TILNURINA.
For, O, too sure, heart-rending woe is now
The lot of wretched Tilburina!
CONFIDANT.
Oh!—it’s too much.
SNEER.
Oh!—it is indeed.
PUFF.
Be comforted, sweet lady; for who knows,
But Heaven has yet some milk-white day in store?
TILNURINA.
Alas! my gentle Nora, Thy tender youth as yet hath never mourn’d Love’s fatal dart. Else wouldst thou know, that when The soul is sunk in comfortless despair, It cannot taste of merriment.
DANGLE.
That’s certain. Con.
But see where your stern father comes It is not meet that he should find you thus.
PUFF.
Hey, what the plague!—what a cut is here! Why, what is become of the description of her first meeting with Don Whiskerandos—his gallant behaviour in the sea-fight—and the simile of the canary-bird?
TILNURINA.
Indeed, sir, you’ll find they will not be missed.
PUFF.
Very well, very well!
TILNURINA.
[To CONFIDANT.] The cue, ma’am, if you please.