[Aside.

Duen. You will pardon this breach of decorum in praising you thus, but my joy at being so agreeably deceived has given me such a flow of spirits!

Isaac. Oh, dear lady, may I thank those dear lips for this goodness?—[Kisses her.] Why she has a pretty sort of velvet down, that’s the truth on’t.

[Aside.

Duen. O sir, you have the most insinuating manner, but indeed you should get rid of that odious beard—one might as well kiss a hedgehog.

Isaac. [Aside.] Yes, ma’am, the razor wouldn’t be amiss—for either of us.—[Aloud.] Could you favour me with a song?

Duen. Willingly, though I’m rather hoarse—ahem!

[Begins to sing.

Isaac. [Aside.] Very like a Virginia nightingale!—[Aloud.] Ma’am, I perceive you’re hoarse—I beg you will not distress——

Duen. Oh, not in the least distressed. Now, sir.

Song.

        When a tender maid
        Is first assay’d
    By some admiring swain.
        How her blushes rise
        If she meet his eyes,
    While he unfolds his pain!
If he takes her hand, she trembles quite!
Touch her lips, and she swoons outright!
        While a pit-a-pat, &c.
        Her heart avows her fright.

        But in time appear
        Fewer signs of fear;
    The youth she boldly views:
        If her hand he grasp,
        Or her bosom clasp,
    No mantling blush ensues!
Then to church well pleased the lovers move,
While her smiles her contentment prove;
        And a pit-a-pat, &c.
        Her heart avows her love.

Isaac. Charming, ma’am! enchanting! and, truly, your notes put me in mind of one that’s very dear to me—a lady, indeed, whom you greatly resemble!

Duen. How! is there, then, another so dear to you?

Isaac. Oh, no, ma’am, you mistake; it was my mother I meant.

Duen. Come, sir, I see you are amazed and confounded at my condescension, and know not what to say.

Isaac. It is very true, indeed, ma’am; but it is a judgment, I look on it as a judgment on me, for delaying to urge the time when you’ll permit me to complete my happiness, by acquainting Don Jerome with your condescension.

Duen. Sir, I must frankly own to you, that I can never be yours with my father’s consent.

Isaac. Good lack! how so?

Duen. When my father, in his passion, swore he would never see me again till I acquiesced in his will, I also made a vow, that I would never take a husband from his hand; nothing shall make me break that oath: but if you have spirit and contrivance enough to carry me off without his knowledge, I’m yours.

Isaac. Hum!

Duen. Nay, sir, if you hesitate——