Take care! What are you about, sir?
Why do you clasp that small hand locked within your own?
Why do you--Tara-rara tara-ra tara-rara-ra, rarara, ta-ra, a-ra! Keep your eyes off those slender ankles and that crimson bodice! Tara-rara-ra! There they go again! And now they rest under the broad trees.

The revel has whirled away from them.

They hear--or do they not hear--the laughter at the distance?
They see--or if they have their eyes about them, they SHOULD see--couple after couple gliding by, love-talking and love-looking.

But I will lay a wager, as they sit under that tree, and the round sun goes down behind the mountains, that they see or hear very little except themselves.
"Hollo, Signor Excellency! and how does your partner please you?
Come and join our feast, loiterers; one dances more merrily after wine." Down goes the round sun; up comes the autumn moon.

Tara, tara, rarara, rarara, tarara-ra! Dancing again; is it a dance, or some movement gayer, noisier, wilder still?
How they glance and gleam through the night shadows, those flitting forms! What confusion!--what order! Ha, that is the Tarantula dance; Maestro Paolo foots it bravely! Diavolo, what fury! the Tarantula has stung them all.