Let fife and drum preserve their place, While softer sounds delight thee; The fiddle shall our wedding grace, But _horns_ shall never fright thee. Come, come away, Love chides thy stay, Oh! prithee come my soldier! [Exit. SCENE II.--_A saloon: a large window is open and discovers the gardens: the noise of song and dance is heard immediately below the window._ CHORUS. Sing farewell labour, Blow pipe and beat tabor, Fly care far away; In light band advancing, Let music and dancing Proclaim holyday. _De Valmont_ opens the door of an inner chamber, and crosses the stage with a quick petulant step, to ring a bell in the saloon: no answer is immediately given, and he repeats the ring with increased fretfulness. Enter _Gaspard_. _De Val._ So! am I heard! old man! to what strange dwelling have I been borne while sleeping? and who is your new master? _Gas._ Alack! your lordship is in your own fair castle, nor other master than yourself do I, or any of my fellows serve--a kind and noble master. _De Val._ You tell me wonders; I thought the master in his house had borne command among his people, but here it seems, each groom is more absolute in his humours than the lord; how is't? do I clothe and feed a pampered herd, but to increase my torments? when I would muse in privacy, must I be baited still, and stunned with crowds and clamours? knave! drive the rabble from my gate, and rid my ears of discord. _Gas._ Well-a-day! who could have foreseen this anger? my good lord 'tis but your tenantry rejoicing: this morning, I distributed your lordship's bounty among them to celebrate chevalier Florian's return; and now the honest grateful souls would fain thank their benefactor by the song that tells him they are happy. _De Val._ Their thanks are hateful to me; ungenerous wretches! is it not enough that they are happy whilst I am miserable, but they must mock my anguish by a saucy pageant of their joys, and force my shrinking senses more keenly to remark the contrast of our fates? (_Tabors, &c. without._) Quick! quick! begone and drive them from my gate (_stamps imperatively_). _Gas._ (_frighted_) I am gone, my lord! --I am gone. _De Val._ Hold! another word--perhaps the unthinking creatures might design this torture kindly, and I would not punish the mistakes of ignorance. Do not dismiss them harshly--I would have them indulge their gayety, but I cannot bear to be a witness of it. Gaspard, this house is Melancholy's chosen home; and its devoted master's heart, like a night-bird that abhors the animating sun, has been so long familiarized to misery, it sickens and recoils at the approach of mirth. _Gas._ (_pressing his hand_) My kind, unfortunate, my beloved master! _De Val._ (_snatching it from him_) Pshaw! I loathe pity-- (_shouts_) --hark! again! go, go, send them from the gate, but not harshly. [Exit _Gaspard_.