--Don Ferdinand is much too gallant to eat, drink, or
sleep:--now my love gives me an appetite--then I am fond of dreaming
of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her.--This cannot be done
without good sleep and good liquor: hence my partiality to a feather-
bed and a bottle. What a pity, now, that I have not further time, for
reflections! but my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his
retreat from Donna Clara's window, as I guess.--[_Music without_.]
Hey! sure, I heard music! So, so! Who have we here? Oh, Don Antonio,
my master's friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my young
mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: so! we shall have the old gentleman
up presently.--Lest he should miss his son, I had best lose no time in
getting to my post. [_Exit_.]
_Enter_ DON ANTONIO, _with_ MASQUERADERS _and music_.
SONG.--_Don Ant_.
Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain
So gently speak thy master's pain?
So softly sing, so humbly sigh,
That, though my sleeping love shall know
Who sings--who sighs below,
Her rosy slumbers shall not fly?
Thus, may some vision whisper more
Than ever I dare speak before.
_I. Mas_. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, while you sing so
dolefully; love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25