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DON CARLOS.— Nay, not to be won at all !
The only virtue that a Gipsy prizes
Is chastity. That is her only virtue.
Dearer than life she holds it. I remember
A Gipsy woman, a vile, shameless bawd,
Whose craft was to betray the young and fair:
And yet this woman was above all bribes.
And, when a noble lord, touched by her beauty,
The wild and wizard beauty of her race,
Offered her gold to be what she made others,
She turned upon him, with a look of scorn,
And smote him in the facel

LARA.— And does that prove
That Preciosa is above suspicion?

DON CARLOS.—It proves a nobleman may be re

pulsed

When he thinks conquest easy. I believe
That woman, in her deepest degradation,
Holds something sacred, something undefiled,
Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature,
And, like the diamond in the dark, retains
Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light !

LARA.—Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold.

190N CARLOS (rising).-I do not think so.

LARA.— I am sure of it. But why this haste? Stay yet a little longer, And fight the battles of your Dulcinea.

DoN CARLos—'Tis late. I must begone, for if I

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LARA.—No one so blind as he who will not see l
DoN CARLOS.—And so good-night. I wish you
pleasant dreams,
And greater faith in woman l [Earit.
LARA.— Greater faith !
I have the greatest faith; for I believe
Victorian is her lover. I believe

That I shall be to-morrow ; and thereafter
Another, and another, and another,
Chasing each other through her zodiac,
As Taurus chases Aries.

(Enter FRANCISCo with a casket.)

Well, Francisco,
What speed with Preciosa?

FRANCISCo.— None, my lord. She sends your jewels back, and bids me tell you

She is not to be purchased by your gold. LARA.—Then I will try some other way to win licr. Pray, dost thou know Victorian 2 FRANCISCO.- Yes, my lord; I saw him at the jeweller's to-day LARA.—What was he doing there? FRANCISCO.- I saw him buy A golden ring, that had a ruby in it. T.A.R.A.—Was there another like it?

FRANCISCO.- One so like it,
I could not choose between them.
LARA.— It is well.

To-morrow morning bring that ring to me.
Do not forget. Now light me to my bed.
Ereunt.

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A street in Madrid. Enter CHISPA, followed by musicians, with a bagpipe, guitars, and other instruments.

CHISPA.—Abernuncio Satanas!” and a plague on all lovers who ramble about at night, drinking the elements, instead of sleeping quietly in their beds. Every dead, man to his cemetery, say I; and every friar to his monastery. Now, here's my master, Victorian, yesterday a cowkeeper, and to. day a gentleman; yesterday a student, and to-day a lover; and I must be up later than the nightingale, for as the abbot sings, so must the sacrisian respond. God grant he may soon be married, for then j. all this serenading cease. Ay, marry I marry: marryl Mother, what does marry mean? It means to spin, to bear children, and to weep, my daughter! And, of a truth, there is something more in matrimony than the wedding-ring. (To the musicians.) And now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum l as the ass said to the cabbages. Pray, walk this way; and don't hang down your heads. It is no disgrace to have an old father and a ragged shirt. Now, look you, you are gentlemen who lead the life of crickets; ou enjoy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, } beseech, you, for this once be not loud, but pathetic; for it is a serenade to a damsel in bed, and not to the Man in the Moon. Your object is not to arouse and terrify, but to soothe and bring lulling dreams. Therefore, each shall not play upon his instrument as if it were the only one in the universe, but gently, and with a certain modesty, according with the others. Pray, how may I call thy name, friend? o: MUSICLAN.—Gerónimo Gil, at your serVlce. CHISPA.—Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, Gerónimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with thee? FIRST MUSICIAN.—Why so? CHISPA.—Because I have heard it said that Saturday is an unpleasant day with those who have but one shirt. Moreover, I have seen thee at the Tavern, and if thou canst run as fast as thou canst drink, I should like to hunt hares with thee. What instrument is that? FIRST MUSICIAN.—An Arragonese bagpipe. CHISPA.—Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked a maravedí for playing, and ten for leaving off? FIRST MUSICIAN.—No, your honour. CHISPA.—I am glad of it. What other instruments have we?

Second AND THIRD MUSICIANs.-We play the bandurria. Chispa.-A pleasing instrument. And thou? FourTH MUSICIAN.—The fife. Chispa.-I like it; it has a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, that soars up to my lady's window like the song of a swallow. And you others? OTHER MUSICIANs.-We are the singers, please your honour. Chispa.-You are too many. Do you think we are going to sing mass in the cathedral of Córdova 2 Four men can make but little use of one shoe, and I see not how you can all sing in one song. But follow me along the garden wall. That is the way my master climbs to the lady's window. It is by the Vicar's skirts that the devil climbs into the belfry. Come, follow me, and make no noise. [Earount. S C E N E III.

PRECIos A's chamber. She stands at the open window. PRECIos A.—How slowly through the lilac-scented

alt Descends the tranquil moon! Like thistledown The vapoury clouds float in the peaceful sky; And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of shade The nightingales breathe out their souls in

song.

And hark! what songs of love, what soul-like sounds,

Answer them from below !

SERENADE.

StARs of the summer night!

Far in yon azure deeps,
Hide, hide your golden light!

She sleeps: -
My lady sleeps:

Sleeps:

Moon of the summer night !
Far down yon western steeps,

Sink, sink in silver light!
She sleeps!

My lady sleeps 1
Sleeps!

Wind of the summer night!
Where yonder woodbine creeps,

Fold, fold thy pinions light!
She sleeps!

My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!

Dreams of the summer night!
Tell her, her lover keeps

Watch! while in slumbers light
She sleeps!

My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!

(Enter Victorian by the balcony.)

WICTORIAN.—Poor little dovel Thou tremblest like a leaf. PRECIosA.—I am so frightened 1 'Tis for thee I tremble ! I hate to have thee climb that wall by night! Did no one see thee?

VICTORIAN.— None, my love, but thou. PRECIOSA.—"Tis very dangerous; and when thou art gone

Ichide myself for letting thee come here Thus stealthily by night. Where hast thou been 2 Since yesterday I have no news from thee. VICTORIAN.—Since yesterday, I've been in Alcalá. Ere long the time will come, sweet Preciosa, When that dull distance shall no more divide us; And I no more shall scale thy wall by night To steal a kiss from thee, as I do now. PRECIOSA.—An honest thief, to steal but what thou

givest. VICTORIAN.—And we shall sit together unmolested, F

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