Don Scipio. Ha! ha! ha! Well, though I believe you a great, little rogue, yet it seems you have been the instrument of bringing about things just as they should be.
Don Juan. They are not as they should be, and I tell you again, Don Scipio, I will have——
Don Scipio. Well, and shall have—a bottle of the best wine in Andalusia, sparkling Muscadel, bright as Victoria's eye, and sweet as Lorenza's lip: hey, now for our brace of weddings—where are the violins, lutes, and cymbals? I say, let us be merry in future; and past faults our good-humoured friends will forget and forgive.
GLEE.—FINALE.
Social powers, at pleasure's call,
Welcome here to Hymen's hall;
Bacchus, Ceres, bless the feast,
Momus lend the sprightly jest,
Songs of joy elate the soul,
Hebe fill the rosy bowl,