Mel. Ad autres, ad autres: He mocks himself of me,[1] he abuses me: Ah me unfortunate! [Cries.
Phil. You mistake him, madam, he does but accommodate his phrase to your refined language. Ah qu'il est un cavalier accompli! Pursue your point, sir—
[To him.
Pala. Ah qu'il fait beau dans ces boccages; [Singing.] Ah que le ciet donne un beau jour! There I was with you, with a minuét.
Mel. Let me die now, but this singing is fine, and extremely French in him: [Laughs.] But then, that he should use my own words, as it were in contempt of me, I cannot bear it.
[Crying.
Pala. Ces beaux sejours, ces doux ramages— [Singing.
Mel. Ces beaux sejours, ces doux ramages. [Singing after him.] Ces beaux sejours nous invitent á l'amour! Let me die, but he sings en cavalier, and so humours the cadence!
[Laughing.
Pala. Foy, ma Clymene, voy sous ce chene. [Singing again.] S'entrebaiser ces oiseaux amoreux! Let me die now, but that was fine. Ah, now, for three or four brisk Frenchmen, to be put into masking habits, and to sing it on a theatre, how witty it would be! and then to dance helter skelter to a chanson a boire: Toute la terre, toute la terre est a moi! What's matter though it were made and sung two or three years ago in cabarets, how it would attract the admiration, especially of every one that's an eveillé!
Mel. Well; I begin to have a tendre for you; but yet, upon condition, that—when we are married, you—
[Pal. sings, while she speaks.
Phil. You must drown her voice: If she makes her French conditions, you are a slave for ever.
Mel. First, you will engage—that—