University of Virginia Library

INTERLUDE.
SCENE II.
Signora Dorinna, surrounded with Taylors, Dresses, &c.
Dorin.
'Tis a most hideous Dress, I swear;
Where is the Majesty, and Air?
The Train of an Imperial Vest
Should sweep full three Yards long at least.

Enter Signor Capoccio.
Capoc.
See, I'm return'd upon the Wing;
And with Me my Cantata bring.

Dorin.
How am I ev'ry Way besieg'd,
With Plague on Plague!—Sir, your oblig'd.
You'll take This shorter up, I hope:
Do but observe the odious Slope.—

Capoc.
You do perform to Night, I guess?

Dorin.
O Sir, yes.—
Come, come, dispatch, without this Pother;
Stick here a Pin, and there another.

Capoc.
You act the Heroine of the Piece?

Dorin.
O Sir, yes.—
How aukwardly this Sleeve's confin'd!
'Tis pinching Work in ev'ry kind.

Capoc.
What Time will the Performance take?

Dorin.
O Sir, yes.—

Capoc.
What an absurd Reply is this!

Dorin.
No more of your Fatigue: away:
I'll wear it, as it is, to-day.

Capoc.
Wretches, begone.
[The Taylors, Dressers, &c. go off.
That Fiddle-faddle's done at last.—

[Aside.
Dorin.
These Plagues are scarce to be surpass'd.

Capoc.
When You a loud Applause shall hear
From ev'ry Part o'th'Theatre,
These slight Fatigues will cease of course.

Dorin.
I from an Audience fear still worse.

Capoc.
Such is your Pow'r and Excellence,
They'll baffle all design'd Offence.

Dorin.
Then what still gives me fresh Vexation,
I've such a Scene of Agitation,
Where Cleopatra comes in Chains,
And mourns her Fate and inward Pains.
I dread the Force of Passion, which
May strain my Voice above its Pitch.

Capoc.
And 'tis my Grief, I can't be there
To see the Joy when you appear.

Dorin.
That gives me great Concern; because
I much rely'd on your Applause.

Capoc.
May I enjoy a little Touch
Of One short Scene?

Dorin.
'Twou'd please me much;
But without Lights, and Pomp of Scenes,
A Stage, and Croud of Violins,
Action its Dignity must lose.

Capoc.
All These we can with Ease suppose.
Be You but Cleopatra, here
Are Lights and Scenes; and Musick, there:
Come with your orient Pearl and Cup,
Make me your Antony,—I'll drink it up.

Dorin.
That's not our Story: Story; 'tis another;
A Contest with the Prince, her Brother.

Capoc.
I'm then your Audience:—You appear,
I'll humbly be content to hear:
My Taper, this:—This, my Libretto:—
And now I'm fix'd in my Palchetto.

Dorinna
, as Cleopatra.
O Walls, and Glooms, and barb'rous Stones!
Dungeons, unconscious of my Moans!
Will you not melt to set me free,
Whilst from these Eyes I shed a Sea?

Capoc.
Alas, poor Girl!

Dorin.
Th'Usurper, that usurps my Throne,
(Can Brothers bear such Hearts of Stone?)
Is Ptolomy;
'Tis He; 'tis He!

Capoc.
O barb'rous Deed!

Dorin.
Beneath the Load of Chains, and Anguish,
I feel my Limbs and Spirits languish.
Tyrannick Tyrant Ptolomy!
Enjoy my Woes and Misery;
I feel, I faint;—I feel, I die.

Capoc.
Water, Water;—Quick, some Water.

Dorin.
What's the Matter?

Capoc.
So to the Life your Part you hit,
I swear, I thought you in a Fit.
But, come; now let me have the Air.

Dorin.
What Air? The Scene is finish'd there.

Capoc.
Finish'd! The Poet pardon me,
What! end without a Similie!
I, in an Opera of mine,
Did in One Air two Similies joyn:
An Art, so quite unknown before,
That the whole House cry'd out, Encor!

Dorin.
May I not hear it?

Capoc.
Surely, yes.
I know, 'twill please her to Excess.—
[Aside.
Suppose a Lover in Distress.

Dorin.
What Poesie! You are
In ev'ry Point most singular.

Capocc.
So I've been told a thousand Times.
I'm never at a Loss for Rhymes.

Dorinn.
Now to our Contract—

Capocc.
Oh, that's done.

Dorinn.
How! My Pretensions are not known.

Capocc.
I'll sign a Blank; your own Terms make;
Only your Slave amongst 'em take.

Dorin.
This I insist, never t'appear
But in the upper Character:
And that my Part be never short.

Capoc.
These are but trifling Things; n'importe.

Dorin.
Then I must have, the best in kind,
Beyond my Salary assign'd,
Choc'late, and Coffee, Sweetmeats, Tea,
Snuffs of all Sort, and Ratifia,
A Table spread with no mean Fare,
A handsome Equipage and Chair.

Capoc.
All those are Bagatelles, so you
But to your Slave some Favour shew:
A Flame so fierce I can't endure.

(A Bell rings.
Dorin.
Hark! This is for the Overture.

Capoc.
Plague o'their Haste, so to disjoint
My Hopes, just coming to the Point!

DUETTO.
[Capoc.]
May I have leave to court and coo?

Dorin.
'Tis of the earliest yet to wooe.
I must be gone.

Capoc.
—Faith, so must I:
You do not bid me go and dye?

Dorin.
No, no, I do not bid You dye.

Exeunt separately.