_Duke of Mantua._ _Prince_ FREDERICK, _his son._ AURELIAN, _a Roman Gentleman._ CAMILLO, _his friend._ MARIO, _Governor of Rome._ ASCANIO, _page of honour to the Prince._ BENITO, _Servant to_ AURELIAN. VALERIO, _confidant to the Duke._ FABIO, _Servant to_ MARIO. SOPHRONIA, _Abbess of the Torr' di Specchi._ LUCRETIA, _a Lady designed to be a Nun._ HIPPOLITA, _a Nun._ LAURA, } VIOLETTA } _Sisters, nieces to_ MARIO. FRONTONA, _lets Lodgings._ _SCENE--Rome._ THE ASSIGNATION; OR, LOVE IN A NUNNERY. ACT I. SCENE I.--_A Room, a great glass placed._ _Enter_ BENITO, _with a guitar in his hand._ _Ben._ [_Bowing to the glass._] Save you, sweet signior Benito; by my faith I am glad to see you look so bonnily to-day. Gad, sir, every thing becomes you to a miracle: your peruke, your clothes, your hat, your shoe-ties; and, gad, sir, let me tell you, you become every thing; you walk with such a grace, and you bow so pliantly! _Aurelian._ [_Within._] Benito, where are you, sirrah? _Ben._ Sirrah! That my damned master should call a man of my extraordinary endowments, sirrah! A man of my endowments? Gad, I ask my own pardon, I mean a person of my endowments; for a man of my parts and talents, though he be but a _valet de chambre_, is a person; and let me tell my master--Gad, I frown too, as like a person as any jack-gentleman of them all; but, gad, when I do not frown, I am an absolute beauty, whatever this glass says to the contrary; and, if this glass deny it, 'tis a base lying glass; so I'll tell it to its face, and kick it down into the bargain. _Aur._ [_Within._] Why, Benito, how long shall we stay for you? _Ben._ I come, sir.--What the devil would he have? But, by his favour, I'll first survey my dancing and my singing. [_He plays on his guitar, and dances and sings to the glass._] I think that was not amiss: I think so. Gad, I can dance [_Lays down the guitar._] and play no longer, I am in such a rapture with myself. What a villanous fate have I! With all these excellencies, and a profound wit, and yet to be a serving-man! _Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO. _Aur._ Why, you slave, you dog, you son of twenty fathers, am I to be served at this rate eternally? A pox of your conceited coxcomb! _Cam._ Nay, pr'ythee, Aurelian, be not angry. _Aur._ You do not know this rogue, as I do, Camillo. Now, by this guitar, and that great looking-glass, I am certain how he has spent his time. He courts himself every morning in that glass at least an hour; there admires his own person, and his parts, and studies postures and grimaces, to make himself yet more ridiculous than he was born to be. _Cam._ You wrong him, sure.