AIR XII.—VICTORIA.
By woes thus surrounded, how vain the gay smile
Of the little blind archer, those woes to beguile!
Though skilful, he misses, his aim it is cross'd,
His quiver exhausted, his arrows are lost.
Your love, though sincere, on the object you lose,
[Aside] How sweet is the passion! Ah, must I refuse?
If filial affection that passion should sway,
Then love's gentle dictates I cannot obey.
Don Fer. And do you, can you, wish me to espouse Donna Lorenza, Isabella's daughter?—Say, you do not, do but satisfy me so far.
Vict. Signor, do not despise me if I own, that, before I saw in you the husband of Don Scipio's daughter, I did not once regret that I had lost that title.
Don Fer. A thousand thanks for this generous, this amiable condescension.—Oh, my Victoria! if fortune but favours my design, you shall yet triumph over the malice of your enemies.
Vict. Yonder is Dame Isabel, if she sees you speaking to me, she'll be early to frustrate whatever you may purpose for my advantage. Signor, farewell!
Don Fer. My life, my love, adieu!
AIR XIII. DUET.—Victoria and Fernando.
Don Fer.
So faithful to my fair I'll prove,
Vict.
So kind and constant to my love,
Don Fer.
I'd never range,
Vict.
I'd never change,
Both.
Nor time, nor chance, my faith shall move.
Vict.
No ruby clusters grace the vine,
Don Fer.
Ye sparkling stars forget to shine,
Vict.
Sweet flowers to spring,
Don Fer.
Gay birds to sing,
Both.
Those hearts then part that love shall join.
[Exeunt.
Enter Fernando.
Don Fer. This is fortunate; the whole family, except Victoria, are firmly possessed with the idea that I am but the servant.—Well, since they will have me an impostor, they shall find me one: In Heaven's name, let them continue in their mistake, and bestow their mock Victoria upon my sham Fernando. I shall have a pleasant and just revenge for their perfidy; and, perhaps, obtain Don Scipio's real, lovely daughter, the sum of my wishes.—Here comes Don Scipio—Now to begin my operations.
Enter Don Scipio.
[As wishing Don Scipio to overhear him.] I'm quite weary of playing the gentleman, I long to get into my livery again.
Don Scipio. Get into his livery!
[Aside.
Don Fer. These clothes fall to my share, however; my master will never wear them after me.
Don Scipio. His master! ay, ay.
[Aside.
Don Fer. I wish he'd own himself, for I'm certain Don Scipio suspects who I am.
Don Scipio. Suspect? I know who you are, [Advancing to him.] so get into your livery again as fast as you can.
Don Fer. Ha, my dear friend, Don Scipio, I was—
Don Scipio. Friend! you impudent rascal! I'll break your head, if you make so free with me. None of your swaggering, sirrah—How the fellow acts! it wasn't for nothing he was among the strolling players; but, hark ye, my lad, be quiet, for you're blown here, without the help of your trumpet.
Don Fer. Lord, your honour, how came you to know that I am Pedrillo?
Don Scipio. Why, I was told of it by your fellow—hold, I must not betray my little dreamer though—[Aside.]—No matter who told me; I—but here comes your master.
Don Fer. Pedrillo! The fellow will spoil all; I wish I had given him his lesson before I began with Don Scipio.
[Aside.
Don Scipio. I hope he'll now have done with his gambols.
Don Fer. Sir, my master is such an obstinate gentleman, as sure as you stand here, he'll still deny himself to be Don Fernando.
Don Scipio. Will he? then I'll write his father an account of his vagaries.
Enter Pedrillo.
Ped. Master, shall I shave you this morning?
Don Scipio. Shave! Oh, my dear sir, time to give over your tricks and fancies.
Ped. [Surprised.] My tricks and fancies!
Don Fer. Yes, sir, you are found out.
Ped. I am found out!
Don Scipio. So you may as well confess.
Ped. What the devil shall I confess?
Don Scipio. He still persists! Hark ye, young gentleman, I'll send your father an account of your pranks, and he'll trim your jacket for you.
Ped. Nay, sir, for the matter of that, my father could trim your jacket for you.
Don Scipio. Trim my jacket, young gentleman!
Ped. Why, he's the best tailor in Cordova.
Don Scipio. His father's a tailor in Cordova!
Don Fer. Ay, he'll ruin all—[Aside.]—Let me speak to him. Tell Don Scipio you are the master.
[Apart to Pedrillo.
Ped. I will, sir—Don Scipio, you are the master.
Don Scipio. What!
Don Fer. Stupid dog!—[Apart to Pedrillo.]—Say you are Fernando, and I am Pedrillo.
Ped. I will—Sir, you are Fernando, and I am Pedrillo.
Don Fer. Dull rogue! [Aside.] I told you, sir, he'd persist in it.
[Apart to Don Scipio.
Don Scipio. Yes, I see it; but I tell you what, Don Fernando.—[Lorenza sings without.] My daughter! Zounds! don't let your mistress see you any more in this cursed livery.—Look at the gentleman, hold up your head—egad, Pedrillo's acting was better than your natural manner.
Don Fer. Ah, sir, if you were to see my master dressed—the livery makes such an alteration!
Don Scipio. True! curse the livery.
Ped. It's bad enough; but my master gives new liveries on his marriage.
Don Fer. An insensible scoundrel!
[Aside.
Enter Lorenza.
Lor. Oh, caro, signor, every body says that you are [To Don Fernando.] not Don Fernando.
Don Scipio. Every body's right, for here he stands like a young tailor of Cordova.
[To Pedrillo.
Lor. Oh, what? then this is Pedrillo?
[To Fernando.
Don Fer. At your service, ma'am.
[Bowing.
Ped. That Pedrillo! then, who the devil am I?
Don Fer. Here, rogue, this purse is yours—say you are Don Fernando.
[Apart to Pedrillo.
Ped. Oh, sir—now I understand you.—True, Don Scipio, I am all that he says.
Don Scipio. Hey! Now that's right and sensible, and like yourself; but I'll go bustle about our business, for we'll have all our love affairs settled this evening.
[Exeunt Don Scipio and Fernando.
Lor. So, then, you're to be my husband, ha! ha! ha!
Ped. Eh!
Lor. Well, if not, I can be as cold as you are indifferent.