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    The Duenna: A Comic Opera
    The Duenna: A Comic Opera
    The Duenna: A Comic Opera
    Ebook126 pages1 hour

    The Duenna: A Comic Opera

    By Richard Brinsley Sheridan

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateDec 1, 1977
    The Duenna: A Comic Opera
    Author

    Richard Brinsley Sheridan

    In need of funds, Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816) turned to the only craft that could gain him the remuneration he desired in a short time: he began writing a play. He had over the years written and published essays and poems, and among his papers were humorous unfinished plays, essays and political tracts, but never had he undertaken such an ambitious project as this. In a short time, however, he completed The Rivals. He was 23 years old.

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      Book preview

      The Duenna - Richard Brinsley Sheridan

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Duenna, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan #10 in our series by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

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      **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

      **eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

      *****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****

      Title: The Duenna

      Author: Richard Brinsley Sheridan

      Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6731] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on January 20, 2003]

      Edition: 10

      Language: English

      *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUENNA ***

      Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

      THE DUENNA

      A COMIC OPERA

      DRAMATIS PERSONAE

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

      DON FERDINAND Mr. Mattocks.

      DON JEROME Mr. Wilson.

      DON ANTONIO Mr. Dubellamy.

      DON CARLOS Mr. Leoni.

      ISAAC MENDOZA Mr. Quick.

      FATHER PAUL Mr. Mahon.

      FATHER FRANCIS Mr. Fox.

      FATHER AUGUSTINE Mr. Baker.

      LOPEZ Mr. Wewitzer.

      DONNA LOUISA Mrs. Mattocks.

      DONNA CLARA Mrs. Cargill.

      THE DUENNA Mrs. Green.

      Masqueraders, Friars, Porter, Maid, and Servants.

      SCENE—SEVILLE.

      ACT I.

      SCENE I.—The Street before DON JEROME'S House.

      Enter LOPEZ, with a dark lantern.

      Lop. Past three o'clock!—Soh! a notable hour for one of my regular disposition, to be strolling like a bravo through the streets of Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young lover is the hardest.—Not that I am an enemy to love; but my love and my master's differ strangely.—Don Ferdinand is much too gallant to eat, drink, or sleep:—now my love gives me an appetite—then I am fond of dreaming of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her.—This cannot be done without good sleep and good liquor: hence my partiality to a feather- bed and a bottle. What a pity, now, that I have not further time, for reflections! but my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his retreat from Donna Clara's window, as I guess.—[Music without.] Hey! sure, I heard music! So, so! Who have we here? Oh, Don Antonio, my master's friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my young mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: so! we shall have the old gentleman up presently.—Lest he should miss his son, I had best lose no time in getting to my post. [Exit.]

      Enter DON ANTONIO, with MASQUERADERS and music.

      SONG.—Don Ant.

        Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain

        So gently speak thy master's pain?

        So softly sing, so humbly sigh,

        That, though my sleeping love shall know

        Who sings—who sighs below,

        Her rosy slumbers shall not fly?

        Thus, may some vision whisper more

        Than ever I dare speak before.

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

      Don Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest.

      I. Mas. The reason is, because you know she does not regard you enough to appear, if you awaked her.

      Don Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you. [Sings.]

        The breath of morn bids hence the night,

        Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair;

        For till the dawn of love is there,

        I feel no day, I own no light.

      DONNA LOUISA—replies from a window.

        Waking, I heard thy numbers chide,

        Waking, the dawn did bless my sight;

        'Tis Phoebus sure that woos, I cried,

        Who speaks in song, who moves in light.

      DON JEROME—from a window.

        What vagabonds are these I hear,

        Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting,

        Piping, scraping, whining, canting?

        Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!

      TRIO.

      Don. Louisa.

        Nay, prithee, father, why so rough?

      Don Ant.

        An humble lover I.

      Don Jer.

        How durst you, daughter, lend an ear

        To such deceitful stuff?

        Quick, from the window fly!

      Don. Louisa

        Adieu, Antonio!

      Don Ant

        Must you go?

      Don. Louisa. & Don Ant.

        We soon, perhaps, may meet again.

        For though hard fortune is our foe,

        The God of love will fight for us.

      Don Jer.

        Reach me the blunderbuss.

      Don Ant. & Don. Louisa.

        The god of love, who knows our pain—

      Don Jer.

        Hence, or these slugs are through your brain.

      [Exeunt severally.]

      SCENE II—A Piazza.

      Enter DON FERDINAND and LOPEZ.

      Lop. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep once in a week or so—-

      Don Ferd. Peace, fool! don't mention sleep to me.

      Lop. No, no, sir, I don't mention your lowbred, vulgar, sound sleep; but I can't help thinking that a gentle slumber, or half an hour's dozing, if it were only for the novelty of the thing——

      Don Ferd. Peace, booby, I say!—Oh, Clara dear, cruel disturber of my rest!

      Lop. [Aside.] And of mine too.

      Don Ferd. 'Sdeath, to trifle with me at such a juncture as this!— now to stand on punctilios!—Love me! I don't believe she ever did.

      Lop. [Aside.] Nor I either.

      Don Ferd. Or is it, that her sex never know their desires for an hour together?

      Lop. [Aside.] Ah,

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