Louisa_.
The god of love, who knows our pain--
_Don Jer_.
Hence, or these slugs are through your brain.
[_Exeunt severally_.]
SCENE II--_A Piazza_.
_Enter_ DON FERDINAND _and_ LOPEZ.
_Lop_. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep once in a week or so---
_Don Ferd_. Peace, fool! don't mention sleep to me.
_Lop_. No, no, sir, I don't mention your lowbred, vulgar, sound sleep;
but I can't help thinking that a gentle slumber, or half an hour's
dozing, if it were only for the novelty of the thing----
_Don Ferd_. Peace, booby, I say!--Oh, Clara dear, cruel disturber of
my rest!
_Lop_. [_Aside_.] And of mine too.
_Don Ferd_. 'Sdeath, to trifle with me at such a juncture as this!--
now to stand on punctilios!--Love me! I don't believe she ever did.
_Lop_. [_Aside_.] Nor I either.
_Don Ferd_. Or is it, that her sex never know their desires for an
hour together?
_Lop_. [_Aside_.] Ah, they know them oftener than they'll own them.
_Don Ferd_. Is there, in the world, so inconsistent a creature as
Clara?
_Lop_. [_Aside_.] I could name one.
_Don Ferd_. Yes; the tame fool who submits to her caprice.
_Lop_. [_Aside_.]I thought he couldn't miss it.
_Don Ferd_. Is she not capricious, teasing, tyrannical, obstinate,
perverse, absurd? ay, a wilderness of faults and follies; her looks
are scorn, and her very smiles--'Sdeath! I wish I hadn't mentioned her
smiles; for she does smile such beaming loveliness, such fascinating
brightness--Oh, death and madness! I shall die if I lose her.
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