TILNURINA. Now has the whispering breath of gentle morn Bid Nature’s voice and Nature’s beauty rise; While orient Phoebus, with unborrow’d hues, Clothes the waked loveliness which all night slept In heavenly drapery I Darkness is fled. Now flowers unfold their beauties to the sun, And, blushing, kiss the beam he sends to wake them— The striped carnation, and the guarded rose, The vulgar wallflower, and smart gillyflower, The polyanthus mean—the dapper daisy, Sweet-William, and sweet marjoram—and all The tribe of single and of double pinks! Now, too, the feather’d warblers tune their notes Around, and charm the listening grove. The lark! The linnet! chaffinch! bullfinch! goldfinch! greenfinch! But O, to me no joy can they afford! Nor rose, nor wallflower, nor smart gillyflower, Nor polyanthus mean, nor dapper daisy, Nor William sweet, nor marjoram—nor lark, Linnet nor all the finches of the grove! PUFF. Your white handkerchief, madam!— TILNURINA. I thought, sir, I wasn’t to use that till _heart-rending woe_. PUFF. O yes, madam, at _the finches of the grove_, if you please. TILNURINA. Nor lark, Linnet, nor all the finches of the grove! [Weeps.] PUFF. Vastly well, madam! _Dang_. Vastly well, indeed! TILNURINA. For, O, too sure, heart-rending woe is now The lot of wretched Tilburina! CONFIDANT. Oh!—it’s too much. SNEER. Oh!—it is indeed. PUFF. Be comforted, sweet lady; for who knows, But Heaven has yet some milk-white day in store? TILNURINA. Alas! my gentle Nora, Thy tender youth as yet hath never mourn’d Love’s fatal dart. Else wouldst thou know, that when The soul is sunk in comfortless despair, It cannot taste of merriment. DANGLE. That’s certain. _Con_. But see where your stern father comes It is not meet that he should find you thus. PUFF. Hey, what the plague!—what a cut is here! Why, what is become of the description of her first meeting with Don Whiskerandos—his gallant behaviour in the sea-fight—and the simile of the canary-bird? TILNURINA. Indeed, sir, you’ll find they will not be missed. PUFF. Very well, very well! TILNURINA. [_To_ CONFIDANT.] The cue, ma’am, if you please. CONFIDANT. It is not meet that he should find you thus. TILNURINA. Thou counsel’st right; but ’tis no easy task For barefaced grief to wear a mask of joy. _Enter_. GOVERNOR. GOVERNOR. How’s this!—in tears?—O Tilburina, shame! Is this a time for maudling tenderness, And Cupid’s baby woes?—Hast thou not heard That haughty Spain’s pope-consecrated fleet Advances to our shores, while England’s fate, Like a clipp’d guinea, trembles in the scale? TILNURINA. Then is the crisis of my fate at hand! I see the fleets approach—I see— PUFF. Now, pray, gentlemen, mind. This is one of the most useful figures we tragedy writers have, by which a hero or heroine, in consideration of their being often obliged to overlook things that are on the stage, is allowed to hear and see a number of things that are not. SNEER. Yes; a kind of poetical second-sight!