Enter Don Ferolo Whiskerandos.
Whisk. My beauteous enemy!—”
Puff. O dear, ma’am, you must start a great deal more than that! Consider, you had just determined in favour of duty—when, in a moment, the sound of his voice revives your passion—overthrows your resolution—destroys your obedience. If you don’t express all that in your start, you do nothing at all.
Tilb. Well, we’ll try again.
Dang. Speaking from within has always a fine effect.
Sneer. Very.
| “Whisk | My conquering Tilburina! How! is’t thus |
| We meet? why are thy looks averse? what means | |
| That falling tear—that frown of boding woe? | |
| Ha! now indeed I am a prisoner! | |
| Yes, now I feel the galling weight of these | |
| Disgraceful chains—which, cruel Tilburina! | |
| Thy doting captive gloried in before.— | |
| But thou art false, and Whiskerandos is undone! |
| Tilb. | O no! how little dost thou know thy Tilburina! |
| Whisk. | Art thou then true?—Begone cares, doubts, and fears, |
| I make you all a present to the winds; | |
| And if the winds reject you—try the waves.” |
Puff. The wind, you know, is the established receiver of all stolen sighs, and cast-off griefs and apprehensions.
| “Tilb. | Yet must we part!—stern duty seals our doom: |
| Though here I call yon conscious clouds to witness, | |
| Could I pursue the bias of my soul, | |
| All friends, all right of parents, I’d disclaim, | |
| And thou, my Whiskerandos, shouldst be father | |
| And mother, brother, cousin, uncle, aunt, | |
| And friend to me! |
| Whisk. | Oh, matchless excellence! and must we part? |
| Well, if—we must—we must—and in that case | |
| The less is said the better.” |
Puff. Heyday! here’s a cut!—What, are all the mutual protestations out?
Tilb. Now, pray, sir, don’t interrupt us just here: you ruin our feelings.
Puff. Your feelings!—but, zounds, my feelings, ma’am!
Sneer. No, pray don’t interrupt them.
| “Whisk. | One last embrace. |
| Tilb. | Now,—farewell, for ever. |
| Whisk. | For ever! |
| Tilb. | Ay, for ever! |
[Going.”
Puff. ’Sdeath and fury!—Gad’s life!—sir! madam! if you go out without the parting look, you might as well dance out. Here, here!
Con. But pray, sir, how am I to get off here?
Puff. You! pshaw! what the devil signifies how you get off! edge away at the top, or where you will—[Pushes the Confidant off.] Now, ma’am, you see—
Tilb. We understand you, sir.
| “Ay, for ever. | |
| Both. … | Oh! [Turning back, and exeunt.—Scene closes.” |
Dang. Oh, charming!
Puff. Hey!—’tis pretty well, I believe: you see I don’t attempt to strike out anything new—but I take it I improve on the established modes.
Sneer. You do, indeed! But pray is not Queen Elizabeth to appear?
Puff. No, not once—but she is to be talked of for ever; so that, egad, you’ll think a hundred times that she is on the point of coming in.
Sneer. Hang it, I think it’s a pity to keep her in the green-room all the night.
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