Rossini's Opera Il Barbiere Di Siviglia: Containing the Italian Text, with an English Translation and the Music of All the Principal Airs

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O. Ditson & Company, 1860 - Operas - 36 pages
 

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Page 14 - ROSINA: A little voice I heard just now: Oh. it has thrill'd my very heart! I feel that I am wounded sore; And Lindor 'twas who hurl'd the dart. Yes, Lindor, dearest, shall he mine!
Page 9 - Oh. what a happy life! but little fatigue — ahundant amusement—with a pocket that can alwavs hoast a doubloon, the noble fruit of my reputation. So it is: without Figaro there's not a girl in Seville will marry; to me the little widows have recourse for a...
Page 16 - mid the bowers. It scarcely fans the drooping flowers. Thus will the voice of calumny, More subtle than the plaintive sigh. In many a serpent-writhing, find Its secret passage to the mind, — The heart's most inmost feelings gain, Bedim the sense, and fire the brain. Then passing on from tongue to tongue, It gains new strength, it sweeps along In giddier whirl from place to place. And gains fresh vigor in its race; Till, like the sounds of tempests deep. That through the woods in murmurs sweep And...
Page 19 - No more — be silent To a doctor of my rank, These excuses, Signorina, I advise another time That you better should invent. The sweetmeats for the girl! The embroidery on the tambour! Out of my sight! begone! And is it thus my more than daughter Dares to trifle with me? Why is the paper missing? That I would wish to know. Useless, ma'am, are all your airs — Be still, nor interrupt me so. Another time, sweet Signorina, When the doctor quits his house, He will carefully provide For the keeping you...
Page 16 - Rosîna and Figaro return, and the barber tells her that her guardian is planning to marry her. She laughs at the idea, and then asks Figaro who the young man was she observed that morning.
Page 9 - Ah! ah! what a happy life! But little fatigue, and abundant amusement; Always with some doubloons in my pocket, The noble fruit of my reputation. So it is: without Figaro There's not a girl in Seville will marry; To me the little widows Have recourse for a husband: I, under excuse Of my comb by day, And under favor of my guitar by night, Endeavor — though I don't do it for the sake of saying so — Sempre d'intorno In giro stà.

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