Having in youth squandered my patrimony,
  Wasting my substance that I might procure
  Expensive books and likewise instruments
  I needed in the fond pursuits of science,
  In gratifiying literary tastes,
  And other fancies, thus I soon became
  Deeply indebted to my richer neighbour,
  The valiant Don Diego, who, much loath
  To see an old house ruined, hath full oft
  From time to time with liberal hand advanced
  Such sums as I could ne'er hope to repay. This knew he, too, full well, and having seen
  Once my little daughter at the castle,
  And fancying much her beauty, thereupon
  Did make what he then doubtless did consider
  An offer fair and not to be refused
  By me, a desperate man--his debtor, too--
  An offer, namely, for my daughter's hand
  When she should have attained her sixteenth year;
  And this he gave me well to understand
  Would be the only way that he'd consent
  To counsel all my former debts to him;
  Refusing this, I knew th' alternative. Don Diego is a soldier fierce and proud
  As he is courageous, stern and merciless
  Towards those who thwart his will. What could I do? Unable to pay and in his power,
  Groaning 'neath a sense of obligation;
  Allured, too, perhaps, by prospects flattering
  In worldly sense to her, a poor man's daughter,
  I e'en consented. In an evil hour
  I gave my word to friend Diego,
  A man of my own years, whose castle stands
  Upon the opposite peak. Behold it. A man, I say, who might be her grandsire;
  Nor is it mere disparity of years
  That makes the gap to gape between the pair. Besides his age, and now decaying health,
  Don Diego all his youth has led a life
  The most licentious. Rumours strange and wild
  Are busy with his name, for it is known
  That he esteems the holy love of woman
  But as a flower to pluck and cast aside. He hath no reverence for religious rites,
  And thinks of matrimony but as a bond,
  Of all bonds easiest broke. With thoughts like these
  How shall it fare then with my poor daughter
  When once the knot is tied? His temper then
  Is stern and imperious, blunt and rude. Accustomed to command, he reigns alone
  Amidst a flattering troup of followers,
  Like petty tyrant, treating men as serfs. In boasting moods he vaunts of ancestry
  Who never thwarted were in lust or hate,
  And to this man shall I consign my daughter? No, no, it was an evil hour when I
  O'er hastily did consent to sacrifice
  My lovely Inez, purest of her sex,
  To this man's savage and rapacious lust. Repentance came too late, for he doth hold
  Me still to my promise, and all in vain
  Are pleadings of my daughter's tender age. The promise of her hand at some time hence,
  When she to riper womanhood hath grown,
  Excuse or promise unavailing both,
  For he, with military punctilio
  And lustful hot impatience, doth demand
  Her hand at once, and will brook no delay. He called on me of late, and from his mien
  I saw there was but little left to hope. A father's tears, as ever, failed to soften
  His all too stubborn nature, and at length
  He threatened me with ruin or with death
  And forcible abduction of my daughter
  If on a certain day ('tis now at hand)
  I gave not him my daughter for his wife. As yet my child knows nothing of this plan,
  But now the time draws near when she must know. How can I face my daughter? How can I
  With humble, piteous whine, say, "Inez,
  Thy father is ruined, an thou heed him not? Save him by the sacrifice of thyself." Or else, with imperious and austere brow,
  Say, "Inez, I command thee as a father
  To wed the man I've chosen thee--Don Diego. Obedience is a filial duty, and
  Thy father better knows what's for thy good
  Than thou thyself. At once prepare, obey!" Or should I, contrary to precepts taught
  Once by myself when she was yet a child,
  When I have preached 'gainst vanities and pomps,
  Empty frivolities and lust of greed,
  Can I now plead thus, and say, "Daughter mine,
  Behold what a grand thing it is to be
  One of the great ones of the earth, and move
  For ever midst the gay and high-born throng
  Of lords and ladies without care or pain,
  With means at hand to gratify each wish,
  To live the mistress of a noble castle,
  With serfs at thy command, with gold, with jewels,
  Dress at thy caprice, and hear around thee
  Ravishing strains of music in thy halls;
  Thy gardens, parks, and pleasure grounds rivalling
  Those of the noblest peers, exciting envy
  Of all thy neighbours, and this, yes, all this,
  Thou hast but to reach out thy hand to take;
  Accept the old Don Diego for thy spouse,
  His castle's thine, and all that therein is;
  Don't be a fool and throw this chance away
  Because, forsooth, he's old, somewhat infirm,
  Unfair to view, irascible and stern,
  And recklessly give up thy giddy heart
  To some young spendthrift, all because he's fair;
  Throw not such a glorious chance away,
  But make thy father's fortune and thine own?" Is this the strain that I could use to her
  After my virtuous lessons and wise saws? Could she not answer, "Father, is it thou--
  Thou who dids't ever counsel me to shun
  The whispered words of gallants with the wiles
  And impious vanities of this base world,
  Dids't inculcate obedience, filial love,
  As primary virtues ever with the young? Was it that I might blindly, passively
  Submit my will to thine? Shunning fresh youth;
  That at thy bidding I might give my hand,
  Loathing, yet passively, unto a man
  Whose years do full quadruple mine, and all
  Because this man has wealth and I have none? Is this thy virtue, father? This the end
  Of all thy teachings, that I should become
  The minion, yes, the minion of a dotard?" And would she not be right? Could I look up
  Into her angel's face unblushingly,
  And with a base hypocrisy reply,
  "My child, 'tis for thy good. Such is the world." Would she believe me? Would she not despise
  Me and my words, see through my selfishness? Yet what to do I know not. I am lost. Would not the world itself proclaim me base? Would not the mockers say, "Behold the sage,
  The philosophic, wise Don Silvio,
  He who despises wealth and this world's pomp,
  Yet sells his daughter for Don Diego's gold?" Thus run I counter both to God and man,
  And mine own conscience. Crushing my child's heart
  That I might save my own grey head from ruin. Help me, ye saints! for I have need of guidance. [_Kneeling._
  Soul of my blest departed Dorothea! Assist me with thy counsels, and send down
  From that high heaven where thou in peace doth dwell
  A blessing on thy daughter and her sire;
  It cannot, sure, be that our Inez shall
  Unwillingly and loathingly consent
  To wed a vicious dotard for his gold. [_Rising._
  Time wanes, and with my part I must go through;
  Then, as to the rest, let heaven think on't. I know not if I meditate aright;
  Nay, I know I am wrong, but I've no choice. Hola! Rodriguez!--Rodriguez, I say! _Enter_ RODRIGUEZ.