Leaving my father, who had only just
Recover’d me to his old heart again,
Without adieu—equipp’d this Brigantine
(Down to the bottom may she go with me!)
In chase of this—not Serafina—no—
But this false Siren,
Who draws me with the music of her beauty,
To leave me in destruction.
Leon. (watching him). This must be some monk, who knows of some better entertainment elsewhere.
Alv. And after all,