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  CLAYTON'S EDITION.


  A

  BOLD STROKE FOR A HUSBAND

  A Comedy, in Five Acts;

  BY MRS. COWLEY.


  As Performed at the

  THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN,

  AND

  PARK THEATRE, NEW-YORK.


  PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS, FROM THE
  PROMPT BOOK.

  With Remarks,
  BY MRS. INCHBALD.


  New-York:

  PUBLISHED BY E. B. CLAYTON,
  No. 9 Chambers-Street.

  1831.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


                       _Covent Garden._   _Park_, 1830.

  _Don Cæsar_        Mr. Munden              Mr. Barnes.
  _Don Julio_        Mr. Lewis               Mr. Simpson.
  _Don Carlos_       Mr. Cooke               Mr. Barry.
  _Don Vincentio_    Mr. Fawcet              Mr. Richings.
  _Don Garcia_       Mr. Brunton             Mr. Woodhull.
  _Don Vasquez_      Mr. Simmons             Mr. Foot.
  _Gasper_           Mr. Blanchard           Mr. Blakeley.
  _Pedro_            Mr. Harley              Mr. Nexsen.
                                            {Mr. Hayden.
  _Servants_                                {Mr. Bissett.

  _Donna Olivia_     Mrs. Glover             Miss Fisher.
  _Donna Victoria_   Mrs. Litchfield         Mrs. Hilson.
  _Donna Laura_      Mrs. Dibdin             Mrs. Durie.
  _Minette_          Mrs. Gibbs              Mrs. Wheatley.
  _Marcella_         Miss Waddy              Mrs. Godey.
  _Sancha_           Mrs. Whitmore           Miss Turnbull.
  _Inis_             Mrs. Beverly            Miss Jessup.

SCENE--_Spain_.




STAGE DIRECTIONS.


EXITS AND ENTRANCES.

R. means _Right_; L. _Left_; F. _the Flat, or Scene running across the
back of the Stage_; D. F. _Door in Flat_; R. D. _Right Door_; L. D.
_Left Door_; S. E. _Second Entrance_; 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 be on the Stage, facing the Audience._




REMARKS.


Although "The Bold Stroke for a Husband," by Mrs. Cowley, does not equal
"The Bold Stroke for a Wife," by Mrs. Centlivre, either in originality
of design, 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, detrimental 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 Olivia is the heroine, as Victoria
is of the foregoing; and this more comic fable, in which the former is
chiefly concerned, seems to have been the favourite story of the
authoress, as from this she has taken her title.

But if Olivia makes a bold stroke to obtain a husband, 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 renounce
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 admired object with the
reader, he will not be insensible to the trials of the other, or to the
various interests of the whole dramatis personæ, 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 support of any particularly prominent, yet insulated,
character.

The part of Don Vincentio was certainly meant as a moral satire upon the
extravagant love or the foolish affectation, of pretending to love, to
extravagance--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 mistress Olivia, in that excellent scene in
the third act, where she first takes off her veil, and fascinates 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 would venture to
marry a good impostor of this kind, could not excite much pity, if his
helpmate was often induced to act the part which she had heretofore,
with so much spirit, assumed.

The impropriety of making fraud and imposition necessary evils,
to counteract tyranny and injustice, is the fault of all Spanish
dramas--and perhaps the only one which attaches to the present comedy.




A Bold Stroke for a Husband.




ACT I.


SCENE I.--_A Street in Madrid._

_Enter_ 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. Antony in the corner.
Now, do you tell him that your mistress is not at home; and if his
jealous donship should insist on searching the house, as he did
yesterday, 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 received for telling that
lie?

_Ped._ Lie!--lie!--Signior!--

_Car._ It must be a lie, by your promptness in delivering it.--What a
fool does your mistress trust--A clever rascal would have waited my
approach, and, delivering the message with easy coolness, deceived
me--_thou_ hast been on the watch, and runnest towards me with a face of
stupid importance, bawling, that she may hear through the lattice how
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 in 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.

_Ped._ In the grotto, sir!--did I say any thing about the grotto? I----I
only meant that----

_Car._ Fool!--dost thou trifle with me? who is with her? [_Pinching his
ear._]

_Ped._ Oh!--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. I 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._ How! [_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.

_Ped._ I promise, I promise.

_Car._ There, take that, [_Gives money._] and if thou art faithful,
I'll treble it. Now go in and be a good 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.

_Car._ '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 woman
more--may every----

      _Enter two_ 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 without
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, goodman gravity, canst thou have in
Madrid? I understand you are married--quietly settled in your own
pastures--father of a family, 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.

_Julio._ Really! then matrimony has not totally destroyed thy free will.

_Car._ 'Tis with difficulty I have preserved it though; for women,
thou knowest, are most unreasonable beings! as soon as I had exhausted
my stock of love tales, which, with management, lasted beyond the
honey-moon, madam grew sullen,--I found home dull, and amused myself
with the pretty peasants of the neighbourhood----Worse and worse!--we
had nothing now but faintings, tears and hysterics, for twenty-four
honey-moons more.--So one morning 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 pleasure, with more spirit than a young Arabian on
his mountains.

_Julio._ Do you find this clog no hindrance in affairs 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 settlement.

_Julio._ Pho! is that----

_Car._ Oh! but you know not its nature. A settlement 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. _with 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 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 turned shape, graceful----

_Car._ Hold, Julio, if thou lov'st me!--Is it possible she can be so
bewitching a creature?

_Julio._ 'Tis possible--though, to deal plainly, I never saw her: but I
love my own pleasure so well, that I 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
forsworn the sex myself, and have done with them for ever, yet I may be
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 suffer thee to come.

_Car._ Then I am a man again! Wife, avaunt! mistress, farewell!--At
seven, you say!

_Julio._ Exactly.

_Car._ I'll meet thee at Philippi! [_Exeunt_, JULIO, L. CARLOS, R.


SCENE II.--_A spacious Garden, belonging to_ DON CÆSAR.

_Enter_ MINETTE _and_ INIS, R. 2d E.


_Min._ There, will that do! My lady sent me to make her up a nosegay;
these orange flowers are delicious, and this rose, how sweet?

_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._ So 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 from their colours, if fear did not keep them in dread of
desertion.

_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!--but time will discover all things.

_Inis._ What! what, is there a secret in the business, Minette? if there
is, hang time! let's have it directly.

_Min._ Now, if I dared but tell ye--lud! lud! how I could surprise
ye!----[_Going._]

_Inis._ [_Stopping her._] Don't go.

_Min._ I must go; I am on the very brink of betraying my mistress,--I
must leave you--mercy upon me!--it rises like new bread.

_Inis._ 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?

_Inis._ I'll swear to myself forty times a-day to forget it.

_Min._ You are sure 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,--