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O, valiant man! with sword drawn and cock'd trigger,

       Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure?

       'Was it for this you took your sudden journey.

       Under pretence of business indispensable

       With that sublime of rascals your attorney,

       Whom I see standing there, and looking sensible

       Of having play'd the fool? though both I spurn, he

       Deserves the worst, his conduct 's less defensible,

       Because, no doubt, 't was for his dirty fee,

       And not from any love to you nor me.

       'If he comes here to take a deposition,

       By all means let the gentleman proceed;

       You 've made the apartment in a fit condition:

       There 's pen and ink for you, sir, when you need—

       Let every thing be noted with precision,

       I would not you for nothing should be fee'd—

       But, as my maid 's undrest, pray turn your spies out.'

       'Oh!' sobb'd Antonia, 'I could tear their eyes out.'

       'There is the closet, there the toilet, there

       The antechamber—search them under, over;

       There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair,

       The chimney—which would really hold a lover.

       I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care

       And make no further noise, till you discover

       The secret cavern of this lurking treasure—

       And when 't is found, let me, too, have that pleasure.

       'And now, Hidalgo! now that you have thrown

       Doubt upon me, confusion over all,

       Pray have the courtesy to make it known

       Who is the man you search for? how d' ye cal

       Him? what 's his lineage? let him but be shown—

       I hope he 's young and handsome—is he tall?

       Tell me—and be assured, that since you stain

       My honour thus, it shall not be in vain.

       'At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years,

       At that age he would be too old for slaughter,

       Or for so young a husband's jealous fears

       (Antonia! let me have a glass of water).

       I am ashamed of having shed these tears,

       They are unworthy of my father's daughter;

       My mother dream'd not in my natal hour

       That I should fall into a monster's power.

       'Perhaps 't is of Antonia you are jealous,

       You saw that she was sleeping by my side

       When you broke in upon us with your fellows:

       Look where you please—we 've nothing, sir, to hide;

       Only another time, I trust, you 'll tell us,

       Or for the sake of decency abide

       A moment at the door, that we may be

       Drest to receive so much good company.

       'And now, sir, I have done, and say no more;

       The little I have said may serve to show

       The guileless heart in silence may grieve o'er

       The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow:

       I leave you to your conscience as before,

       'T will one day ask you why you used me so?

       God grant you feel not then the bitterest grief!-

       Antonia! where 's my pocket-handkerchief?'

       She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow; pale

       She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears,

       Like skies that rain and lighten; as a veil,

       Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears

       Her streaming hair; the black curls strive, but fail,

       To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears

       Its snow through all;—her soft lips lie apart,

       And louder than her breathing beats her heart.

       The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused;

       Antonia bustled round the ransack'd room,

       And, turning up her nose, with looks abused

       Her master and his myrmidons, of whom

       Not one, except the attorney, was amused;

       He, like Achates, faithful to the tomb,

       So there were quarrels, cared not for the cause,

       Knowing they must be settled by the laws.

       With prying snub-nose, and small eyes, he stood,

       Following Antonia's motions here and there,

       With much suspicion in his attitude;

       For reputations he had little care;

       So that a suit or action were made good,

       Small pity had he for the young and fair,

       And ne'er believed in negatives, till these

       Were proved by competent false witnesses.

       But Don Alfonso stood with downcast looks,

       And, truth to say, he made a foolish figure;

       When, after searching in five hundred nooks,

       And treating a young wife with so much rigour,

       He gain'd no point, except some self-rebukes,

       Added to those his lady with such vigour

       Had pour'd upon him for the last half-hour,

       Quick, thick, and heavy—as a thunder-shower.

       At first he tried to hammer an excuse,

       To which the sole reply was tears and sobs,

       And indications of hysterics, whose

       Prologue is always certain throes, and throbs,

       Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose:

       Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job's;

       He saw too, in perspective, her relations,

       And then he tried to muster all his patience.

       He stood in act to speak, or rather stammer,

       But sage Antonia cut him short before

       The anvil of his speech received the hammer,

       With 'Pray, sir, leave the room, and say no more,

       Or madam dies.'—Alfonso mutter'd, 'D—n her,'

       But nothing else, the time of words was o'er;

       He cast a rueful look or two, and did,

       He knew not wherefore, that which he was bid.

       With him retired his 'posse comitatus,'

       The attorney last, who linger'd near the door

       Reluctantly, still tarrying there as late as

       Antonia let him—not a little sore

       At this most strange and unexplain'd 'hiatus'

       In Don Alfonso's facts, which just now wore

       An awkward look; as he revolved the case,

       The door was fasten'd in his legal face.

      

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