intrepidly.

_Don Jer_. Ay! woo her briskly--win her, and give me a proof of your
address, my little Solomon.

_Isaac_. But hold--I expect my friend Carlos to call on me here. If he
comes, will you send him to me?

_Don Jer_. I will. Lauretta!--[_Calls_.]--Come--she'll show you to the
room. What! do you droop? here's a mournful face to make love with!
[_Exeunt_.]




SCENE II.--DONNA LOUISA'S _Dressing-Room_.

_Enter_ ISAAC _and_ MAID.


_Maid_. Sir, my mistress will wait on you presently.

[_Goes to the door_.]

_Isaac_. When she's at leisure--don't hurry her.--[_Exit_ MAID.]--I
wish I had ever practised a love-scene--I doubt I shall make a poor
figure--I couldn't be more afraid if I was going before the
Inquisition. So, the door opens--yes, she's coming--the very rustling
of her silk has a disdainful sound.