And when a noble lord, touched by her beauty, LARA. And does that prove That Preciosa is above suspicion ? DON CARLOS. It proves a nobleman may be repulsed "Tis late. I must begone; for if I stay You will not be persuaded. LARA. Yes; persuade me. DON CARLOS. No one so deaf as he who will not hear! LARA. No one so blind as he who will not see! DON CARLOS. And so good night. I wish you pleasant dreams, And greater faith in woman. [Exit. LARA. Greater faith! I have the greatest faith; for I believe That I shall be to-morrow; and thereafter (Enter FRANCISCO with a Casket.) Well, Francisco, What speed with Preciosa ? FRANCISCO. None, my lord. She sends your jewels back, and bids me tell you LARA. Then I will try some other way to win her. A golden ring that had a ruby in it. Was there another like it? LARA. FRANCISCO. One so like it, I could not choose between them. LARA. It is well. To-morrow morning bring that ring to me. [Exeunt. A Street in Madrid. Enter CHISPA, followed by musicians, with a bagpipe, guitars, and other instruments. CHISPA. Abernuncio Satanas! and a plague on all lovers who ramble about at night, drinking the elements, instead of sleeping quietly in their beds. Every dead man to his cemetery, say I; and every friar to his monastery. Now here's my master Victorian; yesterday a cowkeeper, and to-day a gentleman; yesterday a student, and to-day a lover; and I must be up later than the nightingale; for as the abbot sings, so must the sacristan respond. God grant he may soon be married, for then shall all this serenading cease. Ay, marry! marry! marry! Mother, what does marry mean? It means to spin, to bear children, and to weep, my daughter! And, of a truth, there is something more in matrimony than the wedding-ring. [To the Musicians.] And now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum! as the ass said to the cabbages. Pray walk this way; and don't hang down your heads. It is no disgrace to have an old father and a ragged shirt. Now, look you, you are gentlemen who lead the life of crickets; you enjoy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, I beseech you, for this once be not loud, but pathetic; for it is a serenade to a damsel in bed, and not to the Man in the Moon. Your object is not to arouse and terrify, but to soothe and bring lulling dreams. Therefore, each shall not play upon his instrument as if it were the only one in the universe, but gently, and with a certain modesty, according with the others. Pray, how may I call thy name, friend? FIRST MUSICIAN. Gerónimo Gil, at your service. CHISPA. Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, Gerónimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with thee? FIRST MUSICIAN. Why so? CHISPA. Because I have heard it said that Saturday is an unpleasant day with those who have but one shirt. Moreover, I have seen thee at the tavern; and if thou canst run as fast as thou canst drink, I should like to hunt hares with thee. What instrument is that? FIRST MUSICIAN. An Aragonese bagpipe. CHISPA. Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked a maravedí for playing, and ten for leaving off? No, your honour. FIRST MUSICIAN. CHISPA. I am glad of it. What other instruments have we ? SECOND AND THIRD MUSICIANS. We play the bandurria. CHISPA. A pleasing instrument. And thou? The fife. FOURTH MUSICIAN. CHISPA. I like it; it has a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, that soars up to my lady's window like the song of a swallow. And you others? OTHER MUSICIANS. We are the singers, please your honour. CHISPA. You are too many. Do you think we are going to sing mass in the cathedral of Córdova? Four men can make but little use of one shoe, and I see not how you can all sing in one song. But follow me along the garden-wall. That is the way my master climbs to the lady's window. It is by the vicar's skirts that the devil climbs into the belfry. Come, follow me, and make no noise. SCENE III. PRECIOSA's chamber. She stands at the open window. PRECIOSA. [Exeunt. How slowly through the lilac-scented air SERENADE. Stars of the summer night! Hide, hide your golden light! She sleeps! My lady sleeps! Sleeps! Moon of the summer night! Far down yon western steeps, Sink, sink in silver light! She sleeps! My lady sleeps! Sleeps! |