_See, O, see! How every tree, Every bower, Every flower, A new life gives to others' joys; Whilst that I, Grief-stricken, lie, Nor can meet With any sweet, But what faster mine destroys. What are all the senses' pleasures, When the mind has lost all measures?_ _Hear, O, hear! How sweet and clear The nightingale And waters'-fall In concert join for others' ears; Whilst to me For harmony Every air Echoes despair, And every drop provokes a tear. What are all the senses' pleasures, When the mind has lost all measures?_ +Blan.+ I thank you, Silvia; but I'll not allow One of your youth to nourish melancholy By tunes and words so flattering to that passion. +Elv.+ The happiness of serving you may fit me In time for gayer things. +Blan.+ I will not ask another for the present; Not for your reason, but because I'll be More moderate in my pleasures. Now, Silvia, I have a task to give you. +Elv.+ Whate'er it be, 'twill be a pleasing one, Of your imposing. +Blan.+ 'Tis to gather store of Fresh orange-flowers, and then carefully To shift the oils in the perfuming-room, As in the several ranges you shall see The old begin to wither. To do it well Will take you up some hours; but 'tis a work I oft perform myself; and that you may Be sure not to mistake, I'll go thither With you, and show you the manner of it. +Elv.+ I hope I shall not fail, so well instructed. [_Exeunt._ _Scene changes to the room at +Don Zancho's+. Enter +Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+._ +Chi.+ Y'are so impatient, sir, you will mar all: I tell you that 'tis yet too light by half, The sun is hardly set: pray fetch a turn Or two more in the garden, ere you go. +Don Z.+ You must be governor, I see, to-night, You are so proud o' th' service you have done. Come away. [_Exeunt._ _Scene changes to the garden again. +Elvira+ appears in the garden, as gathering flowers from the orange-trees, and then (with her apron full) going away, says_--