Cler. The young painter turned poet on the subject; I believe I have the words by heart.
Niece. A sonnet! pray repeat it.[98]
I.
While gentle Parthenissa walks,
And sweetly smiles, and gaily talks,
A thousand shafts around her fly,
A thousand swains unheeded die.
II.
If then she labours to be seen,
With all her killing air and mien;
From so much beauty, so much art,
What mortal can secure his heart?
Hump. I fancy if 'twas sung, 'twould make a very pretty catch.
Cler. My servant has a voice; you shall hear it. [Here it is sung.
Aunt. Why this is pretty! I think a painter should never be without a good singer, it brightens the features strangely—I profess I'm mightily pleased. I'll but just step in, and give some orders, and be with you presently. [Exit.
Niece. Was not this adventurous painter called Clerimont?
Cler. It was Clerimont, the servant of Parthenissa; but let me beseech that beauteous maid to resolve, and make the incident I feigned to her a real one. Consider, madam, you are environed by cruel and treacherous guards, which would force you to a disagreeable marriage; your case is exactly the same with the princess of the Leontines in Clelia.
Niece. How can we commit such a solecism against all rules? What, in the first leaf of our history to have the marriage? You know it cannot be.