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    The Duenna
    The Duenna
    The Duenna
    Ebook88 pages59 minutes

    The Duenna

    By Richard Brinsley Sheridan

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    About this ebook

    Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816) was a man with many roles. He was not only a playwright and poet, he was also a Whig Member of the British House of Commons and owner of the London Theatre Royal on Drury Lane. Though born in Ireland, Sheridan and his family moved outside of London when he was seven. Both of his parents were theatrical influences for him, as his mother was a playwright and novelist, and his father was at one time an actor. In 1722, the character of Sheridan's intended fiancé was challenged by Captain Thomas Mathews. The result was two duels, the first left both parties unscathed, while the second resulted in bloodshed, though Sheridan was the resounding winner. "The Duenna" was first performed in 1775 and was even deemed "the best opera ever written" by Lord Byron. It was a group effort between Sheridan, his father-in-law Thomas Linley the elder, an expert composer, and brother-in-law Thomas Linley the younger.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDigireads.com Publishing
    Release dateJan 1, 2011
    ISBN9781420920147
    The Duenna
    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 DUENNA

      A COMIC OPERA

      BY RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

      A Digireads.com Book

      Digireads.com Publishing

      Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-4138-8

      Ebook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-2014-7

      This edition copyright © 2012

      Please visit www.digireads.com

      CONTENTS

      DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

      ACT I.

      SCENE I.—The Street before Don Jerome's House.

      SCENE II—A Piazza.

      SCENE III.—A Room in Don Jerome's House.

      SCENE IV.—The Court before Don Jerome's House.

      SCENE V.—The Piazza.

      ACT II.

      SCENE I.—A Library in Don Jerome's House.

      SCENE II.—Donna Louisa's Dressing-Room.

      SCENE III.—A Library in Don Jerome's House.

      SCENE IV.—Isaac's Lodgings.

      ACT III.

      SCENE I.—A Library in Don Jerome's House.

      SCENE II.—The New Piazza.

      SCENE III.—The Garden of the Convent.

      SCENE IV.—A Court before the Priory.

      SCENE V.—A Room in the Priory.

      SCENE VI.—The Court before the Priory.

      SCENE VII—A Grand Saloon in Don Jerome's House.

      DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

      DON FERDINAND

      DON JEROME

      DON ANTONIO

      DON CARLOS

      ISAAC MENDOZA

      FATHER PAUL

      FATHER FRANCIS

      FATHER AUGUSTINE

      LOPEZ

      DONNA LOUISA

      DONNA CLARA

      THE DUENNA

      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.]

      LOPEZ. 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 Antonio.

      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.

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

      DON ANTONIO. I do not wish to disturb her rest.

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

      DON ANTONIO. 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.

      DONNA LOUISA.  Nay, prithee, father, why so rough?

      DON ANTONIO.   An humble lover I.

      DON JEROME.  How durst you, daughter, lend an ear

      To such deceitful stuff?

         Quick, from the window fly!

      DONNA LOUISA.  Adieu, Antonio!

      DON ANTONIO.  Must you go?

      DON. LOUISA & DON ANTONIO. We soon, perhaps, may meet again.

      For though hard fortune is our foe,

      The God of love will fight for us.

      DON JEROME.  Reach me the blunderbuss.

      DON ANTONIO & DON. LOUISA. The god of love, who knows our pain—

      DON JEROME.  Hence, or these slugs are through your brain.

      [Exeunt severally.]

      SCENE II—A Piazza.

      [Enter Don Ferdinand and Lopez.]

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

      DON FERDINAND. Peace, fool! don't mention sleep to me.

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

      LOPEZ. [Aside.] And of mine too.

      DON FERDINAND. '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.

      LOPEZ. [Aside.] Nor I either.

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

      LOPEZ. [Aside.] Ah, they know them oftener than they'll own them.

      DON FERDINAND. Is there, in the world, so inconsistent

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