The Barber of Seville.

ACT 1.

SCENE 1.-Seville.-DOCTOR BARTOLO's house, L.FIGARO's shop, R, over his door is written, “Barber, Surgeon, Dentist," &c.-The shop is shut.-Time: Day-break, and the light increasing through the scene.

Enter from the L. U. E. FIORELLO with a letter in his hand; he comes cautiously down the Stage and examines FIGARO's shop.

Fior. Soh! I am at my post before the sun has awoke my watchful barber here! My master orders me to catch the first glimpse of Rosina, when she opens her lattice; but I much fear I never shall be able to succeed for him, for no sooner do I obtain Rosina's notice, and am about to convey a billet, than this devil of a spoilsport pops his head out, and deranges all my plans. [Puts his ear to FIGARO's door.] All's quiet; he sleeps in spite of the ghosts of the patients he has poisoned. Now, if my serenaders could but tinkle a few soft notes to disturb her gentle slumbers, I might contrive to convey this letter to her. [He steps buck, and makes a signal during the symphony.

Fior.

Enter Serenaders, L. U. E.

SERENADE

Piano! pianissimo! in tender sound
Let Love's light airs now float around!

Seren. Piano! pianissimo! Love's music sound.
Fior. All wrapt in silence-no soul is near,

No wand'ring footstep falls on the ear,

Fig.

Fior.

[FIGARO opens the window at the top of his housesTM

What scraping, and squeaking?
What fiddling, and shrieking?
Are ye rooks, that ye caw?
Are ye mending a saw?
Do ye imitate hogs?

Are ye beating the dogs?

Or are ye some bucks that are mellow!
Silence, silence, good man!

Be still if you can!

"Tis you make the noise, my dear fellow,
Now, my friends, your task is done;
Here's your cash-Farewell!-begone!
Chorus. Many thanks, sir, for this favour,
Better master, nor a braver

Fior.

Never did we sing a stave for.

Ever, sir, command our throats!
We will ever sing and pray for

One who gives us gold for notes.
Silence, silence, cease your bawling,
Nor like cats with caterwauling,

Wake the neighbours-stop your squalling,
Rascals, or I'll dust your coats!

[FIORELLO sends the Serenaders away.

Enter FIGARO from his door.

Fig. (R.) And so, my smooth chinned philosopher, you thought to deliver your letter free from postage? quite impossible, I assure you.

Fior. (c.) And pray, Signor, who are you, and what letter are you speaking of?

Fig. (R. C.) What letter? Why, the letter, the letter you've got in your pocket-the letter, that you wanted "Who am I?" to convey to Rosina; and as to your

You must be a stranger indeed in Seville, not to know that (R.)-Ask the girls who I am-I'm the Barber-a distinction, of which I am not a little proud; Did you never hear of it before? Every thing that's smart, every thing that's handsome, every thing that's roguish, every thing that's intriguing-all, all, that's the Barber. Fior. And can you, with these pretensions, destroy my master's hopes, who loves Rosina to distraction? Fig. Honour-my duty-I'm out-door spy here, by appointment, in short, I'm tenant to Dr. Bartolo, over

head and ears in debt to him for rent, and sure to go to prison, if I am not vigilant.

Fior. Aye, but my master can prevent that, for he has both power and inclination to reward you liberally.

Fig. Oh, I am always grateful for the favours I am to receive, and to prove I deserve them, I'll tell you something about your master-He's a slim, genteel stranger, arrived in Seville three days back, very much in love with Dr. Bartolo's ward, has haunted his door, as yet, without success, and has now sent you to watch when Rosina comes to the balcony.

Fior. Well guess'd, my Argus of Seville! but, yet, no name, no rank discovered.

Fig. "Tis impossible to keep them secret from me long, if I don't discover them to-day, I shall to-morrow, so you may as well divulge. If I like your master, and admit his pretensions, perhaps he may have a chance, if not, let him despair! With Marshal Bartolo within, and General Figaro without, the citadel can never be taken, depend upon it.

Fior. Well, if I do divulge the secret, necessity is my excuse ;-Know then, my master is the Count Almaviva.

Fig. [With great surprise.] Who

Fior. Count Almaviva.

Fig. Excellent! excellent! [Laughing and dancing about.

Fior. Hush! hush! for Heaven's sake! what's the matter?

Fig. My old master!

Fior. What?

Fig. That I lived so long with at Madrid.

Fior. Impossible! the young Count never had but one confidential servant before I lived with him, and he was discharged for roguery.

Fig. Ah, see how a poor fellow's character may be traduced! Sir, I was dismiss'd through a mistake; the Count charged me with wearing his clothes, before he had done with them. Now, the fact was, I only tried them on, before he had begun with them-No, sir, I'd have you know, I had a soul above old clothes.

Fior. Well, are we allies now, Figaro? will you assist us?

Fig. To the utmost verge of discretion; self first, Count Almaviva second. Let him state the terms of our