As a specimen, we subjoin a translation from one of his most amusing plays, _The Pious Martha_, (_Martha la Piadosa_) in which long before the Tartuffe, and in Spain, hypocrisy was exposed to ridicule. A girl, in order to get rid of a rich and aged suitor, pretends to be seized with a fit of piety, and an aversion to marriage. Her father, after some little resistance, allows her to follow the bent of her inclination without restraint, under pretence of visiting the sick in hospitals. She contrives to obtain repeated interviews with her favoured lover, who--the trait is thoroughly Spanish--has killed her brother in a duel; and at last to procure admittance for him, under the disguise of a palsied and penniless student, into her father's house to teach her the Latin grammar. Some of the scenes are in the highest vein of comedy:--one, where the student pretends to faint from weakness, and her father desires her to hold him up, and bids him lean upon her without scruple; another where the lady, having given vent to her jealousy in a very vivid exclamation which her father overhears, escapes from the detection of her hypocrisy by pretending that the student has said it, and that she is repeating it in anger. The expression is tantamount to "By heavens!" (_vive Dios_;) and the father tells her she is too severe. The lover pretends that his feelings are too much hurt for him to stay any longer in the house: the father desires the daughter to appease him; and with wit equal to Molière, the girl, in her father's presence, goes down on her knees before her lover, and kisses his hand, which is the only condition upon which he has said that he will remain. _Martha._--Forgive me, brother,--stay. _Felip._--Yes, if you kiss upon your knees my hand. (_Martha kneels._) _Martha._--This is an act to mortify the flesh. _The Father._--What matchless virtue! _Martha_, (_aside_.)--Were I to say the truth, the kiss was honey. As a farther specimen of Molina's style, we subjoin the following translation. The lover and his friend Pastrana, a man full of dry caustic wit, are present at a bull-fight. The following dialogue ensues:-- _Pastrana._--Think not to see me at the bull-fight here, Unless indeed upon the platform perched, Or looking from a window. _Felip._--Friend Pastrana, That is a woman's post, and not a man's, Unless he's wool and water. Let us dare What fate may bring us, so may we acquire Perchance eternal blazon and renown. _Pastrana._--No, brother; death sits on the pointed horn. _Felip._--Talk not so fondly; but that well I know Your lofty spirit and your courage tried, I'd call it cowardice. _Pastrana._--I give you leave. Call my resolve by any name you please, So long as we remain no longer here. _Felip._--And can it be that you, who swallow men, Now tremble at a beast?