laura.
How now, masters, wot ye,—a pretty time o' night for secret whisperings! What brings you to the terrace, worthy sirs, so nigh upon midnight? Pleasant discourse truly, you unseasonable villains! Can't you stay a-bed?
roland.
Sweet mistress, we came to hear the music.
laura.
And what should lug your dainty ears to the serenade?—I' faith, 'tis high time for your betters to stop their ears, when asses jog to the pipe. So, you guessed the music came to benefit your private discourse. An excellent jest this!—a serenade to a couple of owls.—Get in, you lazy dolts, and thank your stars, and not your ears, that you have 'scaped a beating.——[Exeunt Roland and Stephano.]——I wonder these idiots guessed not who drew the serenade to this long-deserted house. True it may be some dozen years or more since this same salute awoke me; nevertheless, I was not past hope of its return. That gallant stranger whom I saw at vespers yesterday eyed me not, nor did he watch the corner of the street, for nought.—Well, it is a noble-looking cavalier, and a steady, well-ordered person, I warrant, from his noticing me so properly, and not that giddy coz of mine, the love-unheeding Hermione.—I hope he will return. Virgin decorum permitteth not my regard to his first appearance.—Hark!——[Music.]——Oh! how my heart flutters! Sweet harbinger of love! I must show myself, or he will die of despair, or, perchance, he will not come again, which will suit me still worse. Though, certes, it would be mightily amusing to feel oneself the cause of a gay cavalier hanging himself in his garters! What a precious revenge for the many slights we maidens are subject to! And then, to have it said, "there goes the signora for whom signor so and so hanged himself." Oh, how charming is this moonlight! Really, I am younger to-night than when I was but one year past thirty. Hush!—ay, I warrant thou art in love;—I can tell by the turn of thy voice. Senor Antonio quavered just as thou dost;—but—he was fickle, and quavered so far he could not get back again. I never saw him again after his second sky alto!—Hark!
SONG.
Fair as the moonbeam, Bright as the running stream, Sparkling, yet cold. In Love's tiny fingers A shaft yet there lingers, And he creeps near thy bosom and smiles, lady. Soon his soft wings will cherish A flame round thine heart, And, ere it may perish, Thy peace shall depart. O listen, listen, lady gay, Love doth not always sue; The brightest flame will oft decay, The fondest lover rue, lady!
laura.
I cannot resist.
[She waves her hand over the Terrace. A letter is thrown—she takes it to the lamp, and reads—
"Say, fairest, canst thou love? or doth cold scorn compose the sum of thy affections? Can thine eyes enkindle so suddenly another's heart, and yet shed no warmth on thine own? Give me but one smile, and thou shalt frown upon me for ever: so shall that cheering beam outlive a thousand dark winters. I am grown bold, for I have but a simple tale, and if thou wilt lend an ear to my suit, on the Terrace, to-morrow night at this hour, my presence will not offend thee again unless thou judgest in my favour.
"Carlos."
So, so,—rather a bold gallant I trow, seeing it is the first he hath asked of my company; but I guess it is the fashion of these perilous days. Peradventure, if I had not been beforetime so careful of my favours, I had been woo'd and wedded with the best of 'em. After all, I see no great harm in the company of a handsome young spark, save that the uncourted dames are envious withal! but verily they would change their minds mayhap as I do, though every one doth not judge so charitably as the person who hath chanced to ride on the other side of his opinion. I scolded the maids though but yesterday for a night frolic with their sweethearts, and bravely will Hermione laugh at my sermon, with the practice thereto appended. Well, I care not—"let those laugh that get the magpie's nest."—When I am married, grin who dare;—Carlos, I meet thee! [Exit.