AIR XI.—FERNANDO.
My fair one, like the blushing rose,
Can sweets to every sense disclose:
Those sweets I'd gather, but her scorn
Then wounds me like the sharpest thorn.
With sighs each grace and charm I see
Thus doom'd to wither on the tree,
Till age shall chide the thoughtless maid,
When all those blooming beauties fade.
Hey, who comes here? this is the smart little girl who seems so much attached to the beautiful novice—No harm to speak with her—
Enter Catilina.
So my pretty primrose!
Catil. How do you do, Mr—[Pert and familiar.] I don't know your name.
Don Fer. Not know my name! You must know who I am though, and my business here, child?
Catil. Lord, man, what signifies your going about to sift me, when the whole family knows you're Don Fernando's footman.
Don Fer. Am I faith? Ha! ha! ha! I'll humour this—Well then, my dear, you know that I am only Don Fernando's footman?
Catil. Yes, yes, we know that, notwithstanding your fine clothes.
Don Fer. But where's my master?
Catil. Don Fernando! he's parading the gallery yonder, in his sham livery and morning gown.
Don Fer. Oh, this accounts for twelve covers at supper and the embroider'd bed; but who could have set such a jest going? I'll carry it on though—[Aside.] So then after all I am known here?
Catil. Ay, and if all the impostors in the castle were as well known, we shou'd have no wedding to-morrow night.
Don Fer. Something else will out—I'll seem to be in the secret, and perhaps may come at it—[Aside.] Ay, ay, that piece of deceit is much worse than ours.
Catil. That! what, then you know that this Italian lady is not Don Scipio's daughter, but Dame Isabel's, and her true name Lorenza?
Don Fer. Here's a discovery! [Aside.] O yes, I know that.
Catil. You do! Perhaps you know too, that the young lady you saw me speak with just now is the real Donna Victoria?
Don Fer. Is it possible! Here's a piece of villany! [Aside.] Charming! let me kiss you, my dear girl.
[Kisses her.
Catil. Lord! he's a delightful man!
Don Fer. My little angel, a thousand thanks for this precious discovery.
Catil. Discovery!—Well, if you did not know it before, marry hang your assurance, I say—but I must about my business, can't play the lady as you played the gentleman, I've something else to do; so I desire you won't keep kissing me here all day.
[Exit.
Don Fer. Why what a villain is this Don Scipio! ungrateful to—but I scorn to think of the services I rendered him last night in the forest; a false friend to my father, an unnatural parent to his amiable daughter! here my charmer comes.
[Retires.
Enter Victoria.
Vict. Yes, Catilina must be mistaken, it is impossible he can be the servant,—no, no; that dignity of deportment, and native elegance of manner, can never be assumed; yonder he walks, and my fluttering heart tells me this is really the amiable Fernando, that I must resign to Dame Isabel's daughter.
Don Fer. Stay, lovely Victoria!
Vict. Did you call me, sir?—Heavens, what have I said! [Confused.] I mean, signor, would you wish to speak with Donna Victoria? I'll inform her, sir.
[Going.
Don Fer. Oh, I could speak to her for ever, for ever gaze upon her charms, thus transfixed with wonder and delight.
Vict. Pray, signor, suffer me to withdraw.
Don Fer. For worlds I would not offend! but think not, lady, 'tis the knowledge of your quality that attracts my admiration.
Vict. Nay, signor.
Don Fer. I know you to be Don Scipio's daughter, the innocent victim of injustice and oppression; therefore I acknowledge to you, and you alone, that, whatever you may have heard to the contrary, I really am Fernando de Zelva.
Vict. Signor, how you became acquainted with the secret of my birth I know not; but, from an acquaintance so recent, your compliment I receive as a mode of polite gallantry without a purpose.
Don Fer. What your modesty regards as cold compliments, are sentiments warm with the dearest purpose; I came hither to ratify a contract with Don Scipio's daughter; you are she, the beautiful Victoria, destined for the happy Fernando.
Vict. Pray rise, signor:—My father perhaps, even to himself, cannot justify his conduct to me: But to censure that, or to pervert his intentions, would, in me, be a breach of filial duty.