Infirm and old, lifts up his hoary head,
And hears the crickets chirp to mimic him.
And so, once more, good night! We’ll speak more largely
Of Preciosa when we meet again.
Get thee to bed, and the magician, Sleep,
Shall show her to thee, in his magic glass,
In all her loveliness. Good night! [Exit.
Vic. Good night!
But not to bed; for I must read awhile.
(Throws himself into the arm-chair which Hypolito has left, and lays a large book open upon his knees.)