University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—The Duke's Palace.
Enter Campillo, the Duke's Steward, and another Servant.
Servant.

But can no one tell the meaning of this
fancy?

Campillo.

No: 'tis the Duke's pleasure, and that's
enough for us. You shall hear his own words:—
“For reasons that I shall hereafter communicate, it is
necessary that Jaquez should, in all things, at present,
act as my representative: you will, therefore, command
my household to obey him as myself, until you
hear further from

(Signed) Aranza.”

Servant.

Well, we must wait the upshot. But how
bears Jaquez his new dignity?

Campillo.

Like most men in whom sudden fortune
combats against long-establish'd habit.

[Laughing without.
Servant.

By their merriment, this should be he.

Campillo.

Stand aside, and let us note him.

Jaquez enters dressed as the Duke, followed by Attendants, who in vain endeavour to restrain their laughter.
Jaquez.

Why, you ragamuffins! what d'ye titter at?
Am I the first great man that has been made off-hand
by a taylor? Shew your grinders again, and I'll hang
you like onions, fifty on a rope. I can't think what
they see ridiculous about me, except, indeed, that I
feel as if I was in armour, and my sword has a trick of
getting between my legs like a monkey's tail, as if it
was determined to trip up my nobility.—And now, villains!
don't let me see you tip the wink to each other,
as I do the honours of my table. If I tell one of my
best stories, don't any of you laugh before the jest
comes out, to shew that you have heard it before:—
take care that you don't call me by my christian name,
and then pretend it was by accident;—that shall be
transportation at least:—and when I drink a health
to all friends, don't fancy that any of you are in the
number.

(Enter a Servant.)

Well, sir?

Servant.

There is a lady without presses vehemently
to speak to your Grace.

Jaques.

A lady?

Servant.

Yes, your Highness!

Jaquez.

Is she young?

Servant.

Very, your Grace!

Jaquez.

Handsome?

Servant.

Beautiful, your Highness!

Jaquez.

Send her in.— [Exit Servant.]
—You
may retire; I'll finish my instructions bye-and-bye.
—Young and handsome? I'll attend to her business
in propria persona. Your old and ugly ones I
shall dispatch by deputy. Now to alarm her with
my consequence, and then sooth her with my condescension.

I must appear important; big as a country
pedagogue when he enters the school-room with a
hem! and terrifies the apple-munching urchins with
the creaking of his shoes. I'll swell like a shirt
bleaching in a high wind; and look burly as a Sunday
beadle, when he has kick'd down the unhallow'd
stall of a profane old apple woman.—Bring my chair
of state!—Hush!

Enter Juliana.
Juliana.

I come, great Duke, for justice!

Jaquez.

You shall have it. Of what do you
complain?

Juliana.

My husband, sir!

Jaquez.

I'll hang him instantly!—What's his offence?

Juliana.

He has deceiv'd me.

Jaquez.

A very common case;—few husbands answer
their wives' expectations.

Juliana.

He has abus'd your Grace—

Jaquez.

Indeed! if he has done that, he swings most
loftily. But how, lady, how?

Juliana.
Shortly thus, sir:
Being no better than a low-born peasant,
He has assum'd your character and person—
(Enter the Duke.)
Oh! you are here, sir? This is he, my Lord.

Jaquez.

Indeed! (Aside)
Then I must tickle him.—
Why, fellow, d'ye take this for an alehouse, that you
enter with such a swagger?—Know you where you
are, sir?

Duke.
The rogue reproves me well! (aside.)
I had forgot.
Most humbly I intreat your Grace's pardon
For this unusher'd visit; but the fear
Of what this wayward woman might allege
Beyond the truth—

Juliana.
I have spoke nought but truth.—

Duke.
Has made me thus
Unmannerly.

Jaquez.
'Tis well—you might have us'd more ceremony.
Proceed. (To Juliana.)


Juliana.
This man, my Lord, as I was saying,
Passing himself upon my inexperience
For the right owner of this sumptuous palace,
Obtain'd my slow consent to be his wife;
And cheated, by this shameful perfidy,
Me of my hopes—my father of his child.

Jaquez.

Why, this is swindling;—obtaining another
man's goods under false pretences,—that is, if
a woman be a good—That will make a very intricate
point for the Judges.—Well, sir, what have you to
say in your defence?

Duke.
I do confess I put this trick upon her;
And for my transient usurpation
Of your most noble person, with contrition
I bow me to the rigour of the law.—
But for the lady, sir, she can't complain.

Juliana.
How! not complain? To be thus vilely cozen'd,
And not complain!

Jaquez.

Peace, woman!—Tho' Justice be blind, she
is not deaf.

Duke.
He does it to the life! (Aside.)

Had not her most exceeding pride been doting,
She might have seen the diff'rence at a glance,
Between your Grace and such a man as I am.

Jaquez.
She might have seen that, certainly.—
Proceed.

Duke.
Nor did I fall so much beneath her sphere
Being what I am, as she had soar'd above it
Had I been that which I have only feign'd.

Jaquez.
Yet, you deceiv'd her?

Juliana.
Let him answer that!

Duke.
I did: most men in something cheat their wives;
Wives gull their husbands; 'tis the course of wooing.
Now, bating that my title and my fortune
Were evanescent, in all others things
I acted like a plain and honest suitor.
I told her she was fair, but very proud;
That she had taste in music, but no voice;
That she danc'd well, yet still might borrow grace
From such or such a lady. To be brief;
I prais'd her for no quality she had not,
Nor over-priz'd the talents she possess'd:
And for myself, I plac'd before her eyes,
Without extenuation or enlargement,
The thing which honest nature stampt me first,
And modest culture has since brought me to.—
Now, save in what I have before confess'd,
I challenge her worst spite to answer me,
Whether, in all attentions, which a woman—
A gentle and a reasonable woman—
Looks for, I have not to the height fulfill'd,
If not outgone, her expectations?

Jaquez.

Why, if she has no cause of complaint
since you were married—

Duke.
I dare her to the proof on't.

Jaquez.
Is it so? (To Juliana.)


Juliana.
I don't complain of what has happen'd since;
The man has made a tolerable husband.
But for the monstrous cheat he put upon me,
I claim to be divorc'd.

Jaquez.
It cannot be!

Juliana.
Cannot! my Lord?

Jaquez.
No. You must live with him!

Juliana.
Never!

Duke.
Or, if your Grace will give me leave—
We have been wedded yet a few short days—
Let us wear out a month as man and wife;
If at the end on't, with uplifted hands,
Morning and ev'ning, and sometimes at noon,
And bended knees, she doesn't plead more warmly
Than ere she prayed 'gainst stale virginity,
To keep me for her husband—

Juliana.
If I do!—

Duke.
Then let her will be done, that seeks to part us!

Juliana.
I do implore your grace to let it stand
Upon that footing!

Jaquez.

Humph!—well, it shall be so!—with this
proviso, that either of you are at liberty to hang yourselves
in the mean time.

Duke.
We thank your providence.—Come, Juliana—

Juliana.
Well, there's my hand—a month's soon past, and then—
I am your humble servant, sir.

Duke.
For ever.

Juliana.
Nay, I'll be hang'd first.

Duke.
That may do as well!
Come, you'll think better on't!

Juliana.
By all—

Duke.
No swearing.—
We humbly take our leaves.
[Exeunt the Duke and Juliana.
Jaquez solus.

I begin to find, by the strength of my nerves and
the steadiness of my countenance, that I was certainly
intended for a great man;—for what more
does it require to be a great man, than boldly to
put on the appearance of it?—How many sage Politicians
are there, who can scarce comprehend the
mystery of a mouse-trap;—valiant Generals, who
wouldn't attack a bulrush, unless the wind were in
in their favour;—profound Lawyers, who would

make excellent wig-blocks;—and skilful Physicians,
whose knowledge extends no further—than writing
death-warrants in Latin; and are shining examples,
that a man will never want gold in his pocket, who
carries plenty of brass in his face!—It will be rather
awkward, to be sure, to resign at the end of a month:—
but, like other great men in office, I must make the
most of my time, and retire with a good grace, to
avoid being turned out—as a well-bred dog always
walks down stairs, when he sees preparation ripe
for kicking him into the street.

[Exit.