_Sub._ Pooh! pooh! on land we’re quite out of our element; What we’ve to do, is to find out some plan To rid the ocean of that bad young man, Conrad the Corsair.--None can safety gain Until, like gas, he’s turned off from the main; At all attempts to do so, he has laughed, While his great cunning saves his little craft; All commerce doth he from the waters sweep-- Cleans out the simple ones and scours the deep; None cross the seas thro’ fear of this vile rover-- Their spirits fail, ere they get half seas over-- In short, unless mankind from him we save, There’ll soon be _no_ life on the ocean wave. _Cor._ What shall we do, in his career to check him-- _Azurina._ Hang him! _Sub._ Can’t catch him. _Tempestia._ Raise a storm and wreck him. _Sub._ A good idea, most reckless of all men; His ship destroyed, he’ll not be wreckless then. About it straight. _Music._--_SERENA rises through trap, L. C._ _Serena._ One moment hear me, pray. _Sub._ A motion, an arrest of judgment, eh! _Serena._ Not only that, but one for a new trial. _Sub._ Nay--his guilt’s plain. _Serena._ Too plain for my denial. But ’stead of punishing, could we reclaim him-- _Sub._ Can you reclaim a tiger? _Serena._ You can tame him! Let me attempt the task. _Cor._ Nay, have a care, We don’t want Conrad made a tame affair. _Sub._ Say by what potent magic will you try? _Serena._ One which the rudest breast can purify-- Lifting the soul all meaner thoughts above-- The magic influence of woman’s love. _Cor._ Ho! ho! I see--the Corsair’s handsome face And figure, eh? _Azurina._ A most decided case. _Cor._ You’re smitten, miss. _Serena._ I scorn the imputation; I am a fairy, and I know my station! _Sub._ No quarreling--I own your plan seems strange; Think you that love can work this mighty change? _Serena._ Madam, I’ve heard of fast young men on town, Desperate dogs, by marriage settled down-- Men, who for years would not go home till morning, Found the domestic tea-table adorning; Smokers, I’ve heard, have put their pipes out--nay I’ve even heard of latch-keys thrown away. Can love do this, and yet be unavailing, To cure a paltry pirate’s little failing? Let Conrad only get a loving wife, And, on my word, he’ll lead another life. _Sub._ Enough--we’ll try your plan.