Enter Woodall, at another door.
Aldo. O here's a monsieur, new come over, and a fellow-lodger; I must endear you two to one another.
Brain. Sir, 'tis my extreme ambition to be better 060 known to you; you come out of the country I adore. And how does the dear Battist[8]? I long for some of his new compositions in the last opera. A propos! I have had the most happy invention this morning, and a tune trouling in my head; I rise immediately in my night-gown and slippers, down I put the notes slap-dash, made words to them like lightning; and I warrant you have them at the circle in the evening.
Wood. All were complete, sir, if S. Andre would make steps to them.
Brain. Nay, thanks to my genius, that care's over: you shall see, you shall see. But first the air. [Sings.] Is it not very fine? Ha, messieurs!
Limb. The close of it is the most ravishing I ever heard!
Brain. I dwell not on your commendations. What say you, sir? [To Wood.] Is it not admirable? Do you enter into it?
Wood. Most delicate cadence!
Brain. Gad, I think so, without vanity. Battist and I have but one soul. But the close, the close! [Sings it thrice over.] I have words too upon the air; but I am naturally so bashful!
Wood. Will you oblige me, sir?