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SCENE IV. An inn on the road to Alcalá. BALTASAR asleep on a bench.

Enter CHISPA. CHISPA.–And here we are, half way to Alcalá, between cocks and midnight. Body o' me! what an inn this is ! The lights out, and the landlord asleep. Holál ancient Baltasar!

BALTASAR (waking).—Here I am. CHISPA.-Yes, there you are, like a one-eyed Alcalde in a town without inhabitants. Bring a light, and let me have supper.

BALTASAR.—Where is your master? CHISPA.-Do not trouble yourself about him. We have stopped a moment to breathe our horses; and if he chooses to walk up and down in the open air, looking into the sky as one who hears it rain, that does not satisfy my hunger, you know. But be quick, for I am in a hurry, and every man stretches his legs according to the length of his coverlet. What have we here?

BALTASAK (setting a light on the table).-Stewed rabbit.

CHISPA (eating). -- Conscience of Portalegre! Stewed kitten, you mean!

BALTASAR. ---And a pitcher of Pedro Ximenes, with a roasted pear in it.

CHISPA (drinking).- Ancient Baltasar, amigo! You know how to cry wine and sell vinegar. I tell you this is nothing but Vino Tinto of La Mancha, with a tang of the swine-skin.

BALTASAR.— I swear to you, by Saint Simon and Judas, it is all as I say.

CHISPA.—And I swear to you, by Saint Peter and Saint Paul, that it is no such thing. Moreover, your supper is like the hidalgo's dinner, very little meat, and a great deal of table cloth.

BALTASAR. -Ha! ha! ha!
CHISPA.-And more noise than nuts.
BALTASAR.-Ha! ha! ha! You must have your

joke, Master Chispa. But shall I not ask Don Victorian in, to take a draught of the Pedro Ximenes?

CHISPA.—No; you might as well say, “Don'tyou-want-some ?” to a dead man.

BALTASAR.- Why does he go so often to Madrid ?

CHISPA.-For the same reason that he eats no supper. He is in love. Were you ever in love, Baltasar ?

BALTASAR.—I was never out of it, good Chispa. It has been the torment of my life.

CHISPA.— What! are you on fire too, old harstack? Why, we shall never be able to put you out.

VICTORIAN (without).--Chispa! CHISPA.—Go to bed, Pero Grullo, for the cocks are crowing. VICTORIAN.—Ea! Chispa! Chispa!

CHISPA.-Ea! Senor. Come with me, ancient Baltasar, and bring water for the horses. I will pay for the supper to-morrow.

Exeunt.

SCENE V.

VICTORIAN's chamber at Alcalá. HYPOLITo asleep in an

arm-chair. He awakes slowly.

HYPOLITO.-I must have been asleep! ay, sound

asleep!
And it was all a dream. O sleep, sweet sleep!
Whatever form thou takest, thou art fair,
Holding unto our lips thy goblet filled
Out of Oblivion's well, a healing draught!
The candles have burned low; it must be late.
Where can Victorian be? Like Fray Car-

rillo, 17
The only place in which one cannot find him
Is his own cell. Here's his guitar, that seldom
Feels the caresses of its master's hand.

Open thy silent lips, sweet instrument !
And make dull midnight merry with a song.

(He plays and sinys.)
Padre Francisco ! 18

Padre Francisco!
What do you want of Padre Francisco ?

Here is a pretty young maiden

Who wants to confess her sins!
Open the door and let her come in,
I will shrive her from every sin.

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(Enter VICTORIAX.) VICTORIAN.–Padre Hypolito! Padre Hypolito ! HYPOLITO.- What do you want of Padre Hypo

lito ?
VICTORIAN.—Come, shrive me straight; for, if love

be a sin,
I am the greatest sinner that doth live.
I will confess the sweetest of all crimes,

A maiden wooed and won.
II YPOLITO.

The same old tale
Of the old woman in the chimney corner,
Who, while the pot boils, says, ** Come here,

my child;
I'll tell thee a story of ny wedding-day.”
VICTORIAN.-Nay, listen, for my heart is full; su

full
That I must speak.
HYPOLITO.-

Alas! that heart of thine
Is like a scene in the old play; the curtain
Rises to solemn music, and lo! enter

The eleven thousand yirgins of Cologne !
VICTORIAN.— Nay, like the Sybil's volumes, thou

Those that remained, after the six were burned,
Being held more precious than the nine to-

gether.
But listen to my tale. Dost thou remember

shouldst sayi

The Gipsy girl we saw at Córdova

Dance the Romalis in the market-place? HYPOLITO.—Thou meanest Preciosa. VICTORIAN.

Ay, the same. Thou knowest how her image haunted me Long after we returned to Alcalá.

She's in Madrid. HYPOLITO.

I know it. VICTORIAN.

And I'm in love. HYPOLITO.--And therefore in Madrid when thou

shouldst be
In Alcalá.
VICTORIAN. O pardon me, my friend,

If I so long have kept this secret from thee;
But silence is the charm that guards such

treasures,
And, if a word be spoken ere the time,

They sink again; they were not meant for us. HYPOLITO.-Alas! alas! Í see thou art in love.

Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.
It serves for food and raiment. Give a Spa-

niard
His mass, his olla, and his Dona Luisa, -
Thou knowest the proverb. But pray tell me,

lover,
How speeds thy wooing? Is the maiden coy?
Write her a song, beginning with an Ave;
Sing as the monk sang to the Virgin Mary.

Ave! cujus calcem clare 19
Nec centenni commendare

Sciret Seraph studio !

VICTORIAN.-Pray, do not jest! This is no time

for it!
I am in earnest !
HYPOLITO.

Seriously enamoured ?
What, ho! The Primus of great Alcalá
Enamoured of a Gipsy? Tell me frankly,
Huw meanest thou

VICTORIAN.

I mean it honestly. HYPOLITO.—Surely thou wilt not marry her? VICTORIAN.

Why not? HYPOLITO.—She was betrothed to one Bartolomé,

If I remember rightly, a young Gipsy

Who danced with her at Cordova. VICTORIAN.

They quarrelled,
And so the matter ended.
HYPOLITO.-

But in truth
Thou wilt not marry her ?
VICTORIAN.-

In truth I will.
The angels sang in heaven when she was born!
She is a precious jewel I have found
Among the filth and rubbish of the world.
I'll stoop for it; but when I wear it here,
Set on my forehead like the morning star,

The world may wonder, but it will not laugh. HYPOLITO.-If thou wearst nothing else upon thy

forehead,
'Twill be indeed a wonder.
VICTORIAN.-

Out upon thee,
With thy unseasonable jests! Pray,

Is there no virtue in the world ?
HYPOLITO.

Not much. What, thinkst thou, is she doing at this mo

ment;
Now, while we speak of her ?
VICTORIAN.

She lies asleep,
And, from her parted lips, her gentle breath
Comes like the fragrance from the lips of

flowers.
Her tender limbs are still, and, on her breast,
The cross she prayed to, ere she fell asleep,
Rises and falls with the soft tide of dreams,

Like a light barge safe moored.
HYPOLITO.-

Which means, in prose, She's sleeping with her mouth a little open! VICTORIAN.-O, would I had the old magician's

glass,
To see her as she lies, in child-like sleep!

tell me,

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