The breath of morn bids hence the night,
Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair;
For till the dawn of love is there,
I feel no day, I own no light.
DONNA LOUISA—replies from a window.
Waking, I heard thy numbers chide,
Waking, the dawn did bless my sight;
'Tis Phoebus sure that woos, I cried,
Who speaks in song, who moves in light.
DON JEROME—from a window.
What vagabonds are these I hear,
Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting,
Piping, scraping, whining, canting?
Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!
TRIO.
Don. Louisa.
Nay, prithee, father, why so rough?
Don Ant.
An humble lover I.
Don Jer.
How durst you, daughter, lend an ear
To such deceitful stuff?
Quick, from the window fly!
Don. Louisa
Adieu, Antonio!