_Lop_. [_Aside_.] And of mine too.

_Don Ferd_. 'Sdeath, to trifle with me at such a juncture as this!--
now to stand on punctilios!--Love me! I don't believe she ever did.

_Lop_. [_Aside_.] Nor I either.

_Don Ferd_. Or is it, that her sex never know their desires for an
hour together?

_Lop_. [_Aside_.] Ah, they know them oftener than they'll own them.

_Don Ferd_. Is there, in the world, so inconsistent a creature as
Clara?

_Lop_. [_Aside_.] I could name one.

_Don Ferd_. Yes; the tame fool who submits to her caprice.

_Lop_. [_Aside_.]I thought he couldn't miss it.

_Don Ferd_. Is she not capricious, teasing, tyrannical, obstinate,
perverse, absurd? ay, a wilderness of faults and follies; her looks
are scorn, and her very smiles--'Sdeath! I wish I hadn't mentioned her
smiles; for she does smile such beaming loveliness, such fascinating
brightness--Oh, death and madness! I shall die if I lose her.

_Lop_. [_Aside_.] Oh, those damned smiles have undone all!

AIR--_Don Ferd_.