Has the maid who seeks my heart
Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art?
I will own the colour true,
When yielding blushes aid their hue.
Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it, grateful, press again.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so, when I see
That heaving bosom sigh for me.
Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in my love for your sister;
help me there, and I can never disturb you with Clara.
_Don Ferd_. As far as I can, consistently with the honour of our
family, you know I will; but there must be no eloping.
_Don Ant_. And yet, now, you would carry off Clara?
_Don Ferd_. Ay, that's a different case!--we never mean that others
should act to our sisters and wives as we do to others'.--But, to-
morrow, Clara is to be forced into a convent.
_Don Ant_. Well, and am not I so unfortunately circumstanced? To-
morrow, your father forces Louisa to marry Isaac, the Portuguese--but
come with me, and we'll devise something I warrant.
_Don Ferd_. I must go home.
_Don Ant_. Well, adieu!
_Don Ferd_. But, Don Antonio, if you did not love my sister, you have
too much honour and friendship to supplant me with Clara--
AIR--_Don Ant_.
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