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grown so ill-tempered of late, ah ! Lucy, this love-my poor master now never sleeps at night, and looks as pale as spermaceti.

Lucy. I am sure if paleness is a proof of love, I know whose complexion tells a very different story, that I do.

Gius. But what made us leave Bath do you think, as soon as you left it? What made us fol. low you to Melville house? Sacre nom de tonnere, my master's bell again!

Lucy. And I must go to my mistress-going.
Gius. Signora Lucy!
Lucy. But your master's bell!

Gius. Ah! ma foi, don't mind him. I would do any thing to serve him, when my own pleasure is not in the way. Come here, I have some questions to ask you—I am sure I must tell him something of his mistress, or else.

Lucy. Indeed I shall not be bid to come here, and go there just as you please—well, what do


want? Gius. Tell me, is your mistress, Signora Emily, seriously in love with my master or not?

Lucy. O Lord no! I am sure she is not.
Gius. And what makes you so sure, my dear ?

Lucy. Your dear indeed! marry come upwell, in the first place, if I mention him a thousand times, she never sighs once; then she does not look pale and red at the same time, and when I call her in the morning, she's as light and airy as if she had slept all night long.

Gius. And what does she say of Bath? Does she call it the most charming place in the whole world, as I do, where I first saw these lips. (kisses her.)

Lucy. No indeed, she abuses it night and morning, and says its a horrid dull, idle, gossipping place, only fit for children at a dancing school. Then she vows there was not a single person there she ever wishes to see again.

Gius. Oh, my poor master! now I must tell him the exact contrary of all this.

Lucy. No, no, consider, Gentlemen very often suffer cruelly from love.

Gius. That they do, indeed, Lucy.

Lucy. And if you encourage him, who knows if it may not break his heart at last.

Gius. But if I don't encourage him, he'll break


head at present. Lucy. Good Lord! How I stand idling here! Good by, Mr. Giuseppe.

Gius. Bon jour, my angel.
Lucy. You wont see me again all day, I pro-

mise you.

Gius. Sancta Maria! you frighten me out of my senses.

Lucy. Well, I don't wish to encourage you, but, perhaps - perhaps, you have no need to despair.

Exit. Gius. The dear sweet little coquette! Fort bien, very well, very well. I have a wife in Italy, and a wife in France, and now I am likely to provide one for myself in England. Ma foi, they are to be had every where.--(sings) Compatiso le donne—compatisco le donne. Exit.

SCENE II.-LOVELL's dressing-room.

Lovell in his dressing-gown.

Lov. This woman's in my head, my heartshe occupies every thought-sleep never comes near me, and if I had been at the gaming table all night, I could not feel more jaded and wearied this morning.

What's worst of all, this Italian puppy perceives my folly.


Where have you been loitering, sirrah ? Am I to pull my arms off at the bell-rope to rouse you from your lethargy?

Gius. Oh! mon signore—mon voglio offendirvi!—but the bells in this house do not ring I suppose.

Lov. No more of these excuses, I have been making noise enough to raise the dead.

Gius. (Aside) Or to kill the living—ma foiah monsieur! I did think you would not wish to see me 'till I had made some inquiries.

Lov. Inquiries—what inquiries?

Gius. You must remember, sir, Mademoiselle Lucy.

Lov. No, not I-some vulgar baggage I suppose, some high spirited trollop I'll answer for her.

Gius. (Aside) Ah! ah! je vous salue-you shall remember her—as charming a young thing as is to be found I assure you, sir, upon my honour.

Lov. Don't poison me with your love-sick praise, don't you see my hair is not dressed.

Gius. I thought, sir, you would not take it amiss if I made some inquiries from her after her mistress. Oh! qu'elle est charmante-monsieur.

Lov. Who gave you liberty to mention that lady, am I for ever to be tormented by this unintelligible chatter-why, you rascal, you've reversed the order of Providence, and made a mixture of all the languages, which, from the building of Babel, were decreed to be kept se. parate. Was there ever heard such a jargon, well, this shall decide me-I've told you a

thousand times I am tired of you—do you mind me -take this for a warning-quit my service-you inattentive, idle, lanthorn-jawed blockhead.

Gius. It grieves me very much to have offended you, sir, upon my honour, very much. But I thought it no harm just to ask how Miss Emily had been since we left Bath.

Lov. You are an impertinent, interfering, busy jackanapes for your pains, and what did the woman say?

Gius. Ah, sir, ma foi, you have made terrible work there. Miss Emily has never looked up since—she never sleeps at night-changes colour a thousand times in a minute-calls Bath the most charming place in the world, and says she shall always think of it with the deepest gratitude. La pauvre petite !

Lov. And who told you this, Joseph ?

Gius. Mon Dieu ! I've been talking with Mademoiselle Lucy this last half hour, and about nothing else.

Lov. What! that pretty little girl I used to see you walking with up Milsom-street-eh, Joseph ?

Gius. And when her mistress first heard you had followed her here, she was so happy-she laughed, and danced, and her eyes did so sparkle.

Lov. Why, you did not see her, Joe ?

Gius. Oh, no, sir, this is all my little Lucy's description.

Lov. Well, come and dress my hair, Joethis Lucy of your's is a pretty girl i'faith—by the bye, there's that brown coat of mineit's almost new, but I don't like it, so you may take it.

Gius. And there is the coat you had made for the last birth-day-the silver is tarnished terriblement.

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