my father’s wiſh to ſee me happy—If then you love me as you ſay, I will marry; and will be happy—but only with you.—I will tell him this.—At firſt he will ſtart; then grow angry; then be in a paſſion—In his paſſion he will call me “undutiful:” but he will ſoon recollect himſelf, and reſume his uſual ſmiles, ſaying “Well, well, if he love you, and you love him, in the name of heaven, let it be.” Then I ſhall hug him round the neck, kiſs his hands, run away from him, and fly to you; it will ſoon be known that I am your bride, the whole village will come to wiſh me joy, and heaven’s bleſſing will follow.
Enter Verdun, the Butler.
Amelia [diſcontented].
Ah! is it you?
Butler.
Without, vanity, I have taken the liberty to enter this apartment the moment the good news reached my ears.
Amelia.
What news?
Butler.
Pardon an old ſervant, your father’s old butler, gracious lady, who has had the honour to carry the baron in his arms—and afterwards with humble ſubmiffion to receive many a box o’ the ear from you—if he thinks it his duty to make his congratulations with due reverence on this happy day, and to join with the muſes in harmonious tunes on the lyre.
Amelia.
Oh! my good butler, I am not in a humour to liſten to the muſes, and your lyre.
