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Without a Miracle, look on my Eyes And Beauty which you say can kindle Fires; She that can give, may too retain Desires. Cel. She'll ravish me let me not understand you. Dia. Look on my Wrongs Wrongs that would melt a frozen Chastity, That a religious Vow had made to Heaven: And next survey thy own Perfections. Cel. Hah Dia. Art thou so young, thou canst not apprehend me?
The young men strolled from the porch and adopted ferocious attitudes, their hands in their belts, and their heads held high, before the groups of women, among which were the beloved atlotas, the marriageable girls, who feigned indifference, but at the same time peeped at them out of the corners of their eyes. Gradually the mass of people scattered. "Bòn día! Bòn día!"
Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely keep a Seraglio of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways in the gilt Coach like Janus, or a Spread-Eagle. Dia. And do you expect I shou'd be honest the while? Bea.
Of his successor I never heard any evil sung, though I remember once hearing a great crowd of soldiers and civilians at Genoa shouting monotonously. "Viva, viva il Generale Dia!" The refrain of the stornelli was onomatopoeic, and was intended to represent the sound of gunfire. "Bim Bim Bom, Bim Bim Bom, Al rombo del cannon." What a theatrical country Italy is!
Now I am well pardon me, lovely Creature, If I betray a Passion, I'm too young To've learnt the Art of hiding; I cannot hear you say that he was kind. Dia. Kind! yes, as Blasts to Flow'rs, or early Fruit; All gay I met him full of youthful Heat: But like a Damp, he dasht my kindled Flame, And all his Reason was he lov'd another, A Maid he call'd Celinda. Cel. Oh blessed Man! Dia. How, Sir? Cel.
Ecce inter pocula quaerunt Romulidae saturi, quid dia poemata narrent. Persius, Sat. i. 30. Nay, more! Our nobles, gorged, and swilled with wine, Call o'er the banquet for a lay divine! Gifford. It was cultivated as a kind of fashionable exercise, in short and desultory attempts, in which the chief ambition was to produce verses extempore.
Amongst the baggage was also a cabinet in which were a number of medallions, given him by the Pope and other potentates, some letters of Louis XVIII. which he had left behind him on his writing-table in the suddenness of his flight from the Tuileries on the 20th of March, and a number of other letters found in the portfolio of Dia Blacas intended to calumniate Napoleon.
Well, Sir, remember you have promised to grant me my diabolical Request, in shewing me the Devil Gay. I will not fail you, Sir. L. Ful. Madam, your Servant; I hope you'll see no more Ghosts, Sir Feeble. Sir Feeb. Enter Diana, puts on her Hood and Scarf. Dia. So they are gone to Bed; and now for Bredwel the Coach waits, and I'll take this opportunity.
Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom, Like Sinners, conscious ne'er to be forgiven, I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven. Cel. Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life? Dia. Had I but two days since beheld this Youth Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought My self more blest, Than to have been that Deity he calls me. Enter Friendlove. Friend. Defend me! The Traitor here!
Since she has so firm a Contract, I pronounce it a lawful Marriage but hark, they are coming sure Dia. Enter Bearjest and Noisey disordered. Bea. Madam, I beg your Pardon I met with a most devilish Adventure; your Pardon too, Mr. Doctor, for making you wait.
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