Hark how the neighbouring convent bell!
Throws o’er the waves its vesper swell;
Sullen it bomes from shore to shore,
Blending its chime with the dash of the oar.
Pull away, pull away! row, boys, row!
A long pull, a strong pull, and off we go.
[SCENE II.]—An apartment in the Caprara palace.
The viceroy enters, followed by Hortensia and the Marquis; a servant attending.
Hor. Nay, but in truth, my dear brother, this is carrying your prejudice too far. What! refuse to endure, for a single half hour, father Cœlestino in your presence, merely because his countenance and manner happen not to be exactly to your taste?
Vic. His conversation is as little to my taste as his manner and countenance: he uses too much honey to please my palate!—surely, if there is one thing more odious than another, tis your eternal maker of compliments; one who lies in wait for opportunities of thrusting down your throat his undesired applause; and who compels you to bow in return for his nauseous civilities, till he makes your neck feel almost as supple as his own.