Alex. No, dear, you said a filter. I don’t mean a filter—I mean a philtre,—ph, you know.
Ali. (alarmed). You don’t mean a love-potion?
Alex. On the contrary—I do mean a love-potion.
Ali. Oh, Alexis, I don’t think it would be right. I don’t indeed. And then—a real magician! Oh, it would be downright wicked.
Alex. Aline, is it, or is it not, a laudable object to steep the whole village up to its lips in love, and to couple them in matrimony, without distinction of age, rank, or fortune?
Ali. Unquestionably, but——
Alex. Then, unpleasant as it must be to have recourse to supernatural aid, I must nevertheless pocket my aversion, in deference to the great and good end I have in view. (Calling.) Hercules!
Enter a Page from tent.
Page. Yes, sir.