_Don Ant_. I do not wish to disturb her rest.
_I. Mas_. The reason is, because you know she does not regard you
enough to appear, if you awaked her.
_Don Ant_. Nay, then, I'll convince you. [_Sings_.]
The breath of morn bids hence the night,
Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair;
For till the dawn of love is there,
I feel no day, I own no light.
DONNA LOUISA--_replies from a window_.
Waking, I heard thy numbers chide,
Waking, the dawn did bless my sight;
'Tis Phoebus sure that woos, I cried,
Who speaks in song, who moves in light.
DON JEROME--_from a window_.
What vagabonds are these I hear,
Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting,
Piping, scraping, whining, canting?
Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!
TRIO.
_Don. Louisa_.
Nay, prithee, father, why so rough?
_Don Ant_.
An humble lover I.
_Don Jer_.
How durst you, daughter, lend an ear
To such deceitful stuff?
Quick, from the window fly!
_Don. Louisa_
Adieu, Antonio!
_Don Ant_
Must you go?
_Don. Louisa_. & _Don Ant_.
We soon, perhaps, may meet again.
For though hard fortune is our foe,
The God of love will fight for us.
_Don Jer_.
Reach me the blunderbuss.
_Don Ant_. & _Don.
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