Representative American Plays/The Broker of Bogota

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THE BROKER OF BOGOTA
BY
Robert Montgomery Bird

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The Broker of Bogota is printed for the first time, from the original manuscript presented to the Library of the University of Pennsylvania by Mr. Robert Montgomery Bird.

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THE BROKER OF BOGOTA

The Broker of Bogota represents the romantic verse tragedy, written under the inspiration of Edwin Forrest. It represents also the interest in the Spanish colonies in America, in which its author, Robert Montgomery Bird, laid so many of the scenes of his plays and novels. Bird was born February 5, 1806, in New Castle, Delaware. After completing his school life at Germantown Academy, near Philadelphia, he entered the Medical School of the University of Pennsylvania, graduating on April 6, 1827. Although he started practice and at a later time (1841–3) was a member of the Faculty of the Pennsylvania Medical College in Philadelphia, medicine was never the main interest in his life. While still attending the University he was writing plays, and completed in 1827 two romantic tragedies, The Cowled Lover and Caridorf, and two comedies, A City Looking Glass (1828) and News of the Night, both dealing with life in Philadelphia. None of these was acted.

Pelopidas or The Fall of the Polemarchs, a tragedy laid in Thebes, was finished in 1830 and was accepted by Edwin Forrest. It was, however, not played by him, probably since it did not provide an opportunity for Mr. Forrest properly to exhibit his talent. Instead The Gladiator, which was based on the revolt of Spartacus against the tyranny of Rome, was substituted and was played for the first time in New York City, September 26, 1831, at the Park Theatre, and for the first time in Philadelphia at the Arch Street Theatre, October 24, 1831. The Gladiator has been produced by Edwin Forrest, John McCullough, Robert Downing and other actors, hundreds of times since that day. Of Dr. Bird's other successful plays, the first, Oralloossa, was produced for the first time at the Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia, October 10, 1832, and was a tragedy founded on the Spanish Conquest of Peru. It was successful, running at its initial presentation for five nights against the strong counter-attraction of the Kembles at the Chestnut Street Theatre, but it never had the wide popularity of The Gladiator.

The Broker of Bogota was put on at the Bowery Theatre in New York, February 12, 1834, and was played by Forrest at least thirty years. Among the Bird manuscripts is a letter from Forrest to Dr. Bird, dated February 12, 1834, in which he says: "I have just left the theatre—your tragedy was performed and crowned with entire success. The Broker of Bogota will live when our vile trunks are rotten." Certainly in the character of "Febro," with his middle-class mind, lifted into tragedy by his passionate love for his children and his betrayal ​by his oldest and best loved son, Bird drew one of the most living portraits in our dramatic history. The clever entanglement of "Febro" largely by circumstances and the climax of the fourth act in which "Juana" denounces "Ramon," must have been effective on the stage.

Bird abandoned his dramatic work at the height of success. Discouraged by his financial dealings with Forrest, which brought the author a total of five thousand dollars, while the actor made a fortune out of The Gladiator alone, and prevented from publishing his plays, partly by the copyright laws and partly by Forrest's opposition, he turned to fiction and produced several novels, Calavar (1834), The Infidel (1835), both dealing with Cortez's expedition, and Nick of the Woods (1837), a story of Indian life in Kentucky, which was put on the stage by Louisa Medina and was widely popular. The Infidel was dramatized by Benjamin H. Brewster, and played in Philadelphia in 1835. Dr. Bird travelled extensively in this country and visited England in 1834, then after some excursions into politics settled in Philadelphia as editor and part proprietor of the North American and died January 23, 1854.

None of his plays has been published. The present editor was fortunate enough to find The Broker of Bogota and Oralloossa in manuscript at the Forrest Home at Holmesburg, Pennsylvania, but it remained for Mr. Clement Foust, of the English Department of the University of Pennsylvania, to discover a complete collection of the manuscripts of Dr. Bird in the possession of the latter's grandson, Mr. Robert M. Bird, who has generously presented them to the Library of the University of Pennsylvania. Mr. Foust has in preparation a life of Dr. Bird, a critical edition of The Gladiator and the other important plays, and a selection from among the many interesting letters to and from Dr. Bird contained in his correspondence with other writers. Among the most interesting of these is a letter from Dr. Bird's son. Rev. Frederick M. Bird, requesting permission from Forrest, who apparently held the copyrights, to publish his father's plays and, in answer, Forrest's curt refusal. Each of the plays exists in several forms and the present text of The Broker of Bogota has been prepared by Mr. Foust after a comparative study of the manuscripts. Through his courtesy the editor is able to reproduce it here.

The text is based primarily upon the complete manuscript copy, made by Mrs. Bird, the wife of the dramatist. This has been collated with the two autograph copies, neither of which is complete, and the resultant text represents, in Mr. Foust's judgment, the reading the dramatist preferred. This text was then compared with the acting version, at the Forrest Home. Additions from this acting version are indicated by square brackets while words, lines, or scenes omitted in stage production are enclosed in brackets of this form < >.

For discussions of Bird's plays, see James Rees, The Dramatic Authors of ​America, Philadelphia, 1845, and his Life of Edwin Forrest, Philadelphia, [1874] ; W. R. Alger, Life of Edwin Forrest, Philadelphia, 1877; Lawrence Barrett, Edwin Forrest, Boston, 1882, who gives (p. 51) the east of The Gladiator at Drury Lane, October 17, 1836; Charles Durang, History of the Philadelphia Stage, Third Series, Chaps. 16, 25; P. C. Wemyss, Twenty-six Years of the Life of an Actor Manager, New York, 1847, Vol. 2, p. 239; E. P. Oberholtzer, Literary History of Philadelphia, Philadelphia, 1907.

Note to Second Edition.

In 1919, Dr. Clement Foust published the Life and Dramatic Work of Robert Montgomery Bird, containing a reprint of The Broker of Bogota, and printing for the first time The Gladiator, Pelopidas and Oralloossa.

On May 21, 1920, the Zelosophic Society of the University of Pennsylvania reproduced The Broker of Bogota at the Bellevue-Stratford Ball Room, Philadelphia, under the direction of Mrs. William Merriman Price. The production revealed clearly the great appeal of the play from the point of view of dramatic structure, and the fine quality of the blank verse was apparent. As had been expected, the characters of "Febro" played by Kirk Heselbarth, of the Class of '21, and of "Juana" played by Elizabeth Canning of the Class of '20, were the most appealing, and it was interesting to see that in a play written for Edwin Forrest, the most effective scene (Act IV, Scene 4) was one in which he was not on the stage.

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CHARACTERS

[Bowery Theatre, New York City, February 12, 1834]

Marques De Palmera, Viceroy of New Granada
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
 Mr. H. Gale
Fernando, his son
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
 Mr. G. Jones
Baptista Febro, the broker
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
 Mr. E. Forrest
Ramon
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
 Mr. Ingersoll

his sons

Francisco
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
 Mr. Connor
Mendoza, a merchant, father of Juana
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
 Mr. Farren
Antonio De Cabarero, a profligate, friend of Ramon
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
 Mr. H. Wallack
Pablo, an inn keeper
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
 Mr. McClure
Silvano, servant of Febro
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
 ___


Leonor, daughter of Febro
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 Mrs. Flynn
Juana, daughter of Mendoza
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 Mrs. McClure

Gentlemen of the Court, Citizens, Alguazils.

Scene, Santa Fé De Bogota.

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THE BROKER OF BOGOTA


ACT FIRST.

Scene 1. The Street near Febro's house.

(Enter Mendoza and Ramon.)

Mendoza. You have your answer. Come no more near my house: I'll have no disobedient, disinherited sons there. <Come no more near to me.>
Ram. Señor Mendoza, you make my unhappiness my crime and condemn me for my misfortune.
Men. Truly, I have so learned to criminate misfortune ever since I found that, when one grief springs from ill fate, twenty come from our own faults. I have never known a young man sink in the world, without finding he had overburdened himself with follies.
Ram. If you will listen to me, I will show you how much you wrong me.
Men. Wrong you? I wrong you not: you are your own wronger. <I should be glad to be rid of you.>
Ram. You treat me with much shame, señor; but, for your daughter's sake, I forgive you.
Men. So would I that your father did for you for my daughter's sake; for then might I think of you for a son. But now, you must pardon me—Think no more of that.
Ram. Señor Mendoza, I have your promise to wed Juana.
Men. I made that promise when you were your father's heir; and I break it, now that you are your father's outcast. I will have no discarded son for my child's husband, believe that.
Ram. My father will restore me to his favor.
Men. When he does that, I will perhaps take thee to mine,—not before. <Fare thee well, señor.>
Ram. Señor Mendoza, it is said you will marry Juana <to another?
Men. And if I do, señor, who is to gainsay me?>
Ram. To Marco, the young merchant of Quito?
Men. Content thee, señor Ramon, Marco is neither discarded nor poor, nor ill spoken of; and will be a good husband for a good man's daughter. <Farewell—Come to me no more.>
Ram. By heaven, it shall not be!
Men. Oho! it shall not be! You are the King of Castile, señor Ramon! You will have fathers marry their children to men of your choosing!
Ram. Señor, you will break my heart. It is enough to lose my father, my family—all—yet you will rob me of my betrothed wife.
Men. Betrothed to Baptista Febro's heir, not to Ramon the penniless and houseless. <You are scurrilous.> I will talk with you no more. Farewell—and come no more near me; my daughter is not for you.
(Exit.)
Ram. Misery follow thee, thou false old churl,
And age's torments! till they rack as sore
As the fresh pangs and agonies of youth.
Perhaps his daughter is not much averse:
Yet many an oath, with many a sigh, of old,
Breathed she for truth and loving constancy.

(Enter Cabarero.)

Cab. Hola, Ramon! brother Sorrowful! Señor Will-o'-the-wisp! are you there? I have been seeking <for> you.
Ram. I should think then thou hadst some execution upon me; for who else now seek me but my creditors?
Cab. Why, thy true friends, thy true friends (for am not I a host?), thy true friends, Cabarero. Come now, hast thou been petitioning thy father?
Ram. I tell thee, I had better ask an alms of the cutthroat on the highway, than of my father.
Cab. <An alms!> Oh, thou art the smallest-souled pretty fellow in all Granada here. Why dost thou talk of an alms? Art thou not thy father's eldest son?
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Ram. Had I been the youngest, I should have been the happier.
Cab. Yea, thou shouldst have been a counter of beads, a beggar of blessings, a winner of the elder brother's portion. Pish! thy brother Francisco is a rogue; he has ousted thee from thine inheritance.
Ram. If any one have done that, thou art the man. I am ruined, Cabarero, and thou art my destroyer.
Cab. <Now, I think thou art repenting of thy sins; but thou goest about it the wrong way.>
Ram. Look, Cabarero, there is my father's roof. There is no swallow twittering under its eaves, that has a merrier heart or a gayer song, than were mine once, when I was a boy under it.
Cab. Ay, faith, and that wast because thou wert a boy, a silly boy. Now wert thou a man, a discreet and reasonable man, thou wouldst be even as merry as before. <Thou dost not think thou wert born to be always in a grin?>
Ram. I was the eye of my mother, the heart of—<my father>; my sister loved me; my brother—<ay, and my brother.>—ay, they all loved me; and there was no one that did not smile on me, from the priest at the confessional to the beggar at the door. By St. James, I had many friends then; and I deserved their favor, for I was of good fame and uncorrupted.
Cab. I see thou art a man whose head is likely to be as empty as his pockets. 'Slife! uncorrupted? <Thy nose uncorrupted!> Bad luck is the lot of the best.
Ram. Antonio, I say, thou hast destroyed me. Until I knew thee, I abhorred shame, and <it is true> my hand was as stainless as an infant's.
Cab. It was thy father's scurvy covetousness that put thee on showing thy spirit.
Ram. Thou didst delude me. By the heaven which has deserted me, I did not think this hand could rob!
Cab. Pho, thou art mad! Remember thou art in the street.
Ram. That is the word, Antonio.—I robbed him—robbed him like a base thief: and then I became the outcast.
Cab. And then thou becam'st a fool! Thou didst but take <what was> a part of thine inheritance.
Ram. <And> yet he forgave me that!
Cab. He did not hang thee, for that would have brought shame on his house. [Forgave thee!] He forced thee to be foolish, and then discarded thee—turned thee off like a sick servant—abandoned thee.
Ram. <I think he should not have done that. Had he forgiven me that!>
Cab. Forgive! Nay, he forgave old Miguel the mule-driver a debt that would have kept thee in bread for a year; and yet it was evident to all that Miguel cheated him. But to forgive his own flesh and blood is another matter.
Ram. He forgave Miguel because he besought his pardon: I have not yet besought him. Dost thou remember the holy history of the prodigal? <Perhaps if I humble myself to him, he will forgive me.>
Cab. If thou art of that mind, thou may'st see, o' the instant, how he will spurn thee. Look, he is here, with thy sister, and—Pho! thou tremblest!—'Tis Mendoza, father of thy fair Juana.
(Febro, with Leonor and Mendoza, crosses the stage.)
Ram. He has discarded me too, and Juana is given to another. How can I entreat him? See, he will not look upon me!
Leon. Father, will you not speak? It is my brother Ramon.
Feb. The carrion vulture with him.—Get thee in.
I would I had no sons—What! in, I say!
(Exit Leonor into the house.)
Señor Mendoza, what you have said is well:
I must needs own the contract was too rash—
We are both agreed it shall not bind us more.
I hear young Marco is a worthy man:
Give him your daughter and heaven bless the match.
Will you enter, señor?
Men. I thank your favor, no.
This thing despatched, I will to other business.
Good evening, señor.
Feb. You will be happy, friend—
Take no wild hothead boy to be your son:
Look to his friends: If Marco have but one
Loves mirth more than integrity, discard him.
These gadflies are our curses—Fare you well.
(Exeunt Mendoza and Febro, the latter into the house.)
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Cab. Oh! o' my conscience, a loving father!
Ram. He gave me no encouragement to speak to him. Had he but looked upon me kindly, that look would have cast me at his feet.
Cab. What, at his feet? Not if he were twenty times your father. <'Slid, at his feet! Why> he would have spurned thee. Didst thou hear? He has absolved Mendoza from the match, robbed thee of Juana, nay, and absolutely counselled the merchant to marry her to your rival. A loving and merciful father! He ruins thee every way. Were he mine own father, I would—
Ram. What wouldst thou do? Thou wouldst not kill him?
Cab. By mine honor, no. I hold any bodily harm done to one's parent altogether inexplicable. But I would not forgive him.
Ram. I will not!
Cab. Why, that was said like a man.
Ram. He forgives not me, he pardons not a folly, and how shall I forgive a cruelty? For a single weakness, he punishes me with all degradation and misery; expels me from his house; looks not on me in the street; leagues with those who wrong me; leaves me penniless and perishing; and even persuades another to break faith with me, and give my betrothed to a stranger: And how shall I forgive him?
Cab. Why, thou shalt not.
Ram. I will not. I am even a desperate man; and so I will yield me up to the wrath of desperation. Art thou my true friend?
Cab. Else may I have no better hope than purgatory.
Ram. We will kill the merchant of Quito.
Cab. No, the saints forbid! no murder. He hath not money enough with him.
Ram. Why, thou dost not think I will slay him for money?
Cab. And for what else should you be so bloody-minded? Thou art not mad enough to cut his throat because he loves thy mistress?
Ram. Thou knowest, if he live, he will marry her.
Cab. Oh! she detests him, and loves you.
Ram. Yet will she wed none her father mislikes; and her father likes not me.
Cab. Wherefore? Because you have lost your father's favor? No. Because you are called a wild fellow, and hate chapels? No. Because you are no longer the hopeful-heir to Baptista Febro, the rich broker? Ay: there lies his disgust, thence comes his indignation. Now were you the veriest rogue in Bogota, he would love you well, so you had but money.
Ram. Why do you tell me that? I know he is mercenary; nothing will win his heart but money, a curse on it! I would I were rich for Juana's sake; but for myself, I care not for gold—It has been the ruin of me.
Cab. Thou speakest like an innocent goose. Money, <Sirrah!> 'tis the essence of all comfort and virtue. Thou carest not for gold! Give me gold, and I will show thee the picture of philosophy, the credential of excellence, the corner-stone of greatness. It is wisdom and reputation—the world's religion, mankind's conscience; and what is man without it? Pah! 'Tis as impossible honesty should dwell easily in an empty pocket, as good humor in a hollow stomach, or wit in a full one. Didst thou ever see integrity revered in an old coat, or unworthiness scorned in a new? <Thou carest not for gold!> 'Slife, it made my blood boil to hear you say so.
Ram. Well, after all, as money or murder must rid me of my rival, tell me how one can be more easily come at than the other.
Cab. Why, you rogue, there is our silver mine! We have been hunting it long; we must needs be near the vein.
Ram. That stratagem is growing stale. I sware but this morning to an old friend, of whom I desired to borrow money that we had discovered the tomb of Bochica the Indian emperor, which was doubtless as full of gold as the Inca's grave in Peru; but the knave laughed at me, <and said if I found no gold in it, I should have plenty brass.>
Cab. The rascal! and he lent thee no money?
Ram. Not a real.
Cab. There is no gratitude among friends. <Do thy good offices to strangers; and courtesy will teach them the grace of thankfulness. Canst thou cheat nobody?>
Ram. Cheat, Antonio?
Cab. Pho! be not in a passion. All's honest that fetcheth money.> We must have gold, or Juana is lost.
​
Ram. Ay—Set me to what roguery you will, so it may regain her.
Cab. The tomb of Bochica, the Indian emperor! I know not by what hallucination it happens, but I never hear thee mention that, without thinking of the vaults of thy father.
Ram. Hah!
Cab. Now, were he not thy father, couldst thou not have the heart to rob him?
Ram. Rob him!
Cab. That is, as long as he oppresses thee so tyrannically. Faith, I would even steal mine own share.
Ram. Thou dost not seriously advise me to be such a villain?
Cab. No, good faith—I? I was jesting. But I will tell thee what thou shalt do. Thou shalt ask him for money.
Ram. And have him spurn me again?
Cab. Tell him thou art in danger of a prison.
Ram. I will go near him no more. No more begging! The prison first.
Cab. <Why, we must have money. I am sorry to tell thee, some evil rogues have disparaged us among the free gamesters, and they will be free with us no more.> Pablo the innkeeper is wrathful with thee, and says he must have money for thy food and lodging.
Ram. The villain! He has had my last dollar.
Cab. He is not so merciful as thy father; but he has harbored thee long. Hearken—I will go to thy father.
Ram. Thou!
Cab. And entreat him for thee very piteously.
Ram. <He will fill thy pockets with curses.>
Cab. Why, then I will cheat him.
Ram. Cheat him?
Cab. Oh, thou dost not care?
Ram. You may rob him, if you will: I care not.
Cab. I will deal with him with good security, and will fetch thee the money. <But I must not give thee too much hope: he will think I borrow it for thee, and will refuse me. But> do thou in the meantime endeavor to speak with Juana. Marco must not have her.
Ram. Not if any new dye upon my soul can preserve her. <Do what you will, or can; and if you fail, we will consider another way to amend our fortunes.>
Cab. All the men of Bogota are our enemies—How many of them have money in thy father's hands?
Ram. Why more than I can tell thee. But what has that to do with their enmity?
Cab. So much that if one were to break Baptista's vaults, we should have much feeding of grudges.
Ram. Say no more of this.
Cab. Look, here comes thy friend Mendoza again!
Ram. Where? Nay, thou art mistaken: 'tis another, and a greater than Mendoza, and one not more our friend. Seest thou nothing beyond that muffled cloak? It is the Viceroy.
Cab. The Viceroy! I warrant me, he is spying over us. What does he in disguise? and near thy father's house?
Ram. Perhaps I could tell thee. But let us be gone. He hardens my father against me.—Let him not see us.
(Exeunt.)


​ ​
Ram. Had I been the youngest, I should have been the happier.
Cab. Yea, thou shouldst have been a counter of beads, a beggar of blessings, a winner of the elder brother's portion. Pish! thy brother Francisco is a rogue; he has ousted thee from thine inheritance.
Ram. If any one have done that, thou art the man. I am ruined, Cabarero, and thou art my destroyer.
Cab. <Now, I think thou art repenting of thy sins; but thou goest about it the wrong way.>
Ram. Look, Cabarero, there is my father's roof. There is no swallow twittering under its eaves, that has a merrier heart or a gayer song, than were mine once, when I was a boy under it.
Cab. Ay, faith, and that wast because thou wert a boy, a silly boy. Now wert thou a man, a discreet and reasonable man, thou wouldst be even as merry as before. <Thou dost not think thou wert born to be always in a grin?>
Ram. I was the eye of my mother, the heart of—<my father>; my sister loved me; my brother—<ay, and my brother.>—ay, they all loved me; and there was no one that did not smile on me, from the priest at the confessional to the beggar at the door. By St. James, I had many friends then; and I deserved their favor, for I was of good fame and uncorrupted.
Cab. I see thou art a man whose head is likely to be as empty as his pockets. 'Slife! uncorrupted? <Thy nose uncorrupted!> Bad luck is the lot of the best.
Ram. Antonio, I say, thou hast destroyed me. Until I knew thee, I abhorred shame, and <it is true> my hand was as stainless as an infant's.
Cab. It was thy father's scurvy covetousness that put thee on showing thy spirit.
Ram. Thou didst delude me. By the heaven which has deserted me, I did not think this hand could rob!
Cab. Pho, thou art mad! Remember thou art in the street.
Ram. That is the word, Antonio.—I robbed him—robbed him like a base thief: and then I became the outcast.
Cab. And then thou becam'st a fool! Thou didst but take <what was> a part of thine inheritance.
Ram. <And> yet he forgave me that!
Cab. He did not hang thee, for that would have brought shame on his house. [Forgave thee!] He forced thee to be foolish, and then discarded thee—turned thee off like a sick servant—abandoned thee.
Ram. <I think he should not have done that. Had he forgiven me that!>
Cab. Forgive! Nay, he forgave old Miguel the mule-driver a debt that would have kept thee in bread for a year; and yet it was evident to all that Miguel cheated him. But to forgive his own flesh and blood is another matter.
Ram. He forgave Miguel because he besought his pardon: I have not yet besought him. Dost thou remember the holy history of the prodigal? <Perhaps if I humble myself to him, he will forgive me.>
Cab. If thou art of that mind, thou may'st see, o' the instant, how he will spurn thee. Look, he is here, with thy sister, and—Pho! thou tremblest!—'Tis Mendoza, father of thy fair Juana.
(Febro, with Leonor and Mendoza, crosses the stage.)
Ram. He has discarded me too, and Juana is given to another. How can I entreat him? See, he will not look upon me!
Leon. Father, will you not speak? It is my brother Ramon.
Feb. The carrion vulture with him.—Get thee in.
I would I had no sons—What! in, I say!
(Exit Leonor into the house.)
Señor Mendoza, what you have said is well:
I must needs own the contract was too rash—
We are both agreed it shall not bind us more.
I hear young Marco is a worthy man:
Give him your daughter and heaven bless the match.
Will you enter, señor?
Men. I thank your favor, no.
This thing despatched, I will to other business.
Good evening, señor.
Feb. You will be happy, friend—
Take no wild hothead boy to be your son:
Look to his friends: If Marco have but one
Loves mirth more than integrity, discard him.
These gadflies are our curses—Fare you well.
(Exeunt Mendoza and Febro, the latter into the house.)
​
Cab. Oh! o' my conscience, a loving father!
Ram. He gave me no encouragement to speak to him. Had he but looked upon me kindly, that look would have cast me at his feet.
Cab. What, at his feet? Not if he were twenty times your father. <'Slid, at his feet! Why> he would have spurned thee. Didst thou hear? He has absolved Mendoza from the match, robbed thee of Juana, nay, and absolutely counselled the merchant to marry her to your rival. A loving and merciful father! He ruins thee every way. Were he mine own father, I would—
Ram. What wouldst thou do? Thou wouldst not kill him?
Cab. By mine honor, no. I hold any bodily harm done to one's parent altogether inexplicable. But I would not forgive him.
Ram. I will not!
Cab. Why, that was said like a man.
Ram. He forgives not me, he pardons not a folly, and how shall I forgive a cruelty? For a single weakness, he punishes me with all degradation and misery; expels me from his house; looks not on me in the street; leagues with those who wrong me; leaves me penniless and perishing; and even persuades another to break faith with me, and give my betrothed to a stranger: And how shall I forgive him?
Cab. Why, thou shalt not.
Ram. I will not. I am even a desperate man; and so I will yield me up to the wrath of desperation. Art thou my true friend?
Cab. Else may I have no better hope than purgatory.
Ram. We will kill the merchant of Quito.
Cab. No, the saints forbid! no murder. He hath not money enough with him.
Ram. Why, thou dost not think I will slay him for money?
Cab. And for what else should you be so bloody-minded? Thou art not mad enough to cut his throat because he loves thy mistress?
Ram. Thou knowest, if he live, he will marry her.
Cab. Oh! she detests him, and loves you.
Ram. Yet will she wed none her father mislikes; and her father likes not me.
Cab. Wherefore? Because you have lost your father's favor? No. Because you are called a wild fellow, and hate chapels? No. Because you are no longer the hopeful-heir to Baptista Febro, the rich broker? Ay: there lies his disgust, thence comes his indignation. Now were you the veriest rogue in Bogota, he would love you well, so you had but money.
Ram. Why do you tell me that? I know he is mercenary; nothing will win his heart but money, a curse on it! I would I were rich for Juana's sake; but for myself, I care not for gold—It has been the ruin of me.
Cab. Thou speakest like an innocent goose. Money, <Sirrah!> 'tis the essence of all comfort and virtue. Thou carest not for gold! Give me gold, and I will show thee the picture of philosophy, the credential of excellence, the corner-stone of greatness. It is wisdom and reputation—the world's religion, mankind's conscience; and what is man without it? Pah! 'Tis as impossible honesty should dwell easily in an empty pocket, as good humor in a hollow stomach, or wit in a full one. Didst thou ever see integrity revered in an old coat, or unworthiness scorned in a new? <Thou carest not for gold!> 'Slife, it made my blood boil to hear you say so.
Ram. Well, after all, as money or murder must rid me of my rival, tell me how one can be more easily come at than the other.
Cab. Why, you rogue, there is our silver mine! We have been hunting it long; we must needs be near the vein.
Ram. That stratagem is growing stale. I sware but this morning to an old friend, of whom I desired to borrow money that we had discovered the tomb of Bochica the Indian emperor, which was doubtless as full of gold as the Inca's grave in Peru; but the knave laughed at me, <and said if I found no gold in it, I should have plenty brass.>
Cab. The rascal! and he lent thee no money?
Ram. Not a real.
Cab. There is no gratitude among friends. <Do thy good offices to strangers; and courtesy will teach them the grace of thankfulness. Canst thou cheat nobody?>
Ram. Cheat, Antonio?
Cab. Pho! be not in a passion. All's honest that fetcheth money.> We must have gold, or Juana is lost.
​
Ram. Ay—Set me to what roguery you will, so it may regain her.
Cab. The tomb of Bochica, the Indian emperor! I know not by what hallucination it happens, but I never hear thee mention that, without thinking of the vaults of thy father.
Ram. Hah!
Cab. Now, were he not thy father, couldst thou not have the heart to rob him?
Ram. Rob him!
Cab. That is, as long as he oppresses thee so tyrannically. Faith, I would even steal mine own share.
Ram. Thou dost not seriously advise me to be such a villain?
Cab. No, good faith—I? I was jesting. But I will tell thee what thou shalt do. Thou shalt ask him for money.
Ram. And have him spurn me again?
Cab. Tell him thou art in danger of a prison.
Ram. I will go near him no more. No more begging! The prison first.
Cab. <Why, we must have money. I am sorry to tell thee, some evil rogues have disparaged us among the free gamesters, and they will be free with us no more.> Pablo the innkeeper is wrathful with thee, and says he must have money for thy food and lodging.
Ram. The villain! He has had my last dollar.
Cab. He is not so merciful as thy father; but he has harbored thee long. Hearken—I will go to thy father.
Ram. Thou!
Cab. And entreat him for thee very piteously.
Ram. <He will fill thy pockets with curses.>
Cab. Why, then I will cheat him.
Ram. Cheat him?
Cab. Oh, thou dost not care?
Ram. You may rob him, if you will: I care not.
Cab. I will deal with him with good security, and will fetch thee the money. <But I must not give thee too much hope: he will think I borrow it for thee, and will refuse me. But> do thou in the meantime endeavor to speak with Juana. Marco must not have her.
Ram. Not if any new dye upon my soul can preserve her. <Do what you will, or can; and if you fail, we will consider another way to amend our fortunes.>
Cab. All the men of Bogota are our enemies—How many of them have money in thy father's hands?
Ram. Why more than I can tell thee. But what has that to do with their enmity?
Cab. So much that if one were to break Baptista's vaults, we should have much feeding of grudges.
Ram. Say no more of this.
Cab. Look, here comes thy friend Mendoza again!
Ram. Where? Nay, thou art mistaken: 'tis another, and a greater than Mendoza, and one not more our friend. Seest thou nothing beyond that muffled cloak? It is the Viceroy.
Cab. The Viceroy! I warrant me, he is spying over us. What does he in disguise? and near thy father's house?
Ram. Perhaps I could tell thee. But let us be gone. He hardens my father against me.—Let him not see us.
(Exeunt.)


Scene 2. A room in Febro's house.

(Enter Febro and Leonor.)

Feb. Come hither, Leonora. What, my girl,
That stranger youth I bade thee see no more,
Dost thou still speak with him?
Leon. Alack, dear father, I hope you are not angry.
<Feb. Is it so? Comes he still near thee?
Leon. Oh, I am sure indeed, I never gave him countenance.>
Feb. I charged thee give him such scorn, if still he followed thee,
As should have driven him from thee; for, indeed,
These trashbrained idlers, that do follow thee,
Sighing in chapel, staring in the street,
And strumming silly lovesongs at thy window,
They are but things of naught,—base, lazy rogues,
That hunt for rich men's daughters for their prey,
And now they haunt thy steps the more, because
The broker, weak old Febro, that must die,
In natural course of age, ere many years,
Hath but two heirs to share his hoards.
​
Leon. Dear father,
Will you not then forgive my brother Ramon?
I know he is very sorry he e'er grieved you
And on his heart your wrath must needs be heavy.
Feb. If thou believest so, then, in time, beware
It fall not upon thine. <In sooth, I think,
Thou art leagued with him to vex me.—>O ye saints!
Punish these villains that seduce men's sons,
Making them villains; and with vengeance follow
The knaves that teach our daughters disobedience.
Leon. Dear father, none shall teach me that.
Feb. They shall not,
When thou seest no more rogue Rolandos.
Leon. Father
Indeed, I think, he is honest.
Feb. Nay, a knave!
He doth not come to me, but ever shuns me.
He hath no friends; no man in Bogota
Hath made acquaintance with him: he flies all
Like a scared thief, save only thee alone
<And comes to thee like one, cloaked, almost masked
As when he followed thee from the carnival.
Now were my Ramon what in youth he was
He should be thy protector, and soon drive
This wasp away.
Leon. If he return again>
I'll bid him come no more;—I will indeed
Till he has talked with you, and satisfied you.
Feb. Why there's my girl! Let him but come to me;
I'll tell him that I mean thee for another.
Leon. Another, father! I do not wish to marry.
Feb. Thus silly maids will talk! Why, thou poor finch
A gentleman hath asked thee for his wife,—
Rich, I assure thee, virtuous, honorable
And a hidalgo.
Leon. And so is Roland, too.
Feb. Speak'st thou of Roland? Thou wilt anger me.
He a hidalgo! By my faith, I think
Some heathenish villain, that with magic arts
Hath wound about thy spirits. He I meant
Is Baltasar, son of Don Lucas Moron.
Dost thou name him and Roland in a breath?
I' faith, thou stirr'st me,—

(Enter Silvano.)

Feb. What would'st thou, Silvano?
Silv. A customer to your worship.
Feb. It is a holiday.
I will no business do today.
Silv. Your favor
Must pardon me. It is his Excellency.
Feb. His Excellency! oh thou foolish knave.
To leave him waiting!—

(Enter Palmera.)

Please, your noble highness, pardon my silly fellow.
Palm. Good Baptista
Forget my state,—it is too cumbersome.
I am even your humble suitor and poor friend.
My pretty Leonor! Now, by my life
Which like a desert river, flows away
I would some green and flourishing plant like thee
Had rooted by my current: then indeed
I should have seen the surges of my age
Dash with a sweet contented music on
Nor thought their course was sterile.
Feb. A silly maid.
Your highness is too good.—Go, Leonora.
(Exeunt Leonora <and Silvano.>)
<A silly maid! and yet, or I do dream
Loving and true. And yet—But that's no matter.—
I am at your highness' bidding.>
Palm. Sit down, Baptista.—
Oh, then, I must be viceroy and command you.—
I have much to say to thee.
Feb. I am sorry your grace
Did not command me to the palace.
Palm. No.
Perhaps I have a reason I could tell you,
Febro, you have my confidence, and know
What were a wonder unto other men
How one can sit upon a viceroy's chair
Yet heap no wealth about him.
Feb. Please your highness
​Your predecessors on Granada's throne,
Ne'er found a lack of gain; and, sooth to say,
I do remember when no mine could yield,
Though by a thousand Indians daily wrought,
So rich a revenue as the rod of state
In one man's hands, were but that man the viceroy.
Palm. Such was its wealth, and such may be again,
To him with heart to use it. But for myself,
I cannot stoop to use those under means,
That fill the purse of office; and I would gnaw
Sooner my food from off my barren trappings,
Than gild them vilely with the fruits of fraud,
Sales, bribes, exactions, and monopolies,
The rich dishonor of prerogative.
<I will this kingdom leave with no man's curse,
And no man's scorn; and to mine own land bear
Even the poor burden that I brought with me,
An honest pride and pure integrity.>
'Tis from this thought that I make use of thee,
Out of that lean estate I have, to win
Such gain as my necessities require,
And such as though my state must keep it secret,
I have no shame to grasp at.
Feb. Would indeed this principle should come with your successor.
Palm. I have some gold, which I would have you place
Even at what profitable trade you can,
But not in peril; for indeed it is
After some worthless antique lands in Spain,
The only portion I can give my son,
But now arrived in Bogota.
Feb. Your highness shall faithfully be served.
Palm. I doubt not that.
Soon as you will, some trusty messenger
Send to the court, and he shall bear the gold.
Feb. My son shall be despatched.
Palm. Your son, Baptista!
Feb. My son Francisco,—I dare assure your highness,
A trusty youth, and most unequalled son.
Palm. In sooth, I thought you meant his elder brother.
Feb. Francisco, please your grace,—an excellent boy,
<Mine only hope and comfort,—a dutiful son.>
It is a holiday, and the youths have left
Their prisoned warehouses, and look for mirth
In the gay squares and streets,—all but Francisco.
He hooks him at his desk, and still pores o'er
The weary mysteries of accounts, as though
Wisdom, as well as wealth, were writ among them.
Palm. A commendable zeal. But tell me, Febro,—
This should have been the elder brother's office.
Pardon me, Febro; but beshrew my heart,
I speak to thee in friendship, when I meddle
In family affairs. You are too harsh:
Indeed it is the towntalk, your severity
To your discarded son.
Feb. It is the towntalk!
The town will disobedience teach to children,
Then censure fathers, who do punish them.
This is the course, and justice of the town!
Palm. But still, men say, the penance you inflict
Is all too heavy for his boyish follies.
Feb. Follies! No doubt, they told your excellency
He idled at his task, sometimes made blunders,
Played truant oft, and sometimes laughed at chapel—
Such follies!
Palm. No, I must needs own, for truth,
They were of darker color,—running forth
With youths disorderly and riotous,
Unto the tavern and the gaming-house.
Feb. Riotous friends! Drinking, and gambling! Sir, these are such follies
In youth, as fraud and robbery in men;
And he who clouds his dawn of life with such
Shall have a fouller tempest for its close.
Palm. And yet these are such ills as gentleness
​Might best reprove; and, for those after crimes,
Surely your son has not plunged into them?
Feb. I do not say it! There is no man dare say it.—
I say, my Ramon is a foolish boy.
Your highness cannot say I e'er accused him
Of aught but folly.
Palm. The more unwise your anger,
Which may compel him into crime.
Baptista,
He is the only one of your three children
Whose weakness vexes you.
Feb. I'll not say that.
Palm. What, Febro? And the paragon, Francisco?
Feb. He never gave me pain.
Palm. And Leonor?
Feb. My pretty Leonor?
Palm. The world's best daughter!
Palm. O foolish man, that art not yet content,
When heaven that crowns thee with two perfect joys,
Dashes a little gall upon the third!
Wilt thou be harsher than all other sires,
Because thou art happier? Oh, believe me Febro,
There is no father but must much forgive;
There is no father but must much lament.
And I, that have but one child to mine age,
And him would have an angel in my love,
Even see him tainted with the spots of youth,
And envy thee that hast such bliss with thine.
Feb. Sir, I have heard the young Fernando bore him
Like a most just and virtuous gentleman.
Palm. And yet, though but few days in Bogota,
His heart is tangled in a low intrigue,
A base amour. But shall I drive him from me?
I will not ape thy cruelty, but bid thee
Follow mine own mild counsels, which will give thee
Thy son again, a loving penitent.
Feb. Sir, I would have him feel in sharp extreme
The bitter issues of his degradation.
'T is need he feel them.
Palm. They oppress him now:
I saw him sad and moody near thy house,
Humbled to earth.
Feb. Ay! but with Cabarero!
The villain that seduced him into folly,
And still cajoles him on. He has his choice,—
That caitiff, or his father—He has his choice!
Palm. Well, well, think better of him.
He loves the man,
Who seems to be his fast unflinching friend.
Think of my counsel.
Feb. At your highness' feet!
Francisco shall attend you to the palace,—
What, boy! Francisco!
Palm. I prythee, keep thy house.
I will not have thee follow to the doors.
Feb. Your excellency's slave.
(Exeunt.)

​

Scene 3. The street at Febro's door.

(Enter Silvano and Fernando.)

Silv. I do wonder at your presumption, señor Rolando.
Fern. And I do wonder at thine honesty. If thou wilt not for money, oh then for love bear my message to the fair Leonor.
Silv. To peep from the window, and see how prettily thou wilt kiss thy hand to her? Art thou really a hidalgo?
Fern. I am really a hidalgo, a Spanish hidalgo.
Silv. And your worship does really love my mistress?
Fern. My worship does most devoutly adore your divine mistress.
Silv. And if you gain her good will, you will make her your worship's wife?
Fern. If I gain her good will, I will fly straightway to the altar; if not, I will e'en betake me to the halter.
Silv. Why, if thou wert an honest gentleman, thou would'st demand her of her father. He would be glad to have a hidalgo for a son.
Fern. Oh, thou art a silly fellow. I am a poor hidalgo, which is naught to a rich commoner.
Silv. Señor Rolando, I like thy face indifferent well; but I think thou art some rogue, and no noble.
Fern. If thou wilt be as loving as I am noble, hear my petition, and beseech my ​young divinity to look from the window.
Silv. Who knows? Why, señor Febro is within.
Fern. How shall he hear the silver voice of his daughter, when his ears are filled with the golden jingle of his coffers?
Silv. Well, stay a moment till his excellency goes.
Fern. His excellency! What excellency?
Silv. Why, his excellency the Viceroy. <He is a great friend of my master.>
Fern. Oh! fire and furies! the Viceroy! Now, I remember me, I have to meet a friend in the great square.
Silv. Stay, señor Hidalgo, here comes his excellency. Señor, you are a rogue! God be with you! (Exit Fernando.) Well, thou art a mysterious, good-for-nothing, agreeable rascal, I warrant me; and somehow, I begin to love thee. But thou hast a wholesome dread of great men.
(Enter, from house, Palmera, Febro, and Francisco. Leonor appears at the door.)
.
Feb. Heaven keep your excellence a thousand years!
Thou hast thy charge, Francisco.—Heaven save your highness!
(Exeunt Palmera and Francisco.)
Silvano, hast thou heard more things of Ramon?
Silv. Please your worship, I heard he was last night at Mateo's gambling house.
Feb. The wretched boy!
Silv. And, please your worship, he hurt one with his dagger for calling him a cheat.
Feb. A cheat! Would he had never been born!
Silv. But then, it was a slander; or how should he have stabbed a man for telling the truth?
Feb. Ay, slander, Silvano! He could not cheat.
Silv. <And the gambler's boy that told me, he is a most notorious liar.
Feb. I cannot but believe it was a lie.>
Silv. And then, if he had cheated, he should have had money; whereas, they say, he is in great poverty, and Pablo the innkeeper threatens to put him in prison.
Feb. In prison! I have been too harsh.
Silv. <But that, I think, is only to make your worship pay his debts; for Pablo is reckoned to be a rascal.
Feb. Will Ramon agree to this roguery? I will not pay a real.>
Silv. Please your worship, I have heard no more of his doings.
Feb. Well, I did love him well,—but that's no matter.
My Rachel loved him too, as her first born;
And, for a boy, he was the lovingest one
Mine eyes ere looked upon. <Get in, Leonora.>
Why wilt thou stand at doors, to be gazed on
By these young bawbling wantons of the town?
They'll smirk at thee, and wink, and kiss their hands:
I know them very well,—such gewgaw brains,
And hearts of rotten stone, and trash and lies—
Wilt thou not hear me? What? (Exit Leonora.) By all the saints,
She is the very apple of mine eye.
She does not love this fellow:—the whim of girls,
To have well-favored youths a-wooing them.—>
I know that rogue—is it not Cabarero?
Oh, the base villain! had he been but hanged
Six years agone, or ere he looked upon
My foolish boy!—Well, will he speak with me?

(Enter Cabarero.)

Come, let us in.
Cab. Hola, you money-vender!
You reverend old blood-grater of the poor!
Feb. Tarry, I'll speak with you.
Now all the saints give me a little patience.
Cab. Come, how stand your vaults and money bags? Still filling, filling,
Like the horseleech's paunch, and crying "More!"?
I'll be thy customer. What rate today?
Not cent per cent, with tenth of gross premium?
Be reasonable, and I'll deal with thee.
These are hard times, faith.
Feb. I will not be angry,
Why should I with a rascal? Señor, base fellow,
You may go hang or drown—I'll give you naught.
​
Cab. No, by mine honor, no, you will not give me,
Else should the devil grow weary of the earth,
And leave't to angels. Give me indeed! When pesos
Change to perditions, ducats to damnation,
Then will I look for gifts. But how now, señor?
'Slid, I believe you are angry!—What's the news?
How fares my little soul, fair Leonor?
Upon my faith, she's an exceeding girl.
What portion will you give her? Sometimes I
Do think of marriage; and hidalgo blood
Has often stooped to gutters.
Feb. Which is to say,
Your honor might be bribed to marry her?
Cab. Noble's a noble dower; and so I say,
Verily so, if well thou portion'st her.
Feb. Then shalt thou hear it—When she weds a man
Like thee, her portion shall be cords and ratsbane,
Curses and misery! Oh, thou bold bad man,
Darest thou look me in the face, nor think
Of ruin'd Ramon?
Cab. I do think of him,
And wonder at the rage that ruins him.
Feb. Sirrah!
Cab. Why, how you fume! I come to you
To borrow money—good faith, a thousand ducats—
At highest rates of interest, with surety
Of good sufficient names, to be repaid
Out of my new discovered silver mine.—
I say, good names.
Feb. Were they angelical,
Thou shouldst not have a doit to hang thyself.
Cab. Harkee, old sir—I meant a part thereof
To feed thy starving Ramon.
Feb. Knave, thou liest!
It is to tempt him on to further shame.
To deeper ruin!
Cab. Thou art angry,—I forgive thee.
But know, unless thou send'st him money straight,
He will be lodged in prison. Ope thy heart;
Send him some gold.
Feb. Art thou his friend?
Cab. His best.
Feb. <Thou lovest my Ramon—ay, and thou lovest gold:>
I'll teach thee how to serve him as a friend,
And how to win the money.
Cab. Speak that how.
Feb. Leave Bogota forever; swear me that:
Get thee from hence to Spain; and I will give thee
A thousand ducats.
Cab. Faith, now you speak in jest!
Feb. I say, I'll give them to thee, nay, and more,
Swear me but that, and keep thine oath.
Cab. A thousand?
A thousand ducats to leave Bogota?
No, not for five!
Feb. Wilt thou not go for five?
Cab. Art thou in earnest?
Feb. So may the saints befriend me;
Get thee to Spain; leave Ramon unto me,
And thou shalt have five thousand ducats.
Cab. 'Slid! I take thy offer. Give me the gold.
Feb. Soft, soft:
I'll have thine oath before a notary;
Find thee conveyance unto Carthagena;
Pay thee a portion when thou art embarked,
And count the rest, in yearly sums, to thee,
Only in Spain.
Cab. Five thousand on the nail,
Paid here in Bogota; to which e'en add
A thousand yearly to be paid in Spain,
During my term of life.
Feb. O grasping villain!
Thou wouldst have all, and yet wilt go with none.
If thou wilt more, there's money in my vaults;
Break them, and rob me!
Cab. Oh! dost thou invite me?
Feb. Rob me, thou knave, that I may have thy life!
Do me that crime, and hang!
Cab. Most antique churl,
Thou shalt be sorry for this fantasy.
Thou hast no gold for Ramon?
Feb. Hence, begone!
And a deep curse go with thee, a father's curse!
Get thee to fraud and crime, to theft and murder.
Become notorious to thyself, and sleep,
​Dreaming of gibbets, to wake up to racks;
Rob other sires of other sons; bring wo
On other houses; till the general curse
Heaped like a mountain o'er thy head, reach heaven
And wall thee in its fiery hell forever!
Hence, monster, hence!

END OF ACT ONE.

​

ACT SECOND.

Scene 1. A street near Mendoza's house.

(Enter Ramon and Pablo.)

Pab. I am a poor man, señor Ramon: I must have money.
Ram. Wert thou as penniless as a beggar, still couldst thou have nothing of me; for I am poorer.
Pab. Thy father is the richest man in Bogota. He should pay for thy food.
Ram. Get thee to him, and tell him so. Look, thou insatiate rogue, I have signed and countersigned all thy villainous obligations; I have owned me here thy debtor, and confessed thou canst justly hale me to prison. <What more can I do? If thou canst use these to any honest purposes, or dishonest either, I care not. Get thee to my father. If he will give thee money, I am content; if not, 'tis but a word to the alguazil, and thou shalt have so much satisfaction as my incarcerated misery can give thee.>
Pab. Thou knowest I should be loath to be so unfriendly.
Ram. I know, thou art as much a cormorant as the rest <and as rapacious for my lean and impoverished body as ever thou wert in my days of fatness.> Get thee away: I have one honest friend left, whom I would not willingly have to see me in thy company.
Pab. Why, I hope thou art not ashamed of me?
Ram. No, I am now ashamed of nothing. The grace in me that would have once blushed at unworthiness, is gone; and I have nothing left for contempt but myself—myself. Go, get money, if thou canst; it is thy only hope; they say will only rob me of my last. Go, I prythee.
Pab. Well, God be with you. If I can cheat your father, you shall have some of the gain.
(Exit.)
Ram. Thus doth severity still goad me on
Into a hateful villainy; and chains me
<What e'er my sighs for better liberty>
To fellowship with rogues more vile than I.
Thou drivest me, father, to this noose of shame;
And wilt not bate thy wrath, till I am dead.—

(Enter Juana.)

I looked for thee, Juana! for I knew
Though all else had deserted me, thou couldst not.
Juan. Ramon, I have few words to speak to thee;
And even with these, I lay upon my soul
The sin of disobedience.
Ram. Ay, indeed!
You will obey your sire!
Juan. What else should I?
I am his only child; in whom, in sooth,
Heaven would not pardon an unfilial act.
Ram. Speak boldly; leave me, like the rest, and fear not;
Say, Marco is a rich and honored man,
And Ramon lost to wealth and reputation:
There's none but will commend thee.
Juan. Say not that:
Thou know'st, I never loved thee for thy wealth;
For, sooth, I liked thee best when that was gone;
With thy hard father's heart: and, for thy name,
These evil tales destruction speaks of thee,
But spur me on to be thy advocate.
I never gave them faith…
Ram. Lies! that are ever
Writ, by contempt, upon the poor man's brow,
But puffed, by flattery, from all jewelled fronts.
But yesterday men found the rich man's son
Worthy and honorable, without stain;
Today they find the fallen outcast's face
Charged with the sinful leprosy of years—
An hour for transformation!
Juan. They will find thee
Stainless again, when thou art fortunate.
Hark to me, Ramon: there are not many days,
Ere I am lost to thee. Unless thou find
Before they pass, some happy road to wealth,

​TB transcribed ​Page:Representative American plays.pdf/243 ​Page:Representative American plays.pdf/244

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