“Yes, yes, young man, this is the _real_ elixir of love!” (And perhaps it was, for ’twas good Bordeaux.) “And young rustic, don’t take it till to-morrow. (By that time I shall be gone.)” “Oh, good doctor!” “I’ faith (to himself again,) fools there are ’neath the sun; “A fool, yet none the less a brother--this one. And mind, young rustic. A word in your ear. Silence, _silence_! Tis dangerous to sell love-potions now-a-days. I don’t speak for myself, young rustic, for _I_’m the great Dulcamara, famed in Venice and Ferrara; but for _your_ sake, young rustic--ah! ah! all the women in the place will be dying for you. To-morrow, mind. Good bye young rustic, good bye.” And the worthy doctor vanished through the doorway of the village inn. “Faith,” said the lover to himself, no longer in a disconsolate tone, “a good thing is a good thing to-day as well as to-morrow. And ’tis fair weather, for am I not sitting down here with my elixir of love? And the bright sky above me. Good! I will!” Pop! ’tis the cork. “Ah, ah! good! another sip. Good!--another.” “La, la, la, la, la, ra, ra.” “Good! Good! yet another; and another sip.” “La, la, la, la, la, ra, ree.” “Can I believe my eyes; why ’tis Nemorino singing. Actually Nemorino singing. Ah, ah!” “‘Tis she! I shall go to her! No; why should _I_ go to her? Let her come to me. La, la, la. La, la, la. For to-morrow; yes to-morrow. They’ll be sighing at my feet!” “He doesn’t even look at me! ah, ah!” Rather a louder “ah, ah!” than the first. “La, la, la, re, ra, ra, ra. Aie, aie, aie, eie, ah!” “‘Tis all put on!” “She’s very clearly not in love with me _yet_. La, la, la, re, ra, ra, ra. Aie, aie, eie, ah!” “It MUST be put on! Good _evening_, Nemorino. _Very_ good. You’re taking my advice. You’re, you’re quite _merry_!” “True; I like this new life.” “Then your sighs, and your sobs, and your tears!” “La, la, la.” “Silence, sir.” “Re, ra, ra, ra.” “How dare you!” “Aie, aie, aie, eie, a, a, le.” “_Very_ good.” “Oh! I shall be heart-whole to-morrow.” “Indeed! we shall see! We shall see!” The second “we shall see” very low and confidential. Then came a voice from the inn, which cried, “Tran, tran, tran, In love or in war; Tran, tran, tran, You ne’er saw before; Tran, tran, tran, A Sergeant Belcore; Tran, tran, tran, A Sergeant Belcore.” “Ah! here comes that _admirable_ sergeant. Ah, sergeant; is that you?” “Yes; dear heart of stone!” “Stone! oh no.” “Sound to the assault, sergeant. Now, tell me; when shall we be married?” “We-e-e-l-l-l--Perhaps s-o-o-o-o-n.” “Ah!” “He started,” said Adina in a low voice. “Don’t pull your moustaches, sergeant,” said she in a louder voice. “Always obey orders; well, in six days?” “Wel-l-l-l--Per-hap-p-p-s.” “Victory, victory. As sure as I’m a sergeant!” “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!” laughed Nemorino. “Oh, oh! he’s actually laughing.” And somebody was almost crying.