[Embrace.

Don. Clara. Dear sister truant! and whither are you going?

Don. Louisa. To find the man I love, to be sure; and, I presume, you would have no aversion to meet with my brother?

Don. Clara. Indeed I should: he has behaved so ill to me, I don’t believe I shall ever forgive him.

Air.

When sable night, each drooping plant restoring,
    Wept o’er the flowers her breath did cheer,
As some sad widow o’er her babe deploring,
    Wakes its beauty with a tear;
When all did sleep whose weary hearts did borrow
    One hour from love and care to rest,
Lo! as I press’d my couch in silent sorrow,
    My lover caught me to his breast!
      He vow’d he came to save me
      From those who would enslave me!
                Then kneeling,
                Kisses stealing,
    Endless faith he swore;
          But soon I chid him thence,
          For had his fond pretence
          Obtain’d one favour then,
          And he had press’d again,
    I fear’d my treacherous heart might grant him more.

Don. Louisa. Well, for all this, I would have sent him to plead his pardon, but that I would not yet awhile have him know of my flight. And where do you hope to find protection?

Don. Clara. The Lady Abbess of the convent of St. Catherine is a relation and kind friend of mine—I shall be secure with her, and you had best go thither with me.

Don. Louisa. No; I am determined to find Antonio first; and, as I live, here comes the very man I will employ to seek him for me.

Don. Clara. Who is he? he’s a strange figure.

Don. Louisa. Yes; that sweet creature is the man whom my father has fixed on for my husband.

Don. Clara. And will you speak to him? are you mad?

Don. Louisa. He is the fittest man in the world for my purpose; for, though I was to have married him to-morrow, he is the only man in Seville who, I am sure, never saw me in his life.

Don. Clara. And how do you know him?

Don. Louisa. He arrived but yesterday, and he was shown to me from the window, as he visited my father.

Don. Clara. Well, I’ll begone.

Don. Louisa. Hold, my dear Clara—a thought has struck me: will you give me leave to borrow your name, as I see occasion?

Don. Clara. It will but disgrace you; but use it as you please: I dare not stay.—[Going.]—But, Louisa, if you should see your brother, be sure you don’t inform him that I have taken refuge with the Dame Prior of the convent of St. Catherine, on the left hand side of the piazza which leads to the church of St. Anthony.

Don. Louisa. Ha! ha! ha! I’ll be very particular in my directions where he may not find you.—[Exeunt Donna Clara and Maid.]—So! my swain, yonder, has done admiring himself, and draws nearer.

[Retires.

Enter Isaac and Don Carlos.

Isaac. [Looking in a pocket-glass.] I tell you, friend Carlos, I will please myself in the habit of my chin.