
 know all. 
 
 Min. Will you never breathe a syllable ? 
 
 Inis. Never. 
 
 Min. Will you strive to forget it the moment you 
 have heard it ? 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. 11 
 
 Inis. I'll swear to myself forty times a-day to for- 
 get it. 
 
 Min. You are suro you will not let me stir from 
 this spot till you know the whole ? 
 
 Inis. Not as far as a thrush hops. 
 
 Min. So ! now, then, in one word, — here it goes. 
 Though ever}'^ hody supposes my lady an arrant 
 scold, she's no more a [Looki^ig out. 
 
 Don Ccesar. [JFithoitt, l.] Out upon't e — h — hi 
 
 Min. Oh, St. Gerome ! — here is her father, and 
 his privy counsellor, Gasper. I can never commu- 
 nicate a secret in quiet. Well ! come to my cham- 
 her, for, now my hand's in, you shall have the 
 wht)le. — I would not keep it another day to he con- 
 fidant to an infanta. [Exeunt, r. 
 
 Enter Don Cjesar and Gasper, l. 
 
 Gasp. Take comfort, sir ; take comfort. 
 
 Caesar. Take it; — why, where the devil shall I 
 find it? You may say, take physic, sir, or, take poi- 
 son, sir they are to be had ; but what signifies 
 
 bidding me take comfort, when I can neither buy it, 
 beg it, nor steal it ? 
 
 Gasp. But patience will bring it, sir. 
 
 C^sar. 'Tis false, sirrah. — Patience is a cheat, 
 and the man that ranked her w ith the cardinal vir- 
 tues was a fool. I have had patience at bed and 
 board these three long years, but the comfort she 
 promised, has never called in with a civil how d'ye ? 
 
 Gasp Ay, sir, but you know^ the poets say that 
 the twin sister and companion of comfort is good 
 humour. Now if you would but drop that agreeti- 
 ble acidity, which is so conspicuous 
 
 Cdesar. Then let my daughter drop her perverse 
 humour ; 'tis a more certain bar to marriage than 
 ugliness or folly; and will send me to my grave, at 
 last, without male heirs. [Cryirig.] How many have 
 laid siege to her I Cut that humour of hers, like the 
 w^orks of Gibraltar, no Spaniard can find pregnable. 
 
 Gasp. Ay, well — Troy held out but ten years 
 
12 A BOLD STROKE [Act I. 
 
 Let her once tell over her beads, unmarried at five- 
 and-tweniy, and, my life upon it, she ends the ro- 
 sary, with a hearty prayer for a good husband. 
 
 Ccesar. What, d'ye expect me to wait till the hor- 
 rors of old maidenism frighten her into civility ? no, 
 no; — I'll shut her up in a convent, marry myself, 
 and have heirs in spite of her. There's ray neigh- 
 bour Don Vasquez's daughter, she is but nine- 
 teen 
 
 Gasp. The very step I was going to recommend, 
 sir. You are but a young gentleman of sixty-three, 
 I take it ; and a husband of sixty-three, who mar- 
 ries a wife of nineteen, will never want heirs, take 
 my word for it. 
 
 Ccesar. What ! do you joke, sirrah ? 
 
 Gasp. Oh no, sir — not if you are serious. I 
 think it would be one of the pleasantest things in 
 the world— :Mad am would throw a new life into the 
 family ; and when you are above stairs in the gout, 
 sir, the music of her concerts, and the spirit of her 
 converzationes, would reach your sick bed, and be 
 a thousand times more comforting than flannels and 
 panada. 
 
 Ccesar. Come, come, I understand ye. — But this 
 daughter of mine — I shall give her but two chances 
 
 more. Don Garcia and Don Vicentio will both 
 
 be here-to day, and if she plays over the old game, 
 I'll marry to-morrow morning, if I hang myself the 
 next. 
 
 Gasp You decide right, signor ; at sixty-three the 
 marriage noose and the hempen noose should al- 
 ways go together. 
 
 Ccesar. Why, you dog you, do you suppose — 
 There's Don Garcia — there he is coming through 
 the portico. Run to my daughter, and bid her re- 
 member what I have said to her. [^Exit Gasper, r. 
 She has had her lesson — but another memento 
 mayn't be amiss — a young slut ! pretty, and witty, 
 and rich — a match for a prince, and yet — but hist ! 
 Not a word to my young man ; if I can but 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. 1.3 
 
 keep him in ignorance till he is married, he must 
 make the best of his bargain afterwards, as other 
 honest men have done before him. 
 
 Enter Garcia, l. 
 Welcome, Don Garcia ! why, you are rather before 
 your time. 
 
 Gar, Gallantry forbid that I should not, when a 
 fair lady is concerned. Should Donna Olivia wel- 
 come me as frankly as you do, 1 shall think I have 
 been tardy. 
 
 CfBsar. vfehen you made your overtures, signor, I 
 understood it was from inclination to be allied to 
 my family, not from a particular passion to my 
 daughter. Have you ever seen her? 
 
 Gar. But once — that transiently — yet sufficient 
 to convince me that she is charming. 
 
 Casar. Why, yes, though I say it, there are few 
 prettier women in Madrid ; and she has got enemies 
 amongst her own sex accordingly. They pretend 
 
 to say that 1 say, sir, they have reported that 
 
 she is not blessed with that kind of docility and gen- 
 tleness that a now, though she may not be so 
 
 very placid, and insipid, as some young women, yet^ 
 upon the whole — 
 
 Gar Oh, fie, sir ! — not a word — a beauty cannot 
 be ill-tempered ; gratified vanity keeps her in good 
 humour with herself, and every body about her. 
 
 Casar. Yes, as you say — vanity is a prodigious 
 sweetener; and Olivia, considering how much she 
 has been humoured, is as gentle and pliant as 
 
 Enter jMinette, r. 
 
 Min. Oh, sir ! shield me from my mistress — She is 
 in one of her old tempers — the whole house is in an 
 uproar. — I cannot support it! 
 
 Casar. Hush ! 
 
 Min. No, sir, I can't hush — a saint could not 
 bear it. I am tired of her tyranny, and must quit 
 her service. 
 
 Casar. Then quit it in a moment — ?ro ^- '^" 
 
J4 A BOLD STROKE [Act I. 
 
 steward, and receive your wages — go — begone. 'Tis 
 a cousin of my daughter's she is speaking of. 
 
 Min. A cousin, sir ! — No, 'tis Donna Olivia, your 
 daughter — my mistress. Oh, sir ! you seem to be a 
 sweet, tender-hearted young gentleman — 'twould 
 move you to pity if [To Gaucia. 
 
 Casar. I'll move you, hussy, to some purpose, if 
 you don't move off. 
 
 Gar. I am really confounded — can the charming 
 Olivia 
 
 Caisar. Spite, sir — mere malice ! gS^y daughter 
 has refused her some cast gown, or some — 
 
 Olivia. [Jfithout. r.] Where is she ? — Where is 
 Minette ? 
 
 Casar. Oh, 'tis all over ! — the tempest is coming, 
 
 Enter Olivia, r. 
 
 Oliv. Oh, you vile creature ! — to speak to me ! — 
 to answer me ! — am 1 made to be answered ? 
 
 CfEsar. Daughter! daughter ! 
 
 Oliv. Because I threw my Avork-bag at her, she 
 had the insolence to complain ; and, on my repeat- 
 ing it, said she would not bear it. — Servants choose 
 what they shall bear! 
 
 Min. When you are married, ma'am, I hope your 
 husband will bear your humourless patiently than 
 1 have done. 
 
 Oliv. My husband ! — dost think my husband shall 
 contradict my will ? Oh, I long to set a pattern to 
 those milky wives, whose mean compliances de- 
 grade the sex. 
 
 Gar. Opportune ! [Aside. 
 
 Oliv. The only husband on record who knew how 
 to treat a wife was Socrates ; and though his lady 
 Avas a Grecian, I have some reasou to believe her 
 descendants matched into our family ; and never 
 shall my tame submission disgrace my ancestry. 
 
 Gar. Heavens! why have you never curbed this 
 intemperate spirit, Don Caesar? [r. o/'Ol.iyia. 
 
 Oliv. [Starting.] Curbed, sir! talk thus to your 
 groom — curbs and bridles for a woman's tongue ! 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. 15 
 
 Gar. Not for yours, lady, truly I 'tis too late. 
 But had the torrent, not so overbearing, been taken 
 at its spring, it might have been stemmed, and turn- 
 ed in gentle streamlets at the master's pleasure. 
 
 Oliv. A mistake, friend ! — my spirit, at its spring, 
 was too powerful for any master. 
 
 Gar. Indeed .' — perhaps you may meet a Petru- 
 chio, gentle Catherine, yet. 
 
 Oliv. But no gentle Catherine will he find me, be- 
 lieve it. Catherine ! why, she had not the spirit 
 
 of a roasted chestnut — a few big words, an empty 
 oath, and a scanty dinner, made her as submissive 
 as a spaniel. My fire will not be so soon extinguished 
 — it shall resist big words, oaths, and starving. 
 
 Min. I believe so, indeed ; help the poor gentle- 
 man, I say, to whose fate you fall! [Heturns up. 
 
 Gar. Don Csesar, adieu I My commiseration for 
 your fate subdues the resentment I should other- 
 wise feel at your endeavouring to deceive me into 
 such a marriage. [Ci'osses, l. 
 
 OliV' Marriage ! oh, mercy ! — Is this Don Garcia ! 
 
 [Apart to CiESAR. 
 
 Casar. Yes, termagant ! 
 
 Oliv. O, what a misfortune ! Why did you not 
 tell me it was the gentleman you designed to marry 
 me to ? — Oh, sir! all that is past was in sport ; a 
 eontrivance between my maid and me: 1 have no 
 spirit at all — I am as patient as poverty. 
 
 Gar. This mask fits too ill on your features, fair 
 lady : I have seen you without disguise, and rejoice 
 in your ignorance of my name, since, but for that, 
 my peaceful home might have become the seat of 
 perpetual discord. 
 
 Min, Ay, sir, you would never have known Avhat 
 a quiet hour — — [On n. of Olivia. 
 
 Oliv. [StriJces her.] Impertinence ! Indeed, sir, I 
 can be as gentle and forbearing as a pet lamb. 
 
 Gar. I cannot doubt it, madam ; the proofs of your 
 placidity are very striking — But adieu ! though I 
 shall pray for your conversion, rather than have iho 
 
16 A BOLD STROKE [Act I. 
 
 honour of it — I'd turn Dominican, and condemn 
 mj'self to perpetual celibacy. [Exit, l. 
 
 Ccesar. Now, hussy ! — now, hussy ! — what do you 
 expect ? 
 
 Oliv. Dear me ! how can you be so unreasonable ! 
 did ever daughter do more to oblige a father! I ab- 
 solutely begged the man to have me. 
 
 Ccesar. Yes, vixen ! after you had made him de- 
 test ye ; Avhat, I suppose, he did not hit your fancy, 
 madam ; though there is not, in all Spain, a man 
 of prettier conversation. 
 
 Oliv. Yes he has a very pretty kind of conversa- 
 tion ; 'tis like a parenthesis. 
 
 Ctesar. Like a parenthesis ! 
 
 Oliv. Yes, it might be all left out, and never 
 missed. Ho wever, I thought him a modest kind of 
 a well-meaning young man, and that he would 
 make a pretty sort of a husband — for notwithstand- 
 ing his blustering, had I been his wife, in three 
 months he should have been as humble and com- 
 plaisant as 
 
 Casar. Ay, there it is — there it is ! — that spirit of 
 yours, hussy, you can neither conquer nor conceal ; 
 but I'll find a way to tame it, I'll warrant me. 
 
 [Exit, K. Olivia and Mit^ ett e folloiv him with 
 their eyes, and then burst into a laugh. 
 
 Min. Well, madam, I give you joy ! had other la- 
 dies as much success in getting lovers, as you have 
 in getting rid of yours, what contented faces we 
 should see ! 
 
 Oliv. Cut to what purpose do I get rid of them, 
 whilst they rise in succession like monthly pinks ? 
 Was there ever any thing so provoking ? After 
 some quiet, and believing the men had ceased to 
 trouble themselves about me, no less than two pro- 
 posals have been made to my inexorable father this 
 very day — What will become of me ? 
 
 Min. What should become of you ? You'll chuse 
 one fpom the pair, I hope. Believe me, madam, 
 the only way to get rid of the impertinence of 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. 17 
 
 lovers, is to take cue, and make him a scarecrow to 
 the rest. 
 
 Ollv. Oh, but I cannot ! — Invention assist me this 
 pne day ! 
 
 Min. Upon my word, madam, invention owes 
 you nothing ; and I am afraid you can draw on 
 that bank no longer. — You must trust to your es- 
 tabhshed character of vixen. 
 
 Oliv. But that won't frighten them all, you knoAV, 
 though it did its business with sober Don Garcia, 
 The brave General Antonio would have made a 
 property of me, in spite of every thing, had I not 
 luckily discovered his antipathy to cats, and so 
 scared the hero, by pretending an immoderate pas- 
 sion for young kittens. 
 
 Min. Yes, but you was still harder pushed by the 
 Castilian Count, and his engraved genealogy from 
 Noah. 
 
 Oliv. Oh, he would have kept his post as immo- 
 vably as the griffins at|his gate, had I not very serious- 
 ly imparted to him, that my mother's great uncle 
 sold oranges in Arragon. 
 
 Min. And pray, madam, if I may be so bold, who 
 
 an 
 
 is the next gentlem 
 
 Oliv. Oh, Don Vicentio, who distracts every 
 body with his skill in music. He ought to be mar- 
 ried to a Viol de Gamba. I bless my stars I have 
 never yet had a miser in my list — on such a charac- 
 ter all art would be lost, and nothing but an earth- 
 quake, to swallow up my estate, could save me. 
 
 Min. Well, if some one did but know, how happy 
 W'ould some one be, that for his sake 
 
 Oliv. Now, don't be impertinent, Minette. You 
 have several times attempted to slide yourself into 
 a secret, which I am resolved to keep to myself. 
 Continue faithful, and suppress your curiosity. 
 
 [Exit, R. 
 
 Min. Suppress my curiosity, madam ! — why, I 
 am a chambermaid, and a sorry one too, it should 
 soeni, to have been in your confidence two years. 
 
18 A BOLD STROKE [Act II. 
 
 and never have got the master-secret yet. I never 
 Avas six Aveeks in a family before, but I knew every 
 secret they had in it for three generations; ay, and 
 I'll know this too, or I'll blow up all her plans, and 
 declare to the world, that she is no more a vixen 
 
 than other fine ladies they have most of them a 
 
 touch ou't. [Exit^ R. 
 
 ACT U. 
 SCENE I. — uin Apartment at Donna Laura's. 
 
 Enter Laura, followed by Carlos, l. 
 
 Car. Nay, madam, you may as well stop here, 
 for I'll follow you through every apartment, but I 
 will be heard. [Seizing htr hand. 
 
 Laura. This insolence is not to be endured; 
 within my own walls to be thus 
 
 Car. The time has been, Avhen within your walls 
 I might be master. 
 
 Laura. Yes, you were then master of my heart; 
 that gave you a right which- 
 
 Car. You have now transferred to another. 
 
 [Flinging away her hand. 
 
 Laura. Well, sir ! 
 
 Car. "Well, sir!" — Unblushing acknowledge- 
 ment ! False, fickle woman ! 
 
 Laura. Because 1 have luckily got the start of 
 you ; in a few weeks I should have been the accuser, 
 and you the false and fickle. 
 
 Car. And to secure yourself from that disgrace, 
 you prudently looked out in time for another lover. 
 
 Laura. 1 can pardon your sneer, because you are 
 mortified. 
 
 Car. Mortified ! 
 
 Laura. Yes, mortified to the soul, Carlos ! 
 
Scene I.] FOR A HUSBAND. 19 
 
 Car. [Stamping;.] Madam! madam I 
 
 Laura. This rage would have been all cool inso- 
 lence had I waited for your change — Scarcely 
 would you have deigned to form a phrase of pity for 
 me ; perhaps have bid me forget a man no longer 
 worthy my attachment, and recommended me -to 
 hartshorn and my women. 
 
 Car. Has any hour, since I have first known you, 
 given you cause for such unjust 
 
 Laura. Yes, every hour — Noav, Carlos I bring 
 thee to the test ! — You saw, you liked, you loved 
 me; Avas there no fond trusting woman whom you 
 deserted, to indulge the transient passion ? Yes, one 
 blessed with beauty, gentleness, and youth ; one, 
 who more than her own being loved thee, who 
 made thee rich, and whom thou madcst thy Avife. 
 
 Car. My wife ! — here's a turn ! So to revenge the 
 quarrels of my wife 
 
 Laura. No, do not mistake me — what I have 
 done was merely to indulge myself, without more 
 regard to your feelings, than you had to hers. 
 
 Car. And you dare avow to my face, that you 
 have a passion for another ? 
 
 Laura. I do, and — for I am above disguise, I con- 
 fess, so tender is my love for Florio, it has scarcely 
 left a trace of that I once avowed for Carlos- 
 Car. Well, madam, if I hear this without some 
 sudden vengeance on the tongue which speaks it, 
 thank the annihilation of that passion, whose re- 
 membrance is as dead in my bosom as in yours. liCt 
 us, however, part friends, and with a mutual ac- 
 quittal of every obligation — so give up the settle- 
 ment of that estate, which left me almost a beggar. 
 
 Laura. Give it up ! — ha ! ha ! no, Carlos, you 
 
 consigned me that estate as a proof of love ; do 
 not imagine, then, I'll give up the only part of our 
 connexion of which I am not ashamed. 
 
 Car. Base woman ! you know it was not a volun- 
 tary gift — after having in vain practised on my fond- 
 ness, whilst in a state of intoxication, you prevailed 
 
20 ^ A BOLD STROKE [Act II. 
 
 on me to sign the deed, which you had artfully 
 prepared for the purpose — therefore you must res- 
 lore it. 
 
 Laura. Never, never. 
 
 Car. Ruin is in the word ! Call it back, ma- 
 dam, or I'll be revenged on thee in thy heart's 
 dearest object — thy minion, Florio ! — — he shall not 
 riot on my fortune. 
 
 Laura. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Florio is safe — your lands 
 are sold, and in another country we shall enjoy the 
 blessing of thy fond passion, whilst that passion is 
 indulging itself in hatred and execrations. [Exit, r. 
 
 Car. My vengeance shall first fall on her. [Folloiv- 
 ing.] No, he shall be the first victim, or 'twill be in- 
 complete. — Reduced to poverty, I cannot live ; 
 
 Oh, folly ! where are now all the gilded prospects 
 
 of my youth ? Had I but 'tis too late to look 
 
 back, — remorse attends the past, and ruin — ruin 
 waits me in the future ! [Exit, l. 
 
 SCENE II.— Don Cesar's. 
 
 Victoria enters, l., perusitig a letter; enter 
 Omvia, r. 
 
 Oliv. [SpeaJcs as entering.] If my father should 
 inquire for me, tell him I am in Donna Victoria's 
 apartment. — Smiling, I protest! my dear gloomy 
 cousin, where have you purchased that sun-shiny 
 look ? 
 
 Vict. It is but April sunshine, I fear ; but who 
 could resist such a temptation to smile ? a letter 
 from Donna Laura, my husband's mistress, styling 
 me her dearest Florio ! her life ! her soul ! and com- 
 plaining of a twelve hours absence, as the bitterest 
 misfortune. 
 
 Oliv. Ha! ha! ha! most doughty Don ! pray, let 
 us see you in your feather and doublet ; as a Cava- 
 leiro, it seems, you are formidable. So suddenly to 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. 21 
 
 rob your husband of his charmer's heart I you must 
 have used some ^vitchery. 
 
 Vict. Yes, powerful witchery — the knowledge of 
 my sex. Oh ! did the men but know us, as well 
 as we do ourselves ; — but, thank fate they do not — 
 'twould be dangerous. 
 
 Oliv. What, I suppose, you praised her under- 
 standing, was captivated by her wit, and absolutely 
 struck dumb by the amazing beauties of — her mind. 
 
 Vict. Oh, no, — that's the mode prescribed by the 
 essayists on the female heart — ha ! ha ! ha ! — Not a 
 woman breathing, from fifteen to fifty, but would 
 rather have a compliment to ihe tip of her ear, or the 
 turn of her ancle, than a volume in praise of her in- 
 tellects. 
 
 Oliv. So, flattery, then, is your boasted pill? 
 
 Vict. No, that's only the occasional gilding ; but 
 'tis in vain to attempt a description of what changed 
 its nature with every moment. I was now attentive 
 — now gay — then tender, then careless. I strove ra- 
 ther to convince her that I was charming, than that 
 I myself was charmed ; and when I saw love's arrow 
 quivering in her heart, instead of falling at her feet, 
 sung a triumphant air, and remembered a sudden 
 engagement. 
 
 Oliv. [Archly.] Would you have done so, had 
 you been a man ? 
 
 Vict. Assuredly — knowing what I now do as a 
 woman. 
 
 Oliv. But can all this be worth while, merely to 
 rival a fickle husband with one woman, whilst he is 
 setting his feather, perhaps, at half a score others? 
 
 Vict- To rival him was not my first motive. The 
 Portuguese robbed me of his heart ; I concluded she 
 had fascinations which nature had denied to me ; it 
 was impossible to visit her as a woman ; I, therefore, 
 assumed the Cavalier, to study her, that 1 might, if 
 possible, be to my Carlos, all he found in her. 
 
 Oliv. Pretty humlde creature? 
 
 Vict. In this adventure I learnt more than I ex- 
 
22 A BOLD STROKE [Act IT. 
 
 pected ; — my (oh, cruel !) my husband has given this 
 woman an estate, almost all that his dissipations 
 had left us. 
 
 Oliv, Indeed ! 
 
 Vict. To make him more culpable, it was my 
 estate ; it was that fortune which my lavish love had 
 made his, without securing it to my children. 
 
 Oliv. How could you be so improvident ? 
 
 Vict. Alas ! I trusted him with my heart, with my 
 happiness, without restriction. Should I have shown 
 a greater solicitude for any thing, than for these ? 
 
 Oliv. The event proves that you should ; but how 
 can you be thus passive in your sorrow ? since I had 
 assumed the man, I'd make him feel a man's resent- 
 ment for such injuries. 
 
 Vict. Oh, Olivia ! what resentment can I show 
 to him I have vowed to honour, and whom, both 
 my duty and my heart compel me yet to love. 
 
 Oliv. Why, really noAV, I think — positively, there's 
 no thinking about it ; 'tis among the arcana of the 
 married life, I suppose. 
 
 Vict. You, who know me, can judge how I suf- 
 fered in prosecuting my plan. I have thrown off the 
 delicacy of sex ; I have worn the mask of love to the 
 destroyer of my peace — but the object is too great to 
 be abandoned — nothing less than to save my husband 
 from ruin, and to restore him, again a lover, to my 
 faithful bosom. 
 
 Oliv. Well, I confess, Victoria, I hardly know 
 whether most to blame or praise you ; but, with the 
 rest of the world, I suppose, your success will deter- 
 mine me. 
 
 Enter -Gasper, l. 
 
 Gasp. Pray, madam, are your wedding shoes 
 I'eady ? [To Olivia. 
 
 Oliv. Insolence ! •! can scarcely ever keep up 
 
 the vixen to this fellow. [Apart to Victoria. 
 
 Gasp. You'll want them, ma'am, to-mori'ow raorn- 
 in^, that's all— so I came to prepare ye. 
 
Scene 11.] FOR A HUSBAND. 23 
 
 Oliv. I want wedding shoes to-morrow ! if you 
 are kept on water gruel till I marry, that plump face 
 of yours will be chap-fallen, I believe. 
 
 Gasjj. Yes, truly, I believe so too. Lackaday, 
 did you suppose I came to bring you news of your 
 own wedding ? no such glad tidings for you, lady, be- 
 lieve me. — You married ! I am sure the man who 
 ties himself to you, ought to be half a salamander, 
 and able to live in fire. 
 
 Oliv. What marriage, then, is it, you do me the 
 honour to inform me of? 
 
 Gasp. Why, your father's marriage. You'll have 
 a mother-in-law to-morrow, and having, like* duti- 
 ful daughter, danced at the wedding, be immured in 
 a convent for life. 
 
 Oliv. Immured in a convent ! then I'll raise sedi- 
 tion in the sisterhood, depose the abbess, and turn 
 the confessor's chair to a go-cart. 
 
 Gasp. So, the threat of the moiher-in-law, which 
 I thought would be worse than that of the abbess^ 
 <loes not frighten ye ? 
 
 Oliv. No, because my father dares not give me one. 
 — Marry, without my consent ! no, no, he'll never 
 think of it, depend on't ; however, lest the fit should 
 grow strong upon him, I'll go and administer my 
 volatiles to keep it under. [Exit r>. h. 
 
 Gasp. Administer them cautiously then : too 
 strong a dose of your volatiles would make the fit 
 stubborn. Who'd think that pretty arch look be- 
 longed to a termagant ? what a pity ! 'twould he 
 worth a thousand ducats to cure her. 
 
 Vict. Has Inis told you I wanted to converse with 
 you in private, Gasper? 
 
 Gasp. Oh, yes, madam, and I took particular no- 
 tice, that it was to be in private. Sure, says I, 
 
 Mrs. Inis, Madam Victoria has not taken a fancy to 
 me, and is going to break her mind. 
 
 Vict, Whimsical! ha! ha! suppose I should, Gas- 
 per ? 
 Gasp. Why, then, madam, 1 should say, fortune 
 
24 A BOLD STROKE [Act II. 
 
 had used you devilish scurvily, to give you a gray- 
 heard in a hvery. 1 know well enough, that some 
 young ladies have given themselves to gray-heards, 
 in a gilded coach, and others have run away with a 
 handsome youth in worsted lace ; they each had 
 their apology ; but if you run away with me — pardon 
 me, madam, I could not stand the ridicule. 
 
 Vict. Oh, very well ; but if you refuse to run away 
 with me, will you do me another favour? 
 
 Gasp. Any thing you'll order, madam, except 
 dancing a fandango. 
 
 Vict. You have seen my rich old uncle in the coun- 
 try ? ^ 
 
 Gasp. What, Don Sancho, who, with two thirds 
 of a century in his face, affects the misdemeanors of 
 youth ; hides his baldness with amber locks, and 
 complains of the tooth-ache, to make you believe, 
 that the two rows of ivory he carries in his head, 
 grew there ? 
 
 Vict. Oh, you know him, I find ; could you assumo 
 his character for an hour, and make love for him I 
 you know, it must be in the style of King Roderigo 
 the First. 
 
 Gasp. Hang it ! I am rather too near his own age ; 
 to appear an old man with etfect, one should not be 
 above twenty; 'tis always so on the stage. 
 
 Vict, Pho ! you might pass for Juan's grandson. 
 
 Gasp. Nay, if your ladyship condeseuds to flatter 
 me, you have me. 
 
 Vict. Then follow me ; for Don Csesar, I hear, is 
 approaching — in the garden I'll make you acquain- 
 ted with my plan, and impress on your mind every 
 trait of my uncle's character, [f you can hit him 
 off", the arts of Laura shall be foiled, and Carlos be 
 again Victoria's. [Extunt., R* 
 
 Enter Don Cesar, followed by Olivia, l. 
 
 Casar. No, no, 'tis too late — no coaxings ; I am 
 resolved, I say. 
 
 Oliv. But it is not too late, and you shan't here- 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. 25 
 
 solved, I say. Indeed, now, I'll be upon my guard 
 with the next Don — what's his name ? not a trace of 
 the Xantippe left. — I'll study to be charming. 
 
 Ctesar. Nay, you need not study it, you are always 
 charming enough, if you would but hold your tongue. 
 
 Oliv. Do you think so ? then to the next lover I 
 won't open my lips ; I'll answer every thing he says 
 with a smile, and if he asks me to have him, drop a 
 courtesy of thankfulness, 
 
 Ccesar. Pshaw ! that's too much t'other way ; you 
 are always either above the mark or below it ; you 
 must talk, but talk with good humour. Can't you look 
 gently and prettily, now, as I do ? and say, yes, sir, 
 and no, sir ; and 'tis vei-y fine weather, sir ; and pray, 
 sir, were you at the ball last night ? and, I caught a 
 sad cold the other evening ; and bless me ! I hear 
 Lucinda has run away with her footman, and Don 
 Philip has married his housemaid ? — That's the way 
 agreeable ladies talk; you never hear any thing else. 
 
 Oliv. Very true ; and you shall see me as agree- 
 able as the best of them, if you won't give me a mo- 
 ther-in-law to snub me, and set me tasks, and to take 
 «p all the fine apartments, and send up poor little 
 Livy to lodge next the stars. 
 
 Casar. Ha! if thou wert but always thus soft and 
 good-humoured, no mother-in-law in Spain, though 
 .she brought the Castilesfor her portion, should have 
 power to snub thee. But, Livy, the trial's at hand, 
 for at this moment do I expect Don Vicentio to visit 
 you. He is but just returned from England, and, 
 probably, has yet heard only of your beauty and for- 
 tune ; t hope it is not from you he will learn the 
 other part of your character. 
 
 Oliv. This moment expect him ! two new lovers 
 in a day ? 
 
 Ccesar, Beginning already, as I hope to live ! ay, 
 1 see 'tis in vain ; I'll send him an excuse, and marry 
 Marcella before night. 
 
 Oliv. Oh, no! upon my obedience, I promise to be 
 just the soft, civ|^ creature, you have described. 
 o 
 
26 A BOLD STROKE [Act It 
 
 Enter a iServant, l. 
 
 Set. Don Vincentio is below, sir. [Exit, i. 
 
 Ccesar. ITl wait upon him well, go and collect 
 
 all your smiles and your simpers, and remember all 
 1 have said to you ; — be gentle, and talk pretty little 
 small talk, d'ye hear, and if you please him, you shall 
 have the portion of a Dutch burgomaster's daughter^ 
 and the pin-money of a princess, you jade, you. I 
 think at last, I have done it; the fear of this mother- 
 in-law will keep down the fiend in her, if any thing 
 can. [Exit, i., 
 
 Oliv. Hah ! my poor father, your anxieties will 
 never end till you bring Don Julio. But what shaU I 
 do with this Vincentio ? — I fear he is so perfectly har- 
 monized, that to put him in an ill temper will be im- 
 practicable. — I must try, however ; if 'tis possible to 
 find a discord in him, I'll touch the string. [Exit, r- 
 
 SCENE lll.-^ Another Apartment^ 
 
 Enter C^sar and Vincentio, l. 
 
 Vin. Presto, presto, signior! where is the Olivia T 
 — not a moment to spaie. I left off in all the fury 
 of composition ; minunis and crotchets have been 
 battling it through my head the whole day, and try- 
 ing a seraibreve in G sharp, has made me as flat as 
 double F. 
 
 Casar. Sharp and flat ! — trying a semibreve ! — oh 
 — gad, sir ! I had like not to have understood you j 
 but a semibreve is something of a demi-culverin, I 
 take it ; and you have been practising the art military. 
 
 Vin, Art military! — what, sir! are you unac- 
 quainted with music ? 
 
 Caesar. Music ! oh, I ask pardon : then you are 
 fond of music 'ware of discords! [Aside. 
 
 Vhi. Fond of it ! devoted to it. — I composed a 
 thing to-day, in all the gusto of Sacchini, and the 
 sweetness of Gluck. But this recre^t finger fails me. 
 
JSceue III.] FOR A HUSBAND. 27 
 
 ia composing a passage in E octave ; if it does not 
 gain more elastic vigour in a week, I shall be tempted 
 to have it amputated, and supply the shake with a 
 spring. 
 
 Casar. Mercy ! amputate a finger, to supply a 
 shake ! 
 
 Vin. Oh, that's a trifle in the road to reputation — 
 -to be talked of, is the sniiunum bonum of this life. — 
 A young man of rank should not glide through the 
 world, without a distinguished rage, or, as they call 
 it in England — a hobby-horse- 
 
 Ccesar. A hobby horse ! 
 
 Tin. Yes : that is, every man of figure determines 
 on setting out in life, in that land of liberty, in what 
 dine to ruin himself ; and that choice is called hishob- 
 by-horse. One makes the turf his scene of action — 
 another drives about tail phaetons, to peep into their 
 neighbour's garret windows ; and a third rides his 
 hobby-horse in parliament, where it jerks him some- 
 times on one side, and sometimes on the other ; some- 
 times in, and sometimes out; till atlength, he is jerked 
 out of his honesty, and his constituents out of their 
 freedom. 
 
 Ccssar. Ay ! Well, 'tis a wonder, that with such 
 sort of hobby-horses as these, they should still outride 
 all the world, to the goal of glory. 
 
 Vin. This is all cantabile ; nothing to do with the 
 subject of the piece, which is Donna Olivia ; — ^pray 
 give me the key note to her heart. 
 
 Ca:sar. Upon my word, signer, to speak in your 
 own pharse, I believe that note has never yet been 
 
 sounded. — Ah! here she comes! look at her Isn't 
 
 she a fine girl ? 
 
 Vin. Touching! Musical, I'll be sworn ! her very 
 air is harmonious ! 
 Casar. [Aside.] I wish thou may'st find her tongue 
 
 50. 
 
 Enter Olivia, courtesies profoundl}/ to each. r. 
 daughter, receive Don Vincentio— his rank, fortune, 
 
28 A BOLD STROKE [Act II. 
 
 aud merit, entitle him to the heiress of a grandee ; but 
 he is contented to become my son-in-law, if you can 
 please him. [Crosses, -r. Oi.ivj a courtesies again. 
 
 Vin, Please me ! she entrances me ! Her presence 
 thrills me iike a cadenza of Pachierotti's, and every 
 nerve vibrates to the music of her looks. 
 Her step andante gently moves. 
 
 Pianos glance from either eye ; 
 Oh how lar ghetto is the heart, 
 That charms so forte can defy ! 
 Donna Olivia, will you be contented to receive me a» 
 a lover? 
 
 Oliv. Yes, sir — No, sir. 
 
 Vin. Yes, sir ! no, sir ! bewitching timidity ? 
 
 Caesar. Yes, sir, she's remarkably timid, — She's 
 in the right cue, I see. [Aside. 
 
 Vin. ^Tis clear you have never travelled. — 1 shall 
 he delighted to show you England. — You will there 
 see how entirely timidity is banished the sex. You 
 must affect a marked character, and maintain it at 
 all hazards. 
 
 Oliv. 'Tis a very fine day, sir. 
 
 Vin. Madam ! 
 
 Oliv. I caught a sad cold the other evening. —Prayr 
 was you at the ball last night ? 
 
 Vin. What ball, fair lady ? 
 
 Oliv. Bless me! they say, Lucinda has run away 
 with her footman, and Don Philip has married his 
 house-maid. Now, am 1 not very agreeable? 
 
 [Apart to Don Cjesar 
 
 Ceesar. O, such perverse obedience ! 
 
 Vin. Really, madam, I have not the honour to 
 know Don Philip and Lucinda — nor am I happy 
 enough, entirely to comprehend you. 
 
 Oliv. No ! I only meant to be agreeable — but, per- 
 haps, you have no taste for pretty little small talk ! 
 Vin. Pretty little small talk ! 
 
 Oliv. A marked character you admire ; so do I, I 
 dote on it. — I would not resemble the rest of the 
 werld in any thin^. 
 
Scene III.] FOR A HUSBAND. 29 
 
 Vin. My taste to the fiftieth part of a crotchet! — 
 We shall agree admirahly when we are married ! 
 
 OUv. And that will he unlike the rest of the world, 
 and therefore, charmiag ! 
 
 Cfesar. [Aside.] It will do ! I have hit her humour 
 at last. Why didn't this young dog offer himself be- 
 fore ? 
 
 Oliv. I believe, I have the honour to carry my 
 taste that way, farther than you, Don Vincentio. 
 Pray, now, what is your usual style in living ? 
 
 Vin. My winters I spend in Madrid, as other peo- 
 ple do. My summers I drawl through at my cas- 
 tle 
 
 Oliv. As other people do .'—and yet you pretend 
 to taste and singularity, ha ! ha ! ha ! Good Don Vin- 
 centio, never talk of a marked character again. Go 
 into the country in July,to smell roses and woodbines, 
 when every body regales on their fragrance! Now, I 
 would rusticate only in winter, and ray bleak castle 
 should be decorated with verdure and flowers, amidst 
 the soft zephyrs of December. 
 
 C^sar. [Aside.] Oh, she'll go too far ! 
 
 Oliv. On the leafless trees I would hang green 
 branches — the labour of silk worms, and therefore, 
 natural ; whilst my rose shrubs and myrtles should be 
 scented by the first perfumers in Italy. Unnatural, 
 indeed, but, therefore, singular and striking. 
 
 Vin. Oh, charming ! You beat me, where I thought 
 myself the strongest. Would they but establish 
 newspapers here, to paragraph our singularities, we 
 should be the inost envied couple in Spain! 
 
 Casar. [Aside.] By St. Antony, he is as mad as 
 she is I 
 
 Vin. What say you,l)on Ctesar? Olivia, and her 
 winter garden, and I and my music. 
 
 Oliv. Music, did you say ? Music ! I am passion- 
 ately fond of that ! 
 
 Casar. She has saved my life ! I thought she was 
 going to knock down his hobby-horse. [Aside. 
 
 Vin. You enchant me ! I have the finest band in Ma- 
 4* 
 
30 A BOLD STROKE [Act 11. 
 
 drid — My first violin draws a longer bow thanGiar- 
 
 dini ; my clarionets, my viol de gamba Oh, you 
 
 shall have such concerts ! 
 
 Oliv. Concerts ! Pardon me there — My passion i» 
 a single instrument. 
 
 Vin. That's carrying singularity very far indeed I 
 I love a crash ; so does every body of taste. 
 
 Oliv. But my taste isn't like evry body's; my 
 nerves are so particularly fine, that more than one 
 instrument overpowers them. 
 
 Vin. Pray tell me the name of that one : I am sure 
 it must be the most elegant and captivating in the 
 world. — I am impatient to know it. — We'll have no 
 other instrument in Spain, and 1 will study to become 
 its master, that T may woo you with its music. 
 Charming Olivia ! tell me, is it a harpsichord ? a pi- 
 ano forte ? a pentachord ? a harp ? 
 
 Oliv. You have it, you have i t ; a harp — yes, a 
 Jew's-harp is, to me, the only instrument. Are you 
 not charmed with the delightful h — u — m of its base, 
 running on the ear, like the distant rumble of a state 
 coach? It presents the idea of vastness and impor- 
 tance to thfe mind. The moment you are its master 
 — I'll give you my hand. 
 
 Vin. Da capo, madam, da capo ! a Jew's-harp ! 
 
 Oliv. Bless me, sir, don't I tell you so ? Viohns 
 chill me ; clarionets, by sympathy, hurt my lungs ; 
 and, instead of maintaining a band under ray roof, I 
 would not keep a servant, who knew a bassoon from 
 a flute, or could tell whether he heard a jigg, or a 
 canzonetta. 
 
 Ceesar. Oh thou perverse one ! you know you love 
 concerts — you know you do. [^In great agitation. 
 
 Oliv. I detest them ! It's vulgar custom that at- 
 taches people to the sound of fifty different instru- 
 ments at once ; 'twould be as well to talk on the same 
 subject, in fifty different tongues. A band ; 'tis a 
 mere olio of sound ! I'd rather listen to a three-string- 
 ed guitar serenading a sempstress in some neighbour- 
 ing garret. 
 
Scene IIL] FOR A HUSBAND. 81 
 
 Ctesar, Oh you— —Don Vincentio, [Crosses, c.j 
 this is nothing but perverseness, wicked perverseness. 
 Hussy ! — didn't you shake, when you mentioned a 
 garret ? didn't bread and water, and a step-mother, 
 come into your head at the same time ? 
 
 Vin. Piano, piano, good sir! Spare yourself all 
 farther trouble. Should the Princess of Guzzarat, 
 and all her diamond mines, offer themselves,! would 
 not accept them, in lieu of my band — a band, that 
 has half ruined me to collect. I would have allow- 
 ed Donna Olivia a blooming garden in winter ; I 
 would even have procured barrenness and snow for 
 her in the dog-days ; but, to have my band insulted ! 
 — to have my knowledge in music slighted ! — to be 
 roused from all the energies of composition, by the 
 drone of a Jew's-harp, Icannotbreatheunderthe idea. 
 
 C(esar. Then — then you refuse her. 
 
 sn- 
 
 Vin. I cannot use so harsh a word — I take my 
 leave of the lady. — Adieu, madam — I leave you to 
 enjoy your solos, whilst I fly to the raptures of a 
 crash. [Exit^ l. 
 
 [Cjesar goes up to her, and looks her in the face ; 
 then goes off without speaking, l. 
 
 Oliv. Mercy ; that silent anger is terrifying : 1 read 
 a young mother-in-law, and an old lady abbess, in 
 every line of his face. 
 
 jEttier Victoria, r. 
 Well, you heard the whole, I suppose — heard poor 
 unhappy me scorned and rejected. 
 
 Vict. I heard you in imminent danger; and ex- 
 pected Signor Da Capo would have snapped you 
 up, in spite of caprice and extravagance. 
 
 Oliv. Oh, they charmed, instead of scaring him. 
 I soon found, that my only chance was to fall across 
 his caprice. Where is the philosopher who could 
 withstand that? 
 
 Vict. But what, my good cousin, does all this tend 
 to? 
 
 Oliv. I dare say you can guess. Penelope had ne- 
 
^ A BOLD STROKE . [Act IL 
 
 "ver cheated her lovers with a never-ending web, had 
 she not had an Ulysses. 
 
 Vict. An Ulysses ! what, are you then married ? 
 
 Oliv. O no, not yet ! but, believe me, my design 
 is not to lead apes ; nor is my heart an icicle. If you 
 choose to know more, put on your veil, and slip with 
 me through the garden, to the Prado. 
 
 Vict. I can't, indeed. I am this moment going to 
 dress enhomnie to visit the impatient Portuguese. 
 
 Oliv. Send an excuse ; for, positively, you go with 
 me. Heaven and earth ! 1 am going to meet a man ! 
 whom I have been fool enough, to dream and think 
 of these two years, and I don't know that ever he 
 thought of me in his life. 
 
 Vict. Two years discovering that? 
 
 Oliv. He has been abroad. The ozily time I ever 
 saw him was at the Duchess of Medina's — there 
 were a thousand people ; and he was so elegant, so 
 careless, so handsome! — In a word, though he set 
 off for France the next morning, by some witchcraft 
 or other, he has been before my eyes ever since. 
 
 Vict. Was the impression mutual? 
 
 Oliv. He hardly noticed me. I was then a bash- 
 ful thing just out of a convent, and shrunk from 
 observation. 
 
 Vict. Why, I thought you were going to meet 
 him. 
 
 Oliv. To be sure ; I sent him a command this 
 morning, to be at the Prado. I am determined to 
 find out if his heart is engaged, and if it is 
 
 Vict. You'll cross your arms, and crown your 
 brow with willows ? 
 
 Oliv. No, positively : not whilst we have myrtles. 
 I would prefer Julio, 'tis true, to all his sex; but if 
 he is stupid enough to be insensible to me, I shan't 
 for that reason, pine like a girl, on chalk and oat- 
 meal. — No, no ; in that case, I shall form a new 
 plan, and treat my future lovers with more civilHy. 
 
 Vict. You are the only woman in love, 1 ever 
 heard talk reasouably. 
 
ND. ^ 
 
 Scene I.] FOR A HUS^ , ,„, . ^ 
 
 ^ .lo. ami rU give 
 
 Oliv. Well, prepare for the PrS^Mouirh, id.go 
 you a lesson against your days of widownoov^. 
 Don't you wish this the moment, Victoria ? A pretty 
 widow at four-and-twenty has more subjects, and 
 a wider empire, than the first monarch upon earth. 
 I long to see you in your Aveeds. 
 
 Vict. Never may you see them ! Oh, Olivia ! my 
 happiness, my life, depend on my husband. The 
 fond hope of still being united to him, gives me 
 spirits in my affliction, and enables me to support 
 even the period of his neglect with patience. 
 
 [Exeunt, r. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Julio enters from a Garden Gate in fiat, ivith pre- 
 cipitation ; a Servant, ivitliin, fastens the Gate. 
 
 Julio. Yes, yes, bar the gate fast, Cerberus, lest 
 some other curious traveller should stumble on your 
 confines. — If ever 1 am so caught again — 
 
 Garcia enters, l. ; going hastily across, JuLia 
 seizes him, 
 Don Garcia, never make love to a woman in a 
 veil. 
 
 Gar. Why so, pr'ythee ? Veils and secrecy are the 
 chief ingredients in a Spanish amour; but in two 
 years, Julio, thou art grown absolutely French, 
 
 Julio. That may be ; but if ever I trust to a veil 
 again, may no lovely, blooming beauty ever trust 
 me. Why dost know, I have been an hour at the 
 feet of a creature, whose first birth-day must have 
 been kept the latter end of the last century, and 
 whose trembling, weak voice, I mistook for the ti- 
 mid cadence of bashful fifteen ! 
 
 Gar. Ha ! ha ! ha ! What a happiness to have seea 
 
^4 A BOLD STROKE [Act 111. 
 
 ^^T '°..\^l^LISptafes, petitioning for half a glance 
 i-^'ij^r4*'Hne charms the envious veil concealed ! 
 
 Jidio. Yes ; and when she unveiled her Gothic 
 countenance, to render the thing completely ridicu- 
 lous, she began moralizing ; and positively would 
 not let me out of the snare, till I had persuaded her 
 she had worked a conversion, and that I'd never 
 make love — but in an honest way, again. 
 
 Gar. Oh, that honest way of love-making is de- 
 lightful, to be sure ! I had a dose of it this morning ; 
 but, happily, the ladies have not yet learned to veil 
 their tempers, though they have their faces. 
 
 Enter Don Vincentio, r. 
 
 Vin. Julio ! Garcia! congratulate me ! — Such an 
 escape ! Crosses to c. 
 
 Julio. What have you escaped ? 
 
 Vin. Matrimony. 
 
 Gar. Nay, then our congratulations may be mu- 
 tual. I have had a matrimonial escape too, this ve- 
 ry day. I was almost on the brink of the ceremony 
 with the veriest Xantippe ! 
 
 Vin. Oh, that was not my case — mine was a 
 sweet creature, all elegance, all life. 
 
 Julio. Then where's the cause of congratulation ? 
 
 Vin. Cause ! why she's ignorant of music ! prefers 
 a jig to a canzonelta, and a Jew's-harp to a penta- 
 chord. 
 
 Gar. Had my nymph no other fault, I would par- 
 don that, for she was lovely and rich. 
 
 Vin. Mine, too, was lovely and rich ; and, I'll be 
 sw^orn, as ignorant of scolding, as of the gama ! — » 
 but not to know music ! 
 
 Julio. Gentle, lovely, and rich I and ignorant on-» 
 ly of music ? 
 
 Gar. A venial crime indeed ! if the sweet creature 
 will marry me, she shall carry a Jew's-harp always 
 jn her train, as a Scotch laird does his bagpipes. I 
 wish you'd give me your interest. 
 
 Vin, Oh, irjost willingly, if thou hast so gross au 
 
Scene I.] FOR A HUSBAND. 35 
 
 inclination; I'll name thee as a dull-souled, largo 
 fellow, to her lather, Don Cgesar. 
 
 Gar. Caesar! what Don Ccesar ? 
 
 Vin. De Zuni^a. 
 
 Gar. Impossible ! 
 
 Il7i. Oh, I'll answer for her mother. So much 
 is Don Zuniga, her father, that he does not know 
 a seraibreve from a culverin! 
 
 Gar. The name of the lady ? 
 
 Vin. Olivia. 
 
 Gar. Why you must be mad — that's my terma- 
 gant ! 
 
 Vin. Termagant! — ha! ha! ha! Thou hast cer- 
 tainly some vixen of a mistress, Avho infects thy ears 
 towards the w hole sex. Olivia is timid and elegant. 
 
 Gar. By Juno, there never existed such a scold ! 
 
 Vin. By Orpheus, there never was a gayer tem- 
 pered creature ! — Spirit enough to be charming, 
 that's all. If she loved harmony, I'd marry her to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Julio. Ha! ha! what a ridiculous jangle! 'Tis 
 evident you speak of two different women. 
 
 Gar. I speak of Donna Olivia, heiress to Don 
 Caesar de Zuniga. 
 
 Vin. I speak of the heiress of Don Cjesar de Zu- 
 niga, w ho is called Donna Olivia. 
 
 Gar. Sir, I perceive you mean to insult me. 
 
 Vin. Your perceptions are very rapid, sir, but if 
 you choose to think so, I'll settle that point with you 
 immediately : But for fear of consequences, I'll fly 
 home, and add the last bar to my concerto, and then 
 meet you where you please. [Crosses, l- 
 
 Julio. Pho! this is evidently misapprehension. 
 [Crosses, c] To clear the matter up, I'll visit the 
 lady? if you'll introduce me, Vinccntio; — but you 
 shall both promise to be governed in this dispute, by 
 my decision. 
 
 Vin. ril introduce you Avith joy, if you'll try to 
 persuade her of the necessity of music, and the 
 charms of harmony. 
 
B6 A BOLD STROKE [Act III. 
 
 Gar. Yes, she needs that You'll find her all 
 
 jar and discord. 
 
 Julio. Come, no more, Garcia; thou art but a 
 sort of male vixen thyself. Melodious Vincentio, 
 when shall I expect you ? 
 
 Vin. This evening. 
 
 Julio. Not this evening; I have engaged to meet 
 a goldfinch in a grove — then I shall have music, you 
 rogue ! 
 
 Vin. It won't sing at night. 
 
 Julio. Then I'll talk to it till the morning, and 
 hear it pour out its matins to the rising sun. Call 
 on me to-morrow ; I'll then attend you to Donna 
 Olivia, and declare faithfully the impression her 
 character makes on me. — Come, Garcia, I must not 
 leave you together, lest his crotchets and your mi- 
 nums should fall into a crash of discords. 
 
 [Exeunt, Vincentio, l., Julio a7id Garcia, r. 
 
 SCENE ll.—The Prado. 
 
 Enter Don Carlos, r. 
 
 Car. All hail to the powers of burgundy ! Three 
 flasks to my own share ! What sorrows can stand 
 against three flasks of burgundy? I was a damned 
 melancholy fellow this morning, going to shoot my- 
 self, to get rid of my troubles. — Where are my trou- 
 bles now ? Gone to the moon, to look for my wits ; 
 and there I hope they'll remain together, if one can- 
 not come back without t'other. But where is this 
 indolent dog, Julio ? He fit to receive appointments 
 from ladies ! Sure I have not missed the hour — No» 
 but seven yet — [Looking at his tvatch.] — Seven's 
 the hour, by all the joys of burgundy ! The rogue 
 must be here — let's reconnoitre. [Retires, r. 
 
 Enter Victoria and Olivia, veiled, l. u. e. 
 
 Oliv. Positively, mine's a pretty spark, to let me 
 be first at the place of appointment. I have half 
 resolved to go home again, to punish him. 
 
f^cene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. ^7 
 
 Vict. I'll answer for its being but half a resoluv 
 tion — to make it entire, would be to punish your- 
 self.— There's a solitary man— is not that he ? 
 
 Oliv. I think not. If he'd please to turn his fagi) 
 this way 
 
 Vict. That's impossible, while the loadstone is 
 the other way. He is looking at the woman in the 
 next walk. Can't you disturb him? 
 
 Oliv. [Screams.] Oh! a frightful frog ! 
 
 [Carlos turns on b. 
 
 Vict. Heavens, 'tis my husband ! 
 
 Oliv. Your husband ! Is that Don Carlos? 
 
 Vict. It is indeed. 
 
 Oliv. Why, really, now I see the man, I don't 
 woE(fler that you are in no hurry for your weeds. 
 He is moving towards us. 
 
 Vict. I cannot speak to him, and yet my soul flies 
 to meet him. 
 
 Car. Pray, lady, what occasioned that pretty 
 scream ? I shrewdly suspect it was a trap. 
 
 Oliv. A trap! ha! ha! ha ! — a trap for you! 
 
 Car. Why not, madam ? Zounds, a ilian near *x 
 feet high, and three flasks of burgundy in his head, 
 is worth laying a trap for. 
 
 Oliv. Yes, unless he happens to be trapped before . 
 'Tis about two years since you was caught, I take if 
 — do keep farther off"! — Odious ! a married man ! 
 
 Car. The devil ! is it posted under every saint in 
 the street, that I am a married man ? 
 
 Oliv. No, you carry the marks about you ; thai 
 rueful phiz could never belong to a bachelor. Be- 
 sides, there's an odd appearance on your templers-i- 
 does your hat sit easily ? 
 
 Car. By all the thorns of matrimony, if 
 
 Oliv. Poor man ! how natural to swear by what 
 one feels — but why were you in such haste to gather 
 the thorns of matrimony ? Bless us ! had you but 
 looked about you a little, what a market might have 
 been made of that fine, proper, promishig person of 
 yourss 
 
 4 
 
^ A BOLD STROKE [Act III. 
 
 Car. Confound thee, confound thee! If thou art a 
 wife, may thy husband plague thee with jealousies, 
 and thou never be able to give him cause for 
 them ; and if thou art a maid, may'st thou be an old 
 one ! [Going, r. meets Don Juno.] Oh, Julio, look 
 not that way ; there's a tongue will stun thee ! 
 
 Julio, Heaven be praised ! I love female prattle. 
 A woman's tongue can never scare me. Which of 
 these two goldfinches makes the music ? 
 
 Car. [Crosses to Victoria.] Oh, this is as silent 
 as a turtle — [Taking Victoria's hand.] — only coos 
 now and then, — Perhaps you don't hate a married 
 man, sweet one ? 
 
 Vict.Ycru guess right; I love a married man. 
 
 Car. Hah, say'st thou so ? wilt thou love me 1 
 
 Vict. Will you let me ? 
 
 Car. Let thee, my charmer ! how I'll cherish thee 
 for't. What would 1 not give for thy heart ! 
 
 Vict. I demand a price, that, perhaps, you can- 
 not give — I ask unbounded love ; but you have a wife. 
 
 Car. And, therefore, the readier to love every 
 other woman ; 'tis in your favour, child. 
 
 Vict. Will you love me ever ? 
 
 Car. Ever! yes, ever; till we find each other 
 dull company, and yawn, and talk of our neighbours 
 for amusement. 
 
 Vict. FareAvell f I suspected you to be a bad chap- 
 man, and that you would not reach my terras. 
 
 [ Going. 
 
 Car. Nay, I'll come to your terms, if I can ; — but 
 move this way; [Crosses, l.] I am fearful of that 
 woodpecker at your elbow — should she begin again, 
 hernoise will scare al) the pretty loves thatare playing 
 about my heart. Don't turn your head towards them; 
 if you like to listen to love tales, you'll meet fond 
 pairs enough in this walk. [Forcing her gently off. 
 
 Julio. I really believe, though you deny it, that 
 you are my destiny — that is, you fated me hither. 
 See, is not this your mandate? 
 
 [Tftking a letter from his pocket. 
 
Scene 11. j FOK A liURJBAAD. 39 
 
 Oliv. Oh, delightful ! the scrawl of some chamber- 
 maid : or, perhaps, of your valet, to give you an air. 
 What is it signed ? Marriatorues ? Tomasa? Sancha? 
 
 Julio. Nay, now I am convinced the letter is yours, 
 since you abuse it : so you may as well confess ? 
 
 Oliv. Suppose I should, you can't be sure that I 
 do not deceive you. 
 
 Julio. True ; but there is one point in which I 
 have made a vo%v not to be deceived ; therefore, the 
 prehminary is, that you throw off your veil. 
 
 Oliv. My veil ! 
 
 Julio. Positively ! if you reject this article, our 
 negotiation ends. 
 
 Oliv. You have no right to offer articles, unless 
 you own yourself conquered. 
 
 Julio. I own myself willing to be conquered, and 
 have, therefore, a right to make the best terms I 
 can. Do you accede to the demand ? 
 
 Oliv, Certainly not. 
 
 Julio. You had better. 
 - Oliv. I protest I w'ill not. 
 
 Julio. [Aside.] My life upon't, 1 make you. Why, 
 madam, how absurd this is ! — yet, 'tis of no conse- 
 quence, for I know your features, as well as though 
 I saw them. 
 
 Oliv. How can that be ? 
 
 Julio. I judge of what you hide, by what I see — 
 I could draw your picture. 
 
 Oliv. Charming 1 pray begin the portrait. 
 
 Julio. Imprimis, a broad high forehead, rounded 
 at the top, like an old-fashioned gateway. 
 
 Oliv. Oh, horrid ! 
 
 Julio. Little gray eyes, a sharp nose, and hair, the 
 colour of rusty prunella. 
 
 Oliv. Odious ! 
 
 Julio. Pale cheeks, thin lips, and 
 
 Oliv. Hold, hold, thou vilifier! [Throivs off her 
 veil ; he sinks on o«e Jcnee.] There I yes, kneel in con- 
 trition for your malicious libel. 
 
 Julio. Say, rather, in adoration. What a charm- 
 ing creature ! 
 
40 A BOLD STROKE [Act III^ 
 
 OUv. So, now for lies on the other side. 
 
 Julio. A forehead formed by the graces ; hair, 
 ^vhich cupid would steal for his bow-strings, were 
 lie not engaged in shooting through those sparkling 
 hazel circlets, which nature has given you for eyes ; 
 lips ! that 'twere a sin to call so ; they are fresh ga- 
 thered rose leaves, with the fragrant morning dew 
 still hanging on their rounded surface. 
 
 Oliv, Is that extemporaneous, or ready cut, for 
 every woman who takes off her veil to you ? 
 
 Julio. I believe, 'tis not extemporaneous ; for Na- 
 ture, when she finished you, formed the sentiment in 
 my heart, and there it has been hid, till you, for 
 whom it was formed, called it into words. 
 
 Oliv. Suppose I should understand, from all thi^, 
 that you have a mind to be in love with me ; would 
 not you be finely caught ? 
 
 Julio. Charmingly caught ! if you'll let me under- 
 stand, at the same time, that you have a mind to be 
 in love with me. 
 
 Oliv. In love with a man I Heavens ! I never- 
 loved any thing but a squirrel ! 
 
 Julio. Make me your squirrel — I'll put on your 
 chain, and gambol and play for ever at your side. 
 
 Oliv. But suppose you should have a mind to 
 break the chain ? 
 
 Julio. Then loosen it ; for, if once that humour 
 seizes me, restraint won't cure it. Let me spring 
 and bound at liberty, and when I return to my lovely 
 mistress, tired of all but her, fasten me again to 
 your girdle, and kiss me while you chide. 
 
 Oliv. Your servant — to encourage you to leave 
 me again? 
 
 Julio. No ; to make returning to you, the strong- 
 est attraction to my life. Why are you silent? 
 
 Oliv. I am debating, whether to be pleased or 
 displeased, at what you have said. 
 
 Julio. Well? 
 
 Oliv. You shall know when I have determined. 
 My friend and yours are approaching this way, and 
 fhey must not be interrupted. 
 
Scene Il.j FOR A HUSBAND. 41 
 
 Julio. 'Twould be barbarous — we'll retire as far 
 off as you please. 
 
 Olio. But we retire separately, sir ; that lady is a 
 woman of honour, and this moment of the greatest 
 importance to her. You may, however, conduct me 
 to the gate, on condition that you leave me instantly. 
 
 Julio. Leave her instantly — oh, then 1 know mj' 
 cue. [Exit together, n. u. e. 
 
 E}iter Carlos, l., followed by Victoria, imveiled. 
 
 Car. [Looking back on her.'] My wife ! 
 
 Vict. Oh, Heavens ! I Avillveil myself again. I 
 will hide my face for ever from you, if you will still 
 feast my ears with those soft vows, which, a moment 
 since, you poured forth so eagerly. 
 
 Car. My wife ! — making love to my own wife ! 
 
 Vict. Why should one of the dearest moments of 
 my life be to you so displeasing ? 
 
 Car. So, 1 am caught in this snare, by way of 
 agreeable surprise, I suppose. 
 
 Vict. 'Would you could think it so ! 
 
 Car. No, madam ! by Heaven, 'tis a surprise fatal 
 to every hope with which you may have flattered 
 yourself. What ! am I to be foUoAved, haunted, 
 watched ! 
 
 Vict. Not to upbraid you. I followed you because 
 my castle, without you, seemed a dreary desert. In- 
 deed, I will never upbraid you. 
 
 Car. Generous assurance ! never upbraid me — no, 
 by Heavens I I'll take care you never shall. She has 
 touched my soul, but I dare not yield to the impres- 
 sion. Her softness is worse than death to me ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Vict. 'Would I could find words to please you ! 
 
 Car. You cannot ; therefore leave me, or suffer me 
 to go, without attempting to follow me. 
 
 Vict. Is it possible you can be so barbarous ? 
 
 Car. Do not expostulate ; your first vowed duty 
 is obedience — that word so grating to your sex* 
 
 Vict. To me it was never grating ; to obey you has 
 
42 A BOLD S-TROKE [Act IIL 
 
 been lUy joy ; even now, I will not dispute your will, 
 thfiugh I feel, for the first time, obedience hateful. 
 [GoiTig, and then turning back.] Oh, Carlos ! ray 
 daar Carlos! I go, but my soul remains with you. 
 
 [Exit, L. 
 
 Car. Oh, horrible ! had I not taken this harsh mea- 
 sure, I must have killed myself; for how could I tell 
 her that I have made her a beggar ? better she should 
 hate, detest me, than that my tenderness should give 
 her a prospect of felicity, which now she can never 
 taste. Oh, wine-created spirit ! where art thou now? 
 Madness, return to me again ! for reason presents 
 me nothing but despair. 
 
 Enter J iJL,io, from the tojj, r. u. e. 
 
 Julio. Carlos, who the devil can they be ? my 
 charming little witch was inflexible. I hope yours 
 has been more communicative. 
 
 Car. Folly ! Nonsense ! 
 
 Julio. Folly! Nonsense ! What, a pretty woman's 
 smile ! — but you married fellows have neither taste 
 nor joy. 
 
 Car. Pshaw ! [Crosses, and exit, r. 
 
 Julio. Pshaw ! that's a husband! Humph^ — suppose 
 my fair one should want to debase me into such an 
 animal ; slie can't have so much villany in her dis- 
 position : and yet, if she should ? pho ! it won't bear 
 thinking about. If I do so mad a thing, it must be 
 as cowards fight, without daring to reflect on the 
 danger. [Exit, r. 
 
 SCENE III. — An Apartment inthehoust o/Don 
 Vasquez, MARCELiiA's Father. 
 
 Enter Don C^sar and Don Vasquezj^l. '■ 
 
 Casar. Well, Don Vasquez, and a you 
 
 then I say, you have a mind that 1 should marry 
 your daughter ? 
 
 Vasq. It is sufficient, signor, that you have signi- 
 fied to us your intention — my daughter shall prove 
 iw?r gratitirde, in h^r attention to your felicity. 
 
Scene III.j FOR A HUSBAND. 43 
 
 Coesar. Egad, now it comes to the push ! [_Asidt,'] 
 hem, hem ! — but just nineteen, you say ? 
 
 Vasq. Exactly, the eleventh of last month. 
 
 Ccesar. Pity it was not twenty. 
 
 Vasq. Why, a year can make no difference, I 
 should think. 
 
 Ccesar. O, yes it does ; a year's a great deal; they 
 are so skittish at nineteen. 
 
 Vasq. Those who are skittish at nineteen, I fear, 
 you won't find much mended at twenty. Marcella 
 is very grave, and a pretty little, plump, fair 
 
 Ccesar. Ay, fair again ! pity she isn't brown, or 
 olive — I like your olives. 
 
 Vasq. Brown and olive ! you are very whimsical, 
 my old friend ! 
 
 Ccesar. Why, these fair girls are so stared at by 
 the men; and the young fellows, now-a-days, have 
 a damned impudent stare with them — 'tis very 
 abashing to a woman — very distressing ! 
 
 Vasq. Yes, so it is ; but happily their distress is 
 of that nature, that it generally goes off in a simper. 
 But come, I'll send Marcella to you, and she will — 
 
 [Crosses, r. 
 
 Ccesar. No, no ; stay, my good friend. [Gasying.] 
 You are in a violent hurry I 
 
 Vasq. Why, truly, signer, at our time of life, when 
 we determine to marry, we have no time to lose. 
 
 Ccesar. Why, that's very true, and so — oh ! St. 
 Antony, now it comes to the point — but there can 
 be no harm in looking at her — a look won't bind us 
 for better for worse. [Aside.] Well, then, if you have 
 a mind, I say, you may let me see her. 
 
 [JEa:i7 Vasquez, r. 
 [Ccesar puts on his spectacles.] Ay, here she comes 
 — 1 hear her— trip, trip, trip ! I don't like that step. 
 A woman should always tread steadily, with digni- 
 ty, it awes the men. 
 
 Enter Vasquez, leading Marcella, r. 
 Vasq. There, Marcella, behold your future hus- 
 
44 A BOLD STROKE [Act III. 
 
 band ; aud remember, that your kindness to him 
 will be the standard of your duty to me. [Exit, r. 
 
 Mar. Oh, Heavens I [Aside. 
 
 Caesar. Somehow, I am afraid to look round. 
 
 Mar. Surely he does not know that I am here ! 
 
 [Coughs gently. 
 
 Cresar. So, she knows how to give an item, I find. 
 
 Mar. Pray, signor, have you any commands for 
 me? 
 
 Casar. Hum ! — not nonpluss'd at all ! [Looks 
 around.] Oh! that eye, I don't like that eye. 
 
 Mar. My father commanded me 
 
 Caesar. Yes, I know — 1 know. [To her.'] Why, 
 now I look again, there is a sort of a modest — Oh, 
 that smile ; that smile will never do. [Aside. 
 
 Mar. I understand, signor, that you have demand- 
 ed my hand in marriage. 
 
 Caesar. Upon my word, plump to the point ! [Aside. 
 Yes, I did a sort of — I can't say but that I did 
 
 Mar. I am not insensible of the honour you do 
 me, sir, but — but 
 
 Caesar. But ! — What, don't you like the thoughts 
 of the match? 
 
 Mar. Oh, yes, sir, yes — exceedingly. I dare 
 not say no. [Aside. 
 
 Caesar. Oh, you do — exceedingly ! What, 1 sup- 
 pose, child, your head is full of jewels, and finery, 
 and equipage ? [ With ill humour. 
 
 Mar. No, indeed, sir. 
 
 Caesar. No, what then ? what sort of a life do 
 you expect to lead, when you are my wife ? what 
 pleasures d'ye look forward to? 
 
 Mar. None. 
 
 Caesar. Hey ! 
 
 Mar. I shall obey my father, sir; I shall marry 
 you ; but 1 shall be most wretched ! [Weeps. 
 
 Caesar. Indeed ! 
 
 Mar There is not a fate I would not prefer ; — ^but 
 pardon me ! 
 
 Cmar, Goon, go on. I never w?is better pleased. 
 
Scieue 111.] FOR A HUSBAND. 45 
 
 Alar. Pleased at my reluctance I 
 
 Casar. Never, never better pleased in my life ; — 
 so you had really, now, you young baggage, rather 
 have me for a grandfather, than a husband ? 
 Mar. Forgive my frankness, sir — a thousand times I 
 
 Ctesar. My dear girl, let me kiss your hand. — 
 Egad ! you've let me off charmingly. I was fright- 
 ened out of my wits, lest you should have taken as 
 violent an inclination to the match, as your father 
 has. 
 
 Mar. Dear sir, you charm mc. 
 
 Casar. But harkye ! — you'll certainly incur your 
 farther's anger, if I don't take the refusal entirely 
 on myself, which I will do, if you'll only assist me 
 in a little business I have in hand. 
 
 Mar. Any thing to show my gratitude. 
 
 Casar. You must know, I can't get my daughter 
 to marry- there's nothing on earth will drive her to 
 it, but the dread of a mother-in-law. Now, if you 
 will let it appear to her, that you and I are driving 
 to the goal of matrimony, I believe it will do — what 
 say you ? shall we be lovers in play ? 
 
 Mar. If you are sure it will be only in play. 
 
 Casar. Oh, my life upon't — but we must be very 
 fond, you know. 
 
 Mar. To be sure — exceedingly tender ; ha ! ha ! 
 ha! 
 
 Ceesar.. You must smile upon me, now andftheu, 
 roguishly ; and slide your hand into mine, when you 
 are sure she sees you, and let me pat your cheek, 
 and 
 
 Mar. Oh, no farther, pray; that will be quite 
 sufficient. 
 
 Ccesar. Gad, I begin to take a fancy to your 
 rogue's face, now I'm in no danger ; mayn't we — 
 mayn't we salute sometimes, it will seem infinitely 
 more natural. 
 
 Mar. Never! such an attempt would make mc 
 fly oflf at once. 
 
 Ceesar. VVell, you must be lady governess in Xhm 
 
46 A BOLD STROKE [Act IV. 
 
 business. I'll go home now, and fret madam, about 
 her young mother-in-law — by'e, sweeting ! 
 
 Mar. By'e, charmer! 
 
 Casar. Oh, bless its pretty eyes ! [Exit^ l. 
 
 Mar. Bless its pretty spectacles ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 enter into a league with a cross old father against a 
 daughter! why, how could he suspect me capable 
 of so much treachery ? 1 could not answer it to my 
 conscience. No, no, I'll acquaint Donna Olivia 
 with the plot : and, as in duty bound, we'll turn our 
 arms against Don Caesar. [Exit, r. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE I.— Donna Laura's. 
 
 Enter Donna Laura and Pedro, r. 
 
 Laura. Well, Pedro, hast thou seen Don Fiorio ] 
 
 Ped. Yes, Donna. 
 
 Laura. How did he look when he read my letter ? 
 
 Ped. Mortal well ; I never see'd him look better 
 — he'd got a new cloak, and a 
 
 Laura. Pho, blockhead ! did he look pleased ? did 
 he kiss my name ? did he press the billet to his bo- 
 som with all the warmth of love ? 
 
 Ped. No, he didn't warm in that way ; but he did 
 another, for he put it into the fire. 
 
 Laura. How! 
 
 Ped. Yes, when I spoke, he started, for, I think, 
 he had forgot that I Avas by — So, says he, go home 
 and tell Donna Laura, I fly to her presence. 
 
 {She waves her hand for him to go. 
 
 Laura. Is it possible ? so contemptuously to de- 
 stroy the letter, in which my whole heart overflowed 
 with tenderness ! Oh, how idly I talk ! he is here : 
 his very voice pierces my heart ! I dare not meet 
 his eye, thus discomposed ! \Exit, b. 
 
Scene I.] FOR A Hl'SBAND. 47 
 
 Enter Victoria, l., in men^s clothes, 'preceded by 
 Sancha. 
 
 San, I will inform my n^istress that you are here, 
 Don Florio ; I thought she had been in this apart- 
 ment. [ .^."xiV, L. 
 
 Vict. Now must I, with a mind torn by anxie- 
 ties, once more assume the lover of my husband's 
 mistress — of the woman, who has robbed me of his 
 heart, and his children of their fortune. Sure, my 
 task is hard. Oh, love I Oh, married love, assist 
 me ! If I can, by any art, obtain from her that fatal 
 deed, I shall save my little ones from ruin, and then 
 — But I hear her step. {Agitated, pressing her hand 
 on her &050//1.] — There ! I have hid my griefs with- 
 in my heart, and, now for all the impudence of an 
 accomplished cavalier! [Sings an air, sets her hat 
 in the gloss, dances a feio steps, ^'c. then runs to 
 Laura, r., and seizes her hand.] My lovely Laura! 
 
 Laura. That look speaks Laura loved, as well 
 as lovely. 
 
 Vict. To be sure! Petrarch immortalized his 
 Laura by his verses, and mine shall be immortal in 
 my passion. 
 
 jMura. Oh, Florio, how deceitful ! I know not 
 what enchantment binds me to thee. 
 
 Vict. Me I my dear ! is all this to me ? 
 
 [Playing carelessly ivith the feather in her hat. 
 
 Laura. Yes, ingrate, thee ! 
 
 Vict. Positively, Laura, you have these extrava- 
 gancies so often, I wonder my passion can stand 
 them. To be plain, those violences in your temper 
 may make a pretty relief in the flat of matrimony, 
 child, but they do not suit that state of freedom 
 which is necessary to my happiness. It was by 
 such destructive arts as these you cured Don Carlos 
 of his love. 
 
 Laura. Cured Don Carlos! Oh, Florio! wert 
 thou but as he is ? 
 
 Vict. Why, you don't pretend he loves you still ? 
 
 [Eagerly. 
 
48 A BOLD STROKE [Act IV. 
 
 Laura. Yes, most ardently and truly. 
 
 Vict. Hah ! 
 
 Laura. If thou wouldst persuade me that thy pas- 
 sion is real, borrow his words, his looks : be a hypo- 
 crite one dear moment, and speak to me in all the 
 frenzy of that love which warms the heart of 
 Carlos ! 
 
 Vict. The heart of Carlos ! 
 
 Laura. Hah, that seemed a jealous pang — it gives 
 my hopes new life. [Aside.] Yes, Florio, he, indeed, 
 knows what it is to love. For me he forsook a 
 beauteous wife ; nay, and with me he would forsake 
 his country. 
 
 Vict. Villain ! Villain ! 
 
 Laura. Nay, let not the thought distress you thus 
 — Carlos I despise — he is the weakest of mankind. 
 
 Vict. 'Tis false, madam, you cannot despise him. 
 Carlos the weakest of mankind ! Heavens I what 
 woman could resist him ? Persuasion sits on his 
 tongue, and love, almighty love, triumphant in his 
 eyes ! 
 
 Laura. This is strange ; you speak of your rival 
 with the admiration of a mistress. 
 
 Vict. Laura ! it is the fate of jealousy as well as 
 love, to see the charms of its object, increased and 
 heightened. I am jealous — jealous to distraction, 
 of Don Carlos ; and cannot taste peace, unless you'll 
 swear never to see him more. 
 
 Laura. I swear, joyfully swear, never to behold 
 or speak to him again. When, dear youth, shall 
 we retire to Portugal ? — We are not safe here. 
 
 Vict. You know I am not rich. — You must first 
 sell the lands my rival gave you. 
 
 [Observing her ivith apprehension. 
 
 Laura. 'Tis done — I have found a purchaser, and 
 to-morrow the transfer will be finished. 
 
 Vict. [Aside.] Ah! I have now, then, nothing to 
 trust to but the ingenuity of Gasper. There is rea- 
 son to fear Don Carlos had no right in that estate, 
 with which you supposed yourself endowed. 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. 49 
 
 Laura. No right! what could have given you 
 those suspicions ? 
 
 Vict. A conversation with Juan, his steward, who 
 assures me his master never had an estate in Leon. 
 
 Laura. Never ! what, not by marriage ? 
 
 Vict. Juan says so. 
 
 Laura. My blood runs cold ; can I have taken 
 pains to deceive myself? — Could I think so, I 
 should be mad ! 
 
 Vict- These doubts may soon be annihilated, or 
 confirmed to certainty. — I have seen Don Sancho, 
 the uncle of Victoria; he is now in Madrid. — You 
 have told me that he once professed a passion for 
 you. 
 
 Laura. Oh, to excess ; but at that time I had an- 
 other object. 
 
 Vict. Have you conversed with him much? 
 
 Laura. I never saw him nearer than from my 
 balcony, where he used to ogle rae through a glass, 
 suspended by a ribbon, like an order of knighthood ; 
 he is weak enough to fancy it gives him an air of dis- 
 tinction — Ha ! lia ! But where can I find him ? I 
 must see him. 
 
 Vict. Write him a billet, and I will send it to his 
 lodgings. 
 
 Laura. Instantly — Dear Florio, a new prospect 
 opens to rae — Don Sancho is rich and generous ; 
 and, by playing on his passions, his fortune may be 
 a constant fund to us. — I'll dip my pen in flattery. 
 
 [Exit, R. 
 
 Vict. Base woman ! how can I pity thee, or re- 
 gret the steps which my duty obliges me to take ? 
 For myself, I would not swerve from the nicest 
 line of rectitude, nor wear the shadow of deceit. 
 But, for my children ! — Is there a parental heart 
 that will not pardon me ? [Exit^ r. 
 
 SCENE II— Don Cesar's. 
 Enttr Olivia and Minette, r. 
 OViv. Well, here we are in private — what is this 
 
50 A BOLD STROKE [Act IV. 
 
 charming intelligence of which thou art so full this 
 morning ? 
 
 Min. Why, ma'am, as I Avas in the balcony that 
 overlooks Don Vasquez's garden, Donna Marcella 
 told me, that Don Caesar had last night been to pay 
 her a visit previous to their marriage, and — 
 
 Oliv. Their marriage ! How can you give me the 
 intelligence with such a look of joy ? Their mar- 
 riage ! — what will become of me ? 
 
 Min. Dear ma'am ! if you'll but have patience. — 
 She says that, Don Csesar and she are perfectly 
 agreed — 
 
 Oliv. Still with that smirking face ? — I can't have 
 patience. 
 
 Min. Then, madam, if you won't let me tell the 
 
 story, please to read it Here's a letter from 
 
 Donna Marcella. 
 
 Oliv. Why did you not give it me at first ? 
 
 [Reads. 
 
 Min. Because I did'nt like to be cut out of my 
 story. If orators were obliged to come to the point 
 at once, mercy on us! what tropes and figures 
 we should lose ! 
 
 Oliv. Oh, Minette ! I give you leave to smirk 
 again — listen. [Reads.] I am more terrified at the 
 idea of becoming your father' s wife, thaii you are in 
 expectation of a stepmother ; and Don Caesar would 
 be as loath as either of us. — He only means to fright^ 
 en you into matrimony, and J have, on certain condi- 
 tions, agreed to assist him ; but, tvhatever you may 
 hear, or see, be assured that nothing is so impossible, 
 as that he should become the husband of Donna 
 Marcella. — Oh, delightful girl ! how I love her for 
 this ! 
 
 Min. Yes, ma'am ; and if you'd had patience, 1 
 should have told you that she's now here with Don 
 Csesar, in grave debate how to begin the attack ; 
 which must force you to take shelter in the arms of 
 a husband. 
 
 Oliv. Ah, no matter how they begin it. Let 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. ol 
 
 them amuse themselves in raising batteries ; my re- 
 served fire shall tumble them about their ears, in 
 the moment my poor father is singing his lo's for 
 victory. — But here come the lovers — Well, I pro- 
 test now, sixteen and sixty is a very comely sight. 
 — 'Tis contrast gives effect to every thing. — Lud ! 
 how my father ogles ! I had no idea he was such a 
 sort of man. I am really afraid he isn't quite so 
 good as he should be ! 
 
 Enter Don C^sar, leading Marcella, l. 
 
 Casar. H — um ! Madam looks very placid ; we 
 shall discompose her, or I am mistaken. [^/?ar/.] So, 
 Olivia, here's Donna Marcella come to visit you — 
 though, as matters are, that respect is due from you. 
 
 Oliv. I an sensible of the condescension. My dear 
 ma'am , how very good this is I [Taking her hand. 
 
 Casar. Yes, you'll think yourself wonderfully 
 obliged, when you know all ! [Aside.'] Pray, Donna 
 Marcella, what do you think of these apartments ? 
 — The furniture and decorations are my daughter's 
 taste ; would you wish then to remain, or will you 
 give orders to have them changed ? 
 
 Mar. Changed, undoubtedly ; T can have nobo- 
 dy's taste govern my apartments but my own. 
 
 Casar. Ah that touches ! — See how she looks ! — 
 [A'part.'] They shall receive your orders. — You un- 
 derstand, 1 suppose, from this, that every thing is 
 fixed on between Donna Marcella and me ? 
 
 Oliv. Yes, sir ; I understand it perfectly ; and it 
 gives me infinite pleasure. 
 
 Casar. Eh ! pleasure ? 
 
 Oliv. Entirely, sir 
 
 Caesar. Tol-de-rol ! Ah, that wont do — that wont 
 do ! You can't hide it. — You are frightened out of 
 your wits at the thoughts of a mother-in-law ; espe- 
 cially a young, gay, handsome one. 
 
 Oliv. Pardon me, sir ; the thought of a mother- 
 in-law was indeed disagreeable ; but her being 
 young and gay quahfies it. 1 hope, ma'am, 
 
52 A BOLD STROKE [Act IV. 
 
 you'll give iis balls, and the most spirited parties. 
 [Crosses, c] You can't think how stupid we have 
 been. My dear father hates those things; but I 
 hope now — 
 
 Cfesar. Hey ! hey ! hey ! what's the meaning of 
 all this ? Why, hussy, don't you know you'll have 
 no apartment but the garret ? 
 
 Oliv. That will benefit my complexion, sir, by 
 mending my health. 'Tis charming to sleep in an 
 elevated situation. 
 
 Caesar. Here ! here's an obstinate perverse slut ! 
 
 Oliv. Bless me, sir, are you angry that I look 
 forward to your marriage without murmuring ? 
 
 Casar. Yes, I am — yes, I am ; you ought to mur- 
 mur ; and you ought to — to — to 
 
 Olivy Dear me ! I find love, taken up late in life, 
 has a bad effect on the temper. — I wish, my dear 
 papa, you had felt the influence of Donna Marcella's 
 charms somewhat sooner. 
 
 Caesar. You do ! you do ! why this must be all 
 put on. — This can't be real. 
 
 Oliv. Indeed, indeed it is ; and I protest, your en- 
 gagement with this lady has given me more plea- 
 sure than I have tasted ever since you began to tease 
 me about a husband. You seem determined to 
 have a marriage in the family ; and I hope, now, 1 
 shall live in quiet, with my dear, sweet, young mo- 
 ther-in-law. 
 
 Caesar. Oh,! oh! [Walking about.] Was there 
 ever — [Crosses, c] She doesn't care for a mother- 
 in-law ! — Can't frighten her ! 
 
 Oliv. Sure, my fate is very peculiar ; that being 
 pleased with your choice, and submitting, with 
 humble duty, to your will, should be the cause of 
 offence. 
 
 Caesar. Hussy ! I don't want you to be pleased 
 with my choice — I don't want you to submit with 
 humble duty to my will. — Where I do want you to 
 
 submit, you rebel : you are a — you are-^ But I'll 
 
 mortify that wayward spirit, yet. 
 
 [Exit Don Caesar and Marcella, r. 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND 53 
 
 Min. Well, really, my master is m a piteous 
 passioa ; he seems more angry at your liking 
 his marriage, than at your refusing to be mar- 
 
 i:ied yourself. Wouldn't it have been better, 
 
 madam, to have affected discontent! 
 
 Oliv. To what purpose, but to lay myself open to 
 fresh solicitations, in order to get rid of the evil I 
 pretended to dread ? Bless us ! nothing can be more 
 easy than for my father to be gratified, if he were 
 but lucky in the choice of a lover. 
 
 Min. As much as to say, madam, that there is — 
 
 Oliv. Why, yes, as much as to say — I see you are 
 resolved to have my secret, Minette, and so — 
 
 Enttr Servant, l. 
 
 Serv. There is a gentleman at the door, madam, 
 called Don Julio de Melessina. He waits on you 
 from Don Vincentio. 
 
 Oliv. Who ? Don Julio! it cannot be — art thou 
 sure of his name ? 
 
 Serv. The servant repeated it twice. He is in a 
 fine carriage, and seems to be a nobleman. 
 
 Oliv. Conduct him hither. [Exit Servant, l.] I 
 am astonished ! I cannot see him ! I would net have 
 him know the incognita to be Olivia, for worlds ! — 
 There is but one way. [Aside.'] Minette, ask no ques- 
 tions; but do as I order you. — Receive Don Julio in 
 my name ; call yourself the heiress of Don Caesar; 
 and on no account suffer him to believe that you are 
 any thing else. [Exit, r. 
 
 Min. So, then, this is some new lover she is de- 
 termined to disgust ; and fancies, that making me 
 pass for her will complete it. Perhaps her ladyship 
 may be mistaken though. — [Looking through the 
 wing.'\ — Upon my word a sweet man ! Oh, lud ! my 
 heart beats at the very idea of his making love to me, 
 even though he takes me for another ! Stay ! I 
 think he shan't find me here. Standing in the middle 
 of a room gives one's appearance no effect. I'll 
 enter upon him with an easy swim, or an engaging 
 
54 A BOLD STROKE [Act IV. 
 
 trip, or a — something that shall strike — the first 
 glance is every thing. [Exit, r. 
 
 Enter Don Julio, Ij., preceded by a Servant, who 
 retires, r. 
 Julio. Not here ! The ridiculous dispute between 
 Garcia and Vincentio gives me irresistible curiosity^; 
 though, if she is the character Garcia describes, l 
 expect to be cuffed for my impertinence. — Here she 
 comes I — A pretty, smiling girl, 'faith, for a vixen ! 
 
 Enter Minette, r., very affectedly. 
 
 Min. Sir, your most obedient humble servant.— 
 You are Don Julio de Melessina. I am extremely 
 glad to see you, sir. 
 
 Julio. [Aside.'] A very courteous reception ! — You 
 honour me infinitely, madam. I must apologize for 
 waiting on you without a better introduction. Don 
 Vincentio promised to attend me ; but a concert call- 
 ed him to another part of the town, at the moment 
 1 prepared to come hither. 
 
 Min. A concert — Yes, sir, he is very fond of music. 
 
 Julio. He is, madam : — You, I suppose, have a 
 passion for that charming science ? 
 
 Min. Oh, yes, I love it mightily. 
 
 Julio. [Aside.] This is lucky ! I think I have heard, 
 Donna Olivia, that your taste that way is peculiar ; 
 
 you are fond of a 'faith, I can hardly speak it, 
 
 [Aside.] — of a Jew's-harp. [Smothering a laugh. 
 
 Min. A Jew's-harp I Mercy ! What, do you think 
 a person of my birth and figure, can have such fan- 
 cies as that ? No, sir, I love fiddles, French horns 
 
 tabors, and all the cheerful, noisy instruments in the 
 world. 
 
 Julio. [Aside.] Vincentio must have been mad ; 
 and I as mad as he, to mention it. Then you are 
 fond of concerts, madam ? 
 
 Min. Dote on them ! I wish he'd offer me a ticket. 
 
 [Aside* 
 
 Julio. [Aside.] Vincentio is clearly wrong. — Now 
 to prove how far the other was right, in supposing 
 her a vixen. 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. 5.^ 
 
 Min. There is a grand public concert, sir, to be 
 to-morrow. Pray, do you go ? 
 
 Julio. 1 believe I shall have that pleasure, madam. 
 
 Min. My father, Don Caesar, won't let me pur- 
 chase a ticket : 1 think it's very hard. 
 
 Julio. Pardon me — I think it's perfectly right. 
 
 Min. Right ! what, to refuse me a trifling expense, 
 that would procure me a great pleasure ? 
 
 Julio. Yes, doubtless — the ladies are too fond of 
 pleasure : I think Don Csesar is exemplary. 
 
 Min. Lord, sir ! you'd think it very hard, if you 
 were me, to be locked up all your life ; and know 
 nothing of the world hut what you could catch 
 through the bars of your balcony. 
 
 Julio. Perhaps I might ; but, as a man, I am con- 
 vinced 'tis right. Daughters and wives should be 
 equally excluded those destructive haunts of dissi- 
 pation. Let them keep to their embroidery, nor 
 ever presume to show their faces but at their own 
 
 firesides. This will bring out the Xantippe, 
 
 surely ! [Aside. 
 
 Min. Well, sir, I don't know — to be sure, home, 
 as you say, is the fittest place for women. For my 
 part, I could live for ever at home. I am determined 
 he shall have his way ; who knows what may hap- 
 pen ? [Aside. 
 
 Julio. [Aside.] By all the powers of caprice, Gar- 
 cia is as wrong as the other ! 
 
 Min. I delight in nothing so much as in sitting by 
 my father, and hearing his tales of old times ; and I 
 fancy, when 1 have a husband, I shall be more happy 
 to sit and listen to his stories of present times. 
 
 Julio. Perhaps your husband, fair lady, might not 
 be inclined so to amuse you. Men have a thousand 
 delights that call them abi oad ; and probably your 
 chief amusements would be counting the hours of 
 his absence, and giving a tear to each as it passed. 
 
 Min. Well, he should never see them, however. 
 I would always smile when he entered; and if he 
 found my eyes red, I'd say, I had been weeping over 
 
56 A BOLD STROKE [Act IV. 
 
 the history of the unfortunate damsel, whose true 
 love hung himself at sea, and appeared to her after 
 wards in a wet jacket. — Sure, this will do ! [Aside. 
 
 Julio. I am every moment more astonished. Pray, 
 madam, permit me a question. Are you, really — yet 
 I cannot doubt it— are you, really. Donna Olivia, 
 the daughter of Don Caesar, to whom Don Garcia 
 and Don Vincentio had lately the honour of paying 
 their addresses ? 
 
 Min, Am I Donna Olivia ! ha ! ha ! ha ! what a 
 question ! Pray, sir, is this my father's house ? — Are 
 you Don Julio ? 
 
 Julio. I beg your pardon ; but, to confess, I had 
 heard you described as a lady who had not quite so 
 much sweetness, and 
 
 J\Iin. Oh ! what, you had heard that I was a ter- 
 magant, I suppose. — 'Tis all slander, sir : there is not 
 in Madrid, though I say it, a sweeter temper than my 
 own ; and though I have refused a good many lovers, 
 yet, if one was to oifer himself that I could like — 
 
 Julio. You would take pity, and reward his pas- 
 sion. 
 
 Min. I would. 
 
 Julio. Lovely Donna Olivia, how charming is this 
 frankness ! — 'Tis a little odd, though ! [Aside, 
 
 Min. Why, I believe I should take pity : for it al- 
 ways seemed to me to be very hard-hearted, to be 
 cruel to a lover that one likes, because, in that case, 
 one should — a — you know, sir, the sooner the affair 
 is over, the better for both parties. 
 
 Julio. What the deuce does she mean ? — Is this 
 Garcia's sour fruit ? 
 
 Casar. [JVithout. r.] Olivia! Olivia! 
 
 Min. Bless me, I hear my father ! Now, sir, I 
 have a particular fancy that you should not tell him, 
 in this first visit, your design. 
 
 Julio. Madam, my design! 
 
 Min. Yes, that you will not speak out, till we have 
 had a little further conversation, which I'll take care 
 to give you an opportunity for very soon. He'll be 
 
Scene I.] FOR A HUSBAND. 57 
 
 here in a moment : now, pray, Don Julio, go. If he 
 should meet you, and ask who you are, you can say, 
 that you are — you may say, that you came on a visit 
 to my maid, you know. [Exit, r. 
 
 Julio, I thank you, madam, [Aloud.] for my dis- 
 mission. [Aside.'} I never was in such a peril in my 
 life. I believe she has a license in her pocket, a priest 
 in her closet, and the ceremony by heart. [Exit, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Don Carlos's. Don Carlos disco- 
 vered writing. 
 
 Car. [Tearing paper, and rising.] It is in vain\' — 
 Language cannot furnish me with terms, to soften to 
 Victoria the horrid transaction. Could she see the 
 compunctions of my soul, her gentle heart would 
 pity me. But what then ? — She's ruined ! my chil- 
 dren are undone ! Oh ! the artifices of one base wo- 
 man, and my villany to another most amiable one, 
 have made me unfit to live. I am a wretch, who 
 ought to be blotted from society. 
 
 Enter Pedro, hastily, l. 
 
 Fed. Sir — sir! 
 
 Car. Well ! 
 
 Ped. Sir, I have just met Don Florio; he asked 
 if my mistress was at home ; so I guesses he is going 
 to our house, and so I run to let you know — for I 
 loves to keep my promises, though I am deadly 
 afraid of some mischief. 
 
 Car. You have done well. — Go home, and wait 
 for me at the door, and admit me without noise. 
 [Exit Pedro, l.] At least, then, I shall have the 
 pleasure of revenge ; I'll punish that harlot, by sa- 
 crificing her paramour in her arms ; and then — Oh ! 
 
 [Eit, L. 
 
58 A BOLD STROKE [Act V. 
 
 SCENE II.— Donna Laura's. 
 
 JEnfcr Laura, l., with precipitation, followed by Vic- 
 toria. 
 
 Laura. 'Tis his carriage ! — How successful was my 
 letter ! This, my Florio, is a most important moment. 
 
 Vict. It is, indeed ; and I will leave you to make 
 every advantage of it. iCrosses, r.] If I am present, 
 I must witness condescensions from you, that I shall 
 not be able to bear, though I know them to be but 
 affected. — Now, Gasper, [Aside.] play thy part well, 
 and save Victoria ! [Exit, r. 
 
 Enter Gasper, l. dressed as an old Beau ; two Ser- 
 vants /o//om> him, and take off a rich cloak. 
 
 Gasp. Take my cloak ; and, d'ye hear, Ricardo, 
 go home and bring the eider-down cushions for the 
 coach, and tell the fellow not to hurry me post 
 through the streets of Madrid. [Exeunt Ser- 
 vants, L.] I have been jolted from side to side, like 
 a pippin in a mill stream. Drive a man of my rank, 
 as he would a city vintner and his fat wife, going to 
 a bull fight ! Ha, there she is ! [Looking through a 
 glass, suspended by a red ribbon.] — there she is ! 
 Charming Donna Laura ! let me thus at the shrine 
 of your beauty — [Makes an effort to kneel, and falls 
 on his face ; Laura assists him to rise.] Fie, fie, 
 those new shoes ! — they have made me skate all day, 
 like a Dutchman on a canal ; and now — Well, you 
 see how profound my adoration is, madam. Com- 
 mon lovers kneel ; I was prostrate. 
 
 Laura. You do me infinite honour.— ——Disgustful 
 wretch ! — You are thinner than you were, Don San- 
 cho : I protest, now I observe you, you are much al- 
 tered ! 
 
 Gasp. Ay, madam— fretting. Your absence threw 
 me into a fever, and that destroyed my bloom : — You 
 see, I look almost a middle-aged man, now. 
 
 Laura. No, really ; far from it, I assure you. 
 
 The fop is as wrinkled as a baboon ! [Aside, 
 
Sceue 11,^ FOR A HUSBAND. 59 
 
 Jasp. Then jealousy — that gave me ajaundice. — 
 ivly niece's husband, I hear, Don Carlos, has been my 
 happy rival. Oh, my blade will hardly keep in its 
 scabbard, when I think of him. 
 
 Laura. Think no more of him — he has been long 
 banished my thoughts, be assured. I wonder you 
 gave your niece tohira, with such a fortune. 
 
 Gasp. Gave I she gave herself; and, as to fortune, 
 she had not a pistole from me. 
 
 Laura. 'Twas, indeed, unnecessary, with so fine 
 an estate as she had in Leon. 
 
 Gasp. My niece an estate in Leon ! Not enough 
 to give shelter to a field-mouse ; and if he has told 
 you so, he is a braggart. 
 
 Laura, Told me so — I have the writings ; he has 
 made over the lands to me. 
 
 Gasp. Made over the lands to you ! — Oh, a decei- 
 ver ! I begin to suspect a plot. Pray, let me see 
 this extraordinary deed. [She runs to a Cabinet, n. 
 F.] A plot, I'll be sworn ! 
 
 Laura. Here is the deed which made that estate 
 mine for ever. No, sir, I will intrust it in no hand 
 but my own. Yet look over me, and read the de- 
 scription of the lands. 
 
 Gasp. [Reading through his glass.] H — m — m — . 
 In the vicinage ofRosalvo, bounded on the west by the 
 
 river h — m — w, on the east by the forest Oil, 
 
 an artful dog ! I need read no further; I see how the 
 thing is. 
 
 Laura. How, sir ! — but hold Stay a moment — 
 
 I am breathless with fear. 
 
 Gasp. Nay, madam, don't be afraid ! 'Tis my es- 
 tate — that's all ; the very castle where 1 was born ; 
 and which I never did, nor ever will, bestow on any 
 Don in the two Castiles. Dissembling rogue ! Bribe 
 you with a fictitious title to my estate — ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Laura. [Aside.] Curses follow him ! The villain 
 I employed must have been his creature ; his reluct- 
 ance all art; and, whilst I believed myself undoing 
 him, was duped myself! 
 
 Gasp. Could you suppose I'd give Carlos such an 
 
60 A BOLD STROKE [Act V. 
 
 estate for running away with my niece ? No, J , 
 
 the vineyards, and the cornfields, and the woods* " 
 Rosalvo, are not for him. — I've somebody else in ray 
 eye — in my eye, observe me — to give those to : — 
 Can't you guess who it is? 
 
 Laura, No, indeed ! — He gives me a glimmering 
 that saves me from despair ! [Aside, 
 
 Gasp. I won't tell you, unless you'll bribe me — 1 
 won't indeed. [Kisses her cheek.] There, now I'll tell 
 you — they are all for you. Yes, this estate, to which 
 you have taken such a fancy, shall be yours. — 1^11 
 give you the deeds, if you'll promise to love me, 
 you little, cruel thing ! 
 
 Laura. Can you be serious ? 
 
 Gasp. I'll sign and seal to-morrow. 
 
 Laura. Noble Don Sancho ! Thus, then, I annihi- 
 late the proof of his perfidy, and my weakness. — 
 Thus I tear to atoms his detested name; and as 1 
 tread on these, so would I on his heart. 
 
 Enter Victoria, r. 
 
 Vict. My children then are saved ! [In transport. 
 
 Laura. [Apart.] Oh, Florio, 'tis as thou saidst — 
 Carlos was a villain, and deceived me. — Why this 
 strange air ? Ah, I see the cause — you think me 
 ruined, and will abandon me. Yes, I see it in thy 
 averted face ; thou dar'st not meet my eyes. If I 
 misjudge thee, speak ! 
 
 Vict. Laura, I cannot speak. — You little guess the 
 emotions of heart. — Heaven knows, I pity you ! 
 
 Laura. Pitj^! Oh, villain ! and has thy love already 
 snatched the form of pity ? Base, deceitful 
 
 Car. [Without.] Stand off; loose your weak hold; 
 I'm come for vengance ! 
 
 Enter Carlos, l. 
 Where is this youth ? Where is the blooming rival, 
 for whom I have been betrayed ? Hold me not, base 
 woman ! In vain the stripling flies me ; for, by Hea- 
 ven, my sword shall in his bosom write its master's 
 wrongs ! 
 
Scene II.] FOR A HUSBAND. Gl 
 
 [V icTORi A Jlrst goes towards the Flat, then returns^ 
 takes off her hat, and drops on one knee, 
 
 Vict. Strike, strike it here ! Plunge it deep into 
 that bosom, already wounded by a thousand stabs, 
 keener and more painful than your sword can give. 
 Here lives all the gnawing anguish of love betrayed ; 
 here live the pangs of disappointed hopes, hopes 
 sanctified by holiest vows, which have been written 
 
 in the book of Heaven. Hah ! he sinks. — ISheJlies 
 
 tohim.] — Oh ! my Carlos! beloved ! my husband ! 
 forgive my too severe reproaches ; thou art dear, yet 
 dear as ever, to Victoria's heart! 
 
 Car. [Recovering.] Oh, you know not what you 
 do — you know not what you are. Oh, Victoria, thou 
 art a beggar ! 
 
 Vict. No, we are rich, we are happy ! See there, 
 the fragments of that fatal deed, which, had I not re- 
 covered, we had been indeed undone ; yet still not 
 wretched, could my Carlos think so! 
 
 Car. The fragments of the deed ! the deed which 
 that base woman 
 
 Vict. Speak not so harshly To you, madam, 
 
 I fear, I seem reprehensible ; yet, when you consider 
 my duties as a wife and mother, you will forgive me. 
 Be not afraid of poverty — a woman has deceived, 
 but she will not desert you ! 
 
 Laura. Is this real? Can I be awake ? 
 
 Vict. Oh, may'st thou indeed awake to virtue !— 
 You have talents that might grace the highest of our 
 sex; be no longer unjust to such precious gifts, by 
 burying them in dishonour. — Virtue is our first, most 
 awful duty ; bow, Laura I bow before her thorne, and 
 mourn in ceaseless tears, that ever you forgot her 
 heavenly precepts ! 
 
 Laura. So, by a smooth speech about virtue, you 
 think to cover the injuries I sustain. Vile, insinu- 
 ating monster !— but thou knowest me not.— Re- 
 venge is sweeter to my heart than love ; and if there 
 6 
 
m A BOLD STROKE [Act V. 
 
 is a law in Spain to gratify that passion, your virtue 
 shall have another field for exercise. [Exit, r. 
 
 Car. [Turning towardsYicTORiA.] My hatedrival 
 and my charming wife ! How many sweet mysteries 
 
 have you to unfold? Oh, Victoria! my soul 
 
 thanks thee, but I dare not yet say 1 love thee, till 
 ten thousand acts of watchful tenderness, have pro- 
 ved how deep the sentiment's engraved. 
 
 Vict. Can it be true that I have been unhappy ? — 
 But the mysteries, my Carlos, are already explained 
 to you — Gasper's resemblance to my uncle 
 
 Gasp. Yes, sir, I was always apt at resemblances — 
 In our plays at home, I am always Queen Cleopatra 
 — You know she was but a gipsey queen, and I hits 
 her off to a nicety. 
 
 Car. Come, my Victoria Oh, there is a painful 
 
 pleasure in my bosom — To gaze on thee, to hsten to 
 and to love thee, seems like the bliss of angels' cheer- 
 ing whispers to repentant sinners. 
 
 [Exeunt Carlos and Victoria, l. 
 
 Gasp. Lord help 'em ! how easily the women are 
 taken in ! [Exit, l. 
 
 SCENE IIL— T/ie Prado. 
 
 Enter Minette, l. 
 
 Min. Ah, here comes the man at last, aftei» I have 
 been sauntering in sight of his lodgings these two 
 hours. Now, if my scheme takes, what a happy per- 
 son I shall be ! and sure, as I was Donna Olivia to- 
 day, to please my lady, 1 may be Donna Olivia to- 
 night, to please myself. I'll address him as the maid 
 of a lady who has taken a fancy to him, then convey 
 him to our house-then retire, and then come in again, 
 and, with avast deal of confusion, confess I sent my 
 maid for him. If he should dislike my forwardness, 
 the censure will fall on my lady; if he should be 
 pleased with my person, the advantage will be mine, 
 .But perhaps he's come here on some wicked frolic 
 
Scenelll.] FOR A HUSBAND. 6^ 
 
 or other. — I'll watch him at a distaoce before I 
 speak. [Exit, l. u. e. 
 
 Enter Don Julio, r. 
 Julio. Not here, 'faith ; though she gave me last 
 night but a faint refusal, and T had a right, by all the 
 rules of gallantry, to construe that into an assent. — 
 Then she's a jilt. Hang her, I feel I am uneasy — 
 The first woman that ever gave me pain — I am 
 ashamed to perceive that this spot has attractions for 
 me, only because it was here I conversed with her. 
 'Twas here the little syren, conscious of her charms, 
 unveiled her fascinating face 'Twas here — Ha ! 
 
 Enter Don Garcia a7id Don Vincentio. r. u. e. 
 
 Gar. Ha! Don Julio! 
 
 Julio. Pshaw ! gentlemen, pray be quick. 
 
 Gar. (l.) 'Twas here that Julio, leaving cham- 
 paigne untasted, and songs of gallantry unsung, came 
 to talk to the whistling branches. 
 
 Vin. (r.) 'Twas here that Julio, flying from the 
 young and gay, was found in doleful meditation— [^Z- 
 tering his tone.] — on a wench, for a hundred ducats ! 
 
 Gar. Who is she ! 
 
 Julio, (c.) Not Donna Olivia, gentlemen ; not Don- 
 na Olivia. 
 
 Gar. We have been seeking you, to ask the event 
 of your visit to her. 
 
 Julio The event has proved that you have been 
 most grossly duped. 
 
 Vin. I know that — Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Julio. And you hkewise, / know that — Ha ! ha I 
 
 ha ! The fair lady, so far from being a vixen, is 
 
 the very essence of gentleness. To me, so much 
 sweetness in a wife, would be downright mawkish. 
 
 Vin. Well, but she's fond of a Jew's-harp. 
 
 Julio. Detests'it; she would be as fond of a Jew. 
 
 Gar. Pho, pho ! this is a game at cross purposes ; 
 — let us all go to Don Caesar's together, and compare 
 opinions on the spot. 
 
 Julio. I'll go most willingly-^iut it will be only to 
 
64 A BOLD STROKE [Act V. 
 
 cover you both with confusion, for being the two 
 men in Spain most easily imposed on. [^4// going, r. 
 
 Enter Minette, l. 
 
 Min. Gentlemen, my lady has sent me for one 
 of you, pray which of you is it ? 
 
 Julio. [^Returning.'l Me, without doubt, child. 
 
 Vin. I don't know that. 
 
 Gar, Look at me, my dear ; don't you think I ara 
 the man ? 
 
 , • Min. Let me see — a good air, and well made— yon 
 are the man for a dancer. [To Garcia.] — Well 
 dressed, and nicely put out of hands — you are the 
 man for a bandbox. [Cros^esioViNCENTio.] — ^Hand- 
 some and bold — you are the man for my lady. 
 
 [Crosses to Julio. 
 
 Julio. My dear little Iris, here's all the gold in my 
 pocket. Gentlemen, I wish you a good night — I am 
 your very obedient, humble — 
 [Stalking by them, with his arm round Minette. 
 
 Gar, Pho ! pr'ythee, don't be a fool. Are we not 
 going to Donna Olivia 1 
 
 Julio. Donna Olivia must wait, my dear boy ; we 
 can decide about her to-morrow. Come along, my 
 little dove of Venus ! [Exit, l. 
 
 Gar, What a rash fellow it is ! ten to one but this 
 is some common business, and he'll be robbed and 
 murdered — they take him for a stranger. 
 
 Vin. Let's follow, and see where she leads him. 
 
 Gar. That's hardly fair : however, as I think 
 there's danger, we will follow. [Exit, l. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Don Cesar's. 
 
 Enter Minette and Don Julio, l. 
 Min. There, sir, please to sit down, till my lady is 
 
 ready to wait on you — she won't be long I'm sure 
 
 she's out, and I may do great things before she re- 
 turns. [Aside. — Exit. R. 
 
Scene IV.] FOR A HUSBAND. # 
 
 Julio. Through fifty hack lanes, along garden, and 
 a narrow staircase, into a superh apartment — all 
 that's in the regular way ; as the Spanish women 
 manage it, one intrigue is too much like another. If 
 it was not now and then for the little lively fillip of 
 a jealous husband or brother, Avhich obliges one to 
 leap from a window, or crawl, like a cat, along the 
 gutters, there would be no bearing the ennui. Ah ! 
 ah ! but this promises novelty ; [Lookmg through the 
 Wing.] a young girl and an old man — wife or daugh- 
 ter ? They are coming this way. My lovely incog- 
 nita, by all that's propitious ! Why did not some kind 
 spirit whisper to me ray happiness ? but hold — she 
 can't mean to treat the old gentleman w^ith a sight of 
 me. {Goes behind the sofa. 
 
 Enter Don C^sar and Olivia, l. 
 
 Casar. No, no, madam, no going out — There, 
 madam, this is your apartment, your house, your 
 garden, your assembly, till you go^to your convent. 
 Why, how impudent you are to look thus uncon- 
 cerned ! — Can hardly forbear laughing in my face ! 
 — Very well—very well ! 
 
 [Exit, double locMng the door. l. 
 
 Oliv. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I'll be even with you, my dear 
 father, if you treble lock it. I'll stay here two days, 
 without once asking for my liberty, and you'll come 
 the third, with tears in your eyes, to take me out. — 
 He has forgot the door leading to the garden — but I 
 vow I'll stay. [Sittijig down.] 1 can make the time 
 pass pleasantly enough. 
 
 Julio. I hope so. 
 
 [LooJcing over the back of the sofa. 
 
 Oliv. Heaven and earth ! 
 
 Julio. My dear creature, why are you so alarmed ? 
 am I here before you expected me ? 
 
 [Coming round, r. 
 
 Oliv. Expected you ! 
 
 Julio, Oh, this pretty surprise ! Come, let us sit 
 
66 A BOLD STROKE [Act V. 
 
 down ; I think your father was very obliging to lock 
 us in together. 
 
 Oliv. Sir ! sir ! my father ! [Calling at the door. 
 
 Caesar. [Without J] Ay, 'tis all in vain — I won't 
 come near you. There you are, and there you may 
 stay. I shan't return, make as much noise as you 
 will. 
 
 Julio. Why, are you not ashamed that your father 
 has so much more consideration for your guest than 
 you have ? 
 
 Oliv. My guest! how is it possible he can have 
 discovered me ? [Aside, 
 
 Julio. Pho! This is carrying the thing further than 
 you need — if there was a third person here, it might 
 be prudent. 
 
 Oliv. Why, this assurance, Don Julio, is really— 
 
 Julio. The thing in the world you are most ready 
 to pardon. 
 
 Oliv. Upon my word, I don't know how to treat 
 you. 
 
 Julio. Consult your heart ! 
 
 Oliv. I shall consult my honour. 
 
 Julio. Honour is a pretty thing to play with, but 
 when spoken with that very grave face, after having 
 •entyour maid to bring me here, is really more than 
 I expected. I shall be in an ill humour presently — 
 I won't stay if you treat me thus. [Crosses, l. 
 
 Oliv. Well, this is superior to every thing ! I have 
 heard that men will slander women privately to each 
 other ; 'tis their common amusement ; but to do it to 
 one's face ! — and you really pretend that I sent for 
 you? 
 
 Julio. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, if it obliges you, I will 
 pretend that you did not send for me ; that your maid 
 did not conduct me hither ; nay, that I have not now 
 the supreme happiness — [ Catching her in his arms. 
 
 Enter Minette ; she screams, and runs out, r. 
 Julio. Donna Olivia do Zuniga! how the devil 
 came she here ? 
 
 Oliv. [Aside.] That'slucky ! OUvia,my dear friend, 
 
Scene IV.] FOR A HUSBAND. 67 
 
 why do you run away ? Keep the character I charge 
 you. [Apart to Minette.] Be still Olivia. 
 
 Min. Oh ! dear madam ! I was — I was so frighten- 
 ed when I saw that gentleman. 
 
 Oliv. Oh, my dear, ; it's the merriest pretty kind 
 of gentleman in the world ; he pretends that I sent 
 my maid for him into the streets, ha ! ha ! 
 
 Julio. That's right ; always tell a thing yourself, 
 which you would not have believed. 
 
 Min. It is the readiest excuse for being found in a 
 lady's apartment, however. Now will I swear I 
 know nothing of the matter. [Aside, 
 
 Oliv. Now, I think it a horrid poor excuse ; he has 
 certainly not had occasion to invent reasons for such 
 irapertinencies often. Tell me that he has made 
 love to you to-day. [Apart. 
 
 Min. I fancy that he has had occasion to excuse 
 impertinencies often ; his impertinence to me to- 
 day 
 
 Julio. To you, madam ? 
 
 Min. Making love to me, my dear, all the morn- 
 ing — could hardly get him away, he was so desirous 
 to speak to my father. Nay, sir, I don't care for 
 your impatience. 
 
 Julio. [Aside.] Now would I give a thousand pis- 
 toles if she were a man ! 
 
 Oliv. Nay, then, this accidental meeting is fortu- 
 nate — pray, Don Julio, don't let my presence prevent 
 your saying what you think proper to my friend — 
 shall I leave you together? [Crosses, l. 
 
 Julio. [Apart.] To contradict a lady on such an 
 assertion would be too gross ; but, upon my honour. 
 Donna Olivia is the last woman upon earth who 
 could inspire me with a tender idea. Find an ex- 
 cuse to send her away, my angel, 1 entreat you. I 
 have a thousand things to say, and the moments 
 are too precious to be given to her. 
 
 Oliv. I think so too, but one can't be rude, you 
 know. Come, my dear, sit down, [Seating herself ^ 
 c] have you brought ypur work ? 
 
68 A BOLD STROKE [Act V. 
 
 Julio. The devil ! what can she meap ? {Pushing 
 himself between Minette and the sofa.'] Donna 
 Olivia, I am sorry to inform you that ray physician 
 has just been sent for to your father, Don Csesar. — 
 The poor gentleman was seized with a vertigo. 
 
 Oliv. Vertigoes ! Oh, he has them frequently, you 
 know. [To Minette. 
 
 Min. Yes, and they always keep me from his sight. 
 
 Julio. Did ever one woman prevent another from 
 leaving her at such a moment before ? I really, ma- 
 dam, cannot comprehend 
 
 Casar. [Without.] It is impossible — impossible, 
 
 intleman ! Don Julio canr 
 
 Julio. Hah ! who's that ? 
 
 Efiter Don Cjesar, Don Garcia, and Don 
 
 ViNCENTIO, L. D. 
 
 Gar. There ! did we not tell you so ? we saw him 
 enter the garden. 
 
 Casar. What can be the meaning of all this ? A 
 man in my daughter's apartment ! 
 
 [Attempting to draic. 
 
 Gar. Hold, sir ! Don Julio is one of the first rank 
 in Spain, and will unquestionably be able to satisfy 
 your honour, without troubling your sword. We 
 have done mischief, Vincentio ! [Apart, 
 
 Julio. [To Olivia.] They have been cursedly 
 impertinent ! but I'll bring you off, never fear, by 
 pretending a passion for your busy friend, there. 
 
 Casar. Satisfy me then in a moment ; speak, one 
 of you. [Crosses Julio. 
 
 Julio. I came here, sir, by the merest accident. — 
 The garden door was open, curiosity led me to this 
 apartment. You came in a moment after, and 
 very civilly locked me in with your daughter. 
 
 Casar. Locked you in ! why, then, did you not, 
 like a man of honour, cry out ? 
 
 Julio. The lady cried out, sir, and you told her 
 vou would not return ; but when Donna Olivia de 
 
Scene IV.] FOR A HUSBAND. 69 
 
 Zuniga entered, for whom I have conceived a most 
 violent passion 
 
 Ccesar. A passion for her ! Oh, let me hear no 
 more on't. — A passion for her ! You may as well 
 entertain a passion for the untameable hyena. 
 
 Gar. There, Vincentio, what think you now ? 
 Xantippe or not ? 
 
 Vin. I am afraid I must give up that — ^but pray 
 support me as to this point, Don Caesar; is not the 
 lady fond of a Jew's-harp ? 
 
 Caesar. Fond ! she's fond of nothing, but playing 
 the vixen ; there is not such a fury upon earth. 
 
 Julio. These are odd liberties, with a person who 
 does not belong to him. 
 
 Caesar. I'll play the hypocrite for her no more ; 
 the world shall know her true character, they shall 
 know but ask her maid there. 
 
 Julio. Her maid ! 
 
 Min. Why, yes, sir; to say truth, I am but Donna 
 Olivia's maid, after all. 
 
 Oliv. [Apart.] Dear Minette! speak for me, or I 
 am now ruined. 
 
 Min. 1 will, ma'am. — I must confess, sir, [Going 
 up fo Julio.] there never was so bitter a tempered 
 creature as my lady is. I have borne her humours 
 for two years ; I have seen her by night and by day. 
 [OjjIwa pulls her sleeve, impatiently.]! will, I will! 
 [To OiiiviA.] and this 1 am sure, that if you marry 
 her, you'll rue the day every hour the first month, 
 and hang yourself the next. There, madam, I have 
 done it roundly now. [Exit, r. 
 
 Oliv. I am undone — 1 am caught in my own 
 snare ! [Aside. 
 
 Ccesar. After this true character of ray daughter, 
 I suppose, signor, we shall hear no more of your 
 passion ; so let us go down, and leave madam to 
 begin her penance. 
 
 Julio. My ideas are totally confused. — You Donna 
 Olivia de Zuniga, and the person I thought you, her 
 maid ! something too flattering darts across my mind. 
 
70 A BOLD STROKE [Act IV. 
 
 Casar. If you have taken a fancy to her maid, I 
 have nothing farther to say ; but as to that violent 
 creature 
 
 Julio. Oh, do not profane her. Where is that 
 spirit which you tell me of? Is it that which speaks 
 in modest, conscious blushes on her cheeks ? Is it 
 that which bends her lovely eyes to earth ? 
 
 Casar. Ay, she's only bending them to earth, 
 considering how to afflict me with some new obsti- 
 nacy — she'll break out like a tigress in a moment. 
 
 Julio. It cannot be — are you, charming woman! 
 such a creature ? 
 
 Oliv. Yes, to all mankind — but one. 
 
 [Looking down. 
 
 Julio. But one ! Oh, might that excepted one, be 
 me! 
 
 Oliv. Would you not fear to trust your fate with 
 her, you have cause to think so hateful ? 
 
 Julio. No, I'd bless the hour that bound my fate 
 to hers. Permit me, sir, to pay my vows to this 
 fair vixen. 
 
 Casar. What, are you such a bold man as that ? 
 Pho ! but if you are, 'twill be only lost time — she'll 
 contrive, some way or other, to return your vows 
 upon your hands. 
 
 Oliv. If they have your authority, sir, I will re- 
 turn them— only with my own. 
 
 Ca.sar. What's that ! what did she say ? my head 
 is giddy with surprise. 
 
 Julio. And mine with rapture. [ Catching her hand. 
 
 Casar. Don't make a fool of me, Olivia. — Wilt 
 marry him ? 
 
 Oliv. When you command me, sir. 
 
 Ccesar. My dear Don Julio, thou art my guardian 
 angel — shall I have a son-in-law at last ? Garcia, 
 Vincentio, could you have thought it ? 
 
 Gar. No, sir ; if we had, we should have saved 
 that lady much trouble ; 'tis pretty clear now, why 
 she was a vixen. 
 
 Vi?i. Yes, yes, 'tis clear enough, and I beg your 
 
Scene IV.] FOU A HUSBAND. 71 
 
 pardon, madam, for the share of trouble Igaveyou— 
 but, pray, have the goodness to tell me sincerly, 
 what do you think of a crash ? [Crosses to Olivia. 
 
 Oliva. I love music, Don Vincentio, I admire your 
 skill, and whenever you'll give me a concert, I shall 
 be obliged. [Crosses to C^sar. 
 
 Vi?i. You could not have pleased me so well, if 
 you had married me. 
 
 Enter Don Carlos and Victoria, r. 
 
 Oliv. Hah! here comes Victoria and her Carlos. 
 My friend, you are happy — 'tis in your eyes; I need 
 not ask the event. 
 
 Caesar. What, is this Don Carlos, whom Victoria 
 gave us for a cousin ? Sir, you come in a happy hour. 
 
 Car. I do indeed, for I am most happy. 
 
 Julio. My dear Carlos, what has new made thee 
 thus, since morning ? 
 
 Car. A wife ! Marry, Julio, marry ! 
 
 Julio. What ! this advice from you ? 
 
 Car. Yes ; and when you have married an angel, 
 when that angel has done for you such things, as 
 makes your gratitude almost equal to your love, you 
 may then guess something of what 1 feel, in calling 
 this angel mine. 
 
 Oliv. Now, I trust, Don Julio, after all this, that 
 if I should do you the honour of my hand, you'll 
 treat me cruelly, be a very bad man, that I, like my 
 exemplary cousin 
 
 Vict. Hold, Olivia ! it is not necessary that a hus- 
 band should be faulty, to make a Avife's character ex- 
 emplary. — Should he be tenderly watchful of your 
 happiness, your gratitude will give a thousand graces 
 to your conduct ; whilst the purity of your manners, 
 and the nice honour of your life, will gain you the 
 approbation of those, whose praise is fame. 
 
 Oliv. Pretty and matronly ! thank you, my dear. 
 We have each struck a bold stroke to-day ; — yours 
 has been to reclaim a husband, mine to get one ; but 
 
72 A BOLD STROKE, &c. [ActV. 
 
 the most important is yet to be obtained— the appro- 
 bation of our judges. 
 
 That meed withheld, our labours have been vain ; 
 Pointless my jests, and doubly keen your pain ; 
 Might we their plaudits, and their praise provoke. 
 Our bold should then be term'd, a happy stroke. 
 
 DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT 
 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN. 
 
 Don CyESA«. Donna Olivia. 
 Don Vasquez, Don Julio. 
 
 Don Garcia. Don Carlos, 
 
 Don Vincentio. Donna Victoria. 
 
 R] 
 
 [L. 
 
 LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 150 402 
 
 Clayton &, Vau JVordeu, Printers, 42 Williain-sUeet.