Don. Louisa. Why, to be sure, the character of a nun is a very becoming one at a masquerade: but no pretty woman, in her senses, ever thought of taking the veil for above a night.

Don. Clara. Yonder I see your Antonio is returned—I shall only interrupt you; ah, Louisa, with what happy eagerness you turn to look for him!

[Exit.

Enter Don Antonio.

Don Ant. Well, my Louisa, any news since I left you?

Don. Louisa. None, The messenger is not yet returned from my father.

Don Ant. Well, I confess, I do not perceive what we are to expect from him.

Don. Louisa. I shall be easier, however, in having made the trial: I do not doubt your sincerity, Antonio; but there is a chilling air around poverty, that often kills affection, that was not nursed in it. If we would make love our household god, we had best secure him a comfortable roof.

Song.—Don Antonio.

How oft, Louisa, hast thou told,
    (Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown,)
Thou wouldst not lose Antonio’s love
    To reign the partner of a throne!
And by those lips that spoke so kind,
    And by that hand I’ve press’d to mine,
To be the lord of wealth and power,
    By heavens, I would not part with thine!
Then how, my soul, can we be poor,
    Who own what kingdoms could not buy?
Of this true heart thou shalt be queen,
    In serving thee, a monarch I.
Thus uncontroll’d, in mutual bliss,
    I rich in love’s exhaustless mine,
Do thou snatch treasures from my lips,
    And I’ll take kingdoms back from thine!

Enter Maid with a letter.

Don. Louisa. My father’s answer, I suppose.

Don Ant. My dearest Louisa, you may be assured that it contains nothing but threats and reproaches.

Don. Louisa. Let us see, however.—[Reads.] Dearest daughter, make your lover happy: you have my full consent to marry as your whim has chosen, but be sure come home and sup with your affectionate father.

Don Ant. You jest, Louisa!

Don. Louisa. [Gives him the letter.] Read! read!

Don Ant. ’Tis so, by heavens! Sure there must be some mistake; but that’s none of our business.——Now, Louisa, you have no excuse for delay.

Don. Louisa. Shall we not then return and thank my father?

Don Ant. But first let the priest put it out of his power to recall his word.—I’ll fly to procure one.

Don. Louisa. Nay, if you part with me again, perhaps you may lose me.

Don Ant. Come, then—there is a friar of a neighbouring convent is my friend; you have already been diverted by the manners of a nunnery; let us see whether there is less hypocrisy among the holy fathers.

Don. Louisa. I’m afraid not, Antonio—for in religion, as in friendship, they who profess most are the least sincere.

[Exeunt.