SCENE II. 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 cow-keeper, 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 sacristan respond. God grant he may soon be married, for then shall all this serenading cease. Ay, marry' marry! marry! 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! 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; you enjoy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, I 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? FIRST MUSICIAN. Gerónimo Gil, at your service. CHISPA. Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, Gerónimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with thee? Why so? FIRST MUSICIAN. 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 Aragonese bagpipe. CHISPA. Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked a maravedí for playing, and ten for leaving off? No, your honor. FIRST MUSICIAN. CHISPA. I am glad of it. What other instruments have we? 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 honor. CHISPA. You are too many. Do you think we are going to sing mass in the cathedral of Córdova? 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. [Exeunt. SCENE III. PRECIOSA'S chamber. She stands at the open window. PRECIOSA. How slowly through the lilac-scented air Descends the tranquil moon! Like thistle-down The vapory clouds float in the peaceful sky; And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of shade And hark! what songs of love, what soul-like sounds, 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! 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.) VICTORIAN. Poor, little dove! Thou tremblest like a leaf! PRECIOSA. I am so frightened! 'T is for thee I tremble! VICTORIAN. None, my love, but thou. PRECIOSA. 'T is very dangerous; and when thou art gone I chide myself for letting thee come here 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. M |