This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1811 edition. Excerpt: ... ACT III. SCENE I.--A Room in BartoWs House. Enter Amaranta and Phebe. Pha'be. But by what chance, dear mistress, did your lover Declare his passion? Long coop'd closely up, How could he see you, how converse, how win you? Whence rose your first acquaintance? Amar. Some months since, When my old guardian took me to his farm Near Palma, to enjoy the country air, As I look'd from the lattice one fine evening, A gallant cavalier came riding by: He seeing me, look'd up and bow'd, I curtsied, Lest he should think I had no breeding, girl; He bow'd again; what could I do but curtsy? I would not be thought rude. Phoebe. No, certainly, That would have been as cruel as ill-bred, I should have done the same. What followed this? Amar. Some interviews, at length, his art contriv'd, In spite of all my uncle's jealous care: For difficulties sharpen lovers' wits: But now 'tis near a fortnight, --two long weeks, And no device, no serenade, no letter; Evil I much forebode. Phoebe. Remov'd to Seville, Thus closely watch'd, old Bartolo, perhaps, May have found out the secret, tell me truly, Are you resolv'd to disappoint his wishes? Carlos his son, who is your promis'd husband, Is now expected home; which will you choose? Amar. O 'tis a dainty spark; I hate him, Phoebe, I always hated him, a double hatred, Both for his father's faults and for his own: Do they not keep me like a prisoner here To marry me, whether I would or no? My fortune is their object. One thing, Phoebe, --Had I a friend. Phoebe. Signora, I'm your friend. I've been in love myself, and pity all Whom little Cupid wounds. ' Amar. Alas! what's pity, Unless assistance aids it? Phoebe. Trust me mistress, And if I fail you, say no faith's in woman. Amar. Alas! all schemes are vain, unless we.