University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—An Antechamber in the Castle of Otranto.
Enter Hippolita, Isabella, and Matilda, R.
SONG—Isabella.
Air—“Nacqui al' rimbombo.”—La Figlia.
'Mid battlements dusty, and parchments all musty,
Well might I turn crusty, to think of my fate;
None to defend us, from dangers tremendous,
How awful our state!
There's the Baron so surly;
Who for us would fight;
Of his black wig so curly,
I can't bear the sight.
There's the Baron so surly, &c.

Hip.
This is sad news indeed! My only boy!
His father's, mother's, everybody's joy!
No more, when we've got company to dine,
Shall he come in to have a glass of wine!
No more shall I affectionately make
For him, to take to school, the seedy cake!
My son is dead!

Mat.
Alas! my dearest mother,
Tho' you have lost one child, you've got another.

Hip.
Your speech restores me. Ah! my beauteous bird,
There's sal volatile in every word.
Your soothing tone my spirits quite exalts—
My hartshorn!—in a word, my Glauber salts!

Isa.
Can I console you, madam?

Hip.
(crosses to C.)
Thank you—no.
I'm like French funds just now—extremely low.
Enter Odonto, L.
Odonto! how's your master?—tell me truly—
How does he bear our loss?

Odo.
Why, rather coolly.

Hip.
He but conceals his anguish;—let me rush
And blend my tears with his in mutual gush.

Odo.
You can't, my lady, for my master's eye
Is like a weather glass at very dry;
While, on the contrary, 'tis very plain
Your weather eye would indicate much rain.

Hip.
Well, well, to comfort him I'll do my best,
And shed my tears in torrents on his breast.

Odo.
Tho' such an act might be a proof of love,
A shower bath of the kind he'd not approve.
In fact, my lady, he has bid me say,
He'll not require your company to-day;
But that young lady he would like to see.

Isa.
Why, bless the man, what can he want with me?

Hip.
Go, by all means I read his feelings quite,
Of me, or 'Tilda, he can't bear the sight.

Mat.
As members of the family, you see,
We should revive his grief.

Hip.
Ah, as for me,
My presence I've good cause, alas! to know,
Has been too much for him some time ago.

Isa.
At your request I go; but I must own
I don't like meeting gentlemen alone.

DUET.—Matilda and Isabella.
Air.—“Behold how brightly breaks the Morning,”—Masaniello.
Isa., Mat.
Mamma, 'tis vain to think of mourning,
The poor young lad is gone—
So don't take on.
He left 'tis true, without the slightest warning,
But pray don't cry;
Oh! dry your eye;
What can't be cured must be endured.
His life you know was not insured,
So onward pray look,
She speaks like a book;
So pray don't cry,
Come dry your eye:
What can't be cured must be endured.