SCENE I.

_A Grand Saloon._

_Enter DON SCIPIO and VASQUEZ._

_Don Scipio._ D'ye hear, Vasquez? run to Father Benedick, tell him to wipe his chin, go up to the chapel, put on his spectacles, open his breviary,--find out matrimony, and wait till we come to him.--[_Exit VASQUEZ._] Then, hey, for a brace of weddings!

AIR XV.--DON SCIPIO.

_Then hey for a lass and a bottle to cheer,_ _And a thumping bantling every year!_ _With skin as white as snow,_ _And hair as brown as a berry!_ _With eyes as black as a sloe,_ _And lips as red as a cherry;_ _Sing rory tory,_ _Dancing, prancing,_ _Laugh and lie down is the play,_ _We'll fondle together,_ _In spite of the weather,_ _And kiss the cold winter away._ _Laugh while you live,_ _For as life is a jest,_ _Who laughs the most,_ _Is sure to live best._ _When I was not so old,_ _I frolick'd among the misses;_ _And when they thought me too bold,_ _I stopped their mouths with kisses._ _Sing rory, tory, &c._

I wonder, is Don Fernando drest--Oh, here comes the servant, in his proper habiliments!

_Enter DON FERNANDO, in a Livery._

Ay, now, my lad, you look something like.

_Don Fer._ Yes, your honour, I was quite sick of my grandeur--My passing so well in this disguise gives me a very humble opinion of myself.

[_Aside._

_Don Scipio._ But, Pedrillo, is your master equipped? 'faith, I long to see him in his proper garb.

_Don Fer._ Why, no, sir, we're a little behind hand with our finery, on account of a portmanteau of clothes that's mislaid somewhere or other.

_Don Scipio._ Portmanteau! Oh, it's safe enough--Your fellow servant has it.

_Don Fer._ Fellow servant?

_Don Scipio._ Ay, the little spy has taken it in charge--Oh, here comes the very beagle.

_Enter SPADO._

Well, my little dreamer, look; Pedrillo has got into his own clothes again.

_Spado._ [_Surprised and aside._] Don Fernando in a livery! or is this really a servant? Zounds! sure I ha'n't been telling truth all this while!--We must face it though--Ah, my dear old friend!--Glad to see you yourself again.

[_Shakes Hands._

_Don Fer._ My dear boy, I thank you--[_Aside._]--So, here's an old friend I never saw before.

_Don Scipio._ Tell Pedrillo where you have left your master's portmanteau. While I go lead him in triumph to his bride.

[_Exit._

_Don Fer._ Pray, my good, new, old friend, where has your care deposited this portmanteau?

_Spado._ Gone!

[_Looking after DON SCIPIO._

_Don Fer._ The portmanteau gone!

_Spado._ Ay, his senses are quite gone.

_Don Fer._ Where's the portmanteau that Don Scipio says you took charge of?

_Spado._ Portmanteau! Ah, the dear gentleman! Portmanteau did he say? yes, yes, all's over with his poor brain; yesterday his head run upon purses, and trumpeters, and the lord knows what; and to-day he talks of dreamers, spies, and portmanteaus.--Yes, yes, his wits are going.

_Don Fer._ It must be so; he talked to me last night and to-day of I know not what, in a strange incoherent style.

_Spado._ Grief--all grief.

_Don Fer._ If so, this whim of my being Pedrillo is, perhaps, the creation of his own brain,--but then, how could it have run through the whole family?--This is the first time I ever heard Don Scipio was disordered in his mind.

_Spado._ Ay, we'd all wish to conceal it from your master, lest it might induce him to break off the match, for I don't suppose he'd be very ready to marry into a mad family.

_Don Fer._ And pray, what are you, sir, in this mad family?

_Spado._ Don Scipio's own gentleman, these ten years--Yet, you heard him just now call me your fellow servant.--How you did stare when I accosted you as an old acquaintance!--But we always humour him--I should not have contradicted him, if he had said I was the pope's nuncio.

_Don Fer._ [_Aside._] Oh, then I don't wonder at Dame Isabel taking advantage of his weakness.

_Spado._ Another new whim of his,--he has taken a fancy, that every body has got a ring from him, which, he imagines, belonged to his deceased lady.

_Don Fer._ True, he asked me something about a ring.

_Don Scipio._ [_Without._] I'll wait on you presently.

_Enter DON SCIPIO._

_Don Scipio._ Ha, Pedrillo, now your disguises are over, return me the ring.

_Spado._ [_Apart to FERNANDO._] You see he's at the ring again.

_Don Scipio._ Come, let me have it, lad; I'll give you a better thing, but that ring belonged to my deceased lady.

_Spado._ [_To FERNANDO._] His deceased lady!--Ay, there's the touch.

_Don Fer._ Poor gentleman!

[_Aside._

_Don Scipio._ Do let me have it--Zounds, here's five pistoles, and the gold of the ring is not worth a dollar.

_Spado._ We always humour him; give him this ring, and take the money.

[_Apart.--Gives FERNANDO a Ring._

_Don Fer._ [_Presents it to DON SCIPIO._] There, sir.

_Don Scipio_ [_Gives Money._] And there, sir--Oh, you mercenary rascal! [_Aside._] I knew 'twas in the purse I gave you last night in the forest.

_Spado._ Give me the cash, I must account for his pocket money.

[_Apart to, and taking the Money from FERNANDO._

_Ped._ [_Without._] Pedrillo! Pedrillo! sirrah!

_Don Scipio._ Run, don't you hear your master, you brace of rascals?--Fly!

[_Exit SPADO._

_Don Scipio._ [_Looking out._] What an alteration!

_Enter PEDRILLO, richly dressed._

_Ped._ [_To FERNANDO._] How now, sirrah! loitering here, and leave me to dress myself, hey!

[_With great Authority._

_Don Fer._ Sir, I was----

[_With Humility._

_Ped._ Was!--and are--and will be, a lounging rascal, but you fancy you are still in your finery, you idle vagabond!

_Don Scipio._ Bless me, Don Fernando is very passionate, just like his father.

_Don Fer._ [_Aside._] The fellow, I see, will play his part to the top.

_Ped._ Well, Don Scipio,--A hey! an't I the man for the ladies? [_Strutting._] I am, for I have studied Ovid's Art of Love.

_Don Scipio._ Yes, and Ovid's Metamorphoses too, ha! ha! ha!

_Ped._ [_Aside._] He! he! he! what a sneaking figure my poor master cuts!--Egad! I'll pay him back all his domineering over me.--Pedrillo!

_Don Fer._ Your honour?

_Ped._ Fill this box with Naquatoch.

[_Gives Box._

_Don Fer._ Yes, sir.

[_Going._

_Ped._ Pedrillo!

_Don Fer._ Sir?

_Ped._ Perfume my handkerchief.

_Don Fer._ Yes, sir.

[_Going._

_Ped._ Pedrillo!

_Don Fer._ Sir?

_Ped._ Get me a toothpick.

_Don Fer._ Yes, sir.

[_Going._

_Ped._ Pedrillo!

_Don Fer._ [_Aside._] What an impudent dog!--Sir?

_Ped._ Nothing--Abscond.

_Don Fer._ [_Aside._] If this be my picture, I blush for the original.

_Ped._ Master, to be like you, do let me give you one kick.

[_Aside to FERNANDO._

_Don Fer._ What!

_Ped._ Why, I won't hurt you much.

_Don Fer._ I'll break your bones, you villain.

_Ped._ Ahem! Tol de rol.

_Don Scipio._ Pedrillo!

_Ped._ Sir?

[_Forgetting himself._

_Don Fer._ [_Apart._] What are you at, you rascal?

_Ped._ Ay, what are you at, you rascal? avoid!

_Don Fer._ I'm gone, sir.

[_Exit._

_Ped._ Cursed ill-natured of him, not to let me give him one kick.

[_Aside._

_Don Scipio._ Don Fernando, I like you vastly.

_Ped._ So you ought--Tol de rol.--Who could now suspect me to be the son of a tailor, and that, four hours ago, I was a footman! [_Aside._] Tol de rol.

_Don Scipio._ Son-in-law, you're a flaming beau!--Egad, you have a princely person.

_Ped._ All the young girls--whenever I got behind--Inside of a coach,--All the ladies of distinction, whether they were making their beds, or dressing the--dressing themselves at the toilet, would run to the windows,--peep through their fingers, their fans I mean, simper behind their handkerchiefs, and lisp out in the softest, sweetest tones, "Oh, dear me, upon my honour and reputation, there is not such a beautiful gentleman in the world, as this same Don Pedrill--Fernando."

_Don Scipio._ Ha! ha! ha! can't forget Pedrillo.--But come, ha' done with your Pedrillos now--be yourself, son-in-law.

_Ped._ Yes, I will be yourself, son-in-law, you are sure of that honour, Don Scipio; but pray, what fortune am I to have with your daughter? You are a grey-headed old fellow, Don Scipio, and by the course of nature, you know, you cannot live long.

_Don Scipio._ Pardon me, sir, I don't know any such thing.

_Ped._ So when we put a stone upon your head----

_Don Scipio._ Put a stone upon my head!

_Ped._ Yes, when you are settled--screwed down, I shall have your daughter to maintain, you know.

_Don Scipio._ [_Aside._] A narrow-minded spark!

_Ped._ Not that I would think much of that, I am so generous.

_Don Scipio._ Yes, generous as a Dutch usurer!

[_Aside._

_Ped._ The truth is Don Scipio, I was always a smart young gentleman.

[_Dances and sings._

_Don Scipio._ A hey! Since Don Fernando turns out to be such a coxcomb, 'faith, I'm not sorry that my own child, has escaped him:--A convent itself is better than a marriage with a monkey.--The poor thing's fortune though!--And then my son--I begin now to think I was too hard upon Caesar--to compare him with this puppy--but I must forget my children, Dame Isabel will have me upon no other terms.

[_Aside._

_Ped._ D'ye hear, Don Scipio, let us have a plentiful feast.

_Don Scipio._ Was ever such a conceited, empty, impudent----

[_Exit._

_Ped._ Yes, I'm a capital fellow, ha! ha! So my fool of a master sets his wits to work after a poor girl, that, I am told, they are packing into a convent, and he dresses me up as himself, to carry the rich Italian heiress. Donna Victoria--Well, I'm not a capital fellow; but I was made for a gentleman--gentleman! I'm the neat pattern for a lord--I have a little honour about me--a bit of love too; ay, and a scrap of courage, perhaps--hem! I wish I'd a rival to try it though--odd, I think I could fight at any weapon, from a needle to a hatchet.

_Enter PHILIPPO, with a Letter and Basket._

_Phil._ Signor, are you Don Fernando de Zelva?

_Ped._ Yes, boy.

_Phil._ Here's a letter for you, sir, from Don Alphonso.

_Ped._ I don't know any Don Alphonso, boy. What's the letter about?

_Phil._ I think, sir, 'tis to invite you to a feast.

_Ped._ A feast!--Oh, I recollect now--Don Alphonso, what! my old acquaintance! give it me, boy.

_Phil._ But, are you sure, sir, you're Don Fernando?

_Ped._ Sure, you dog!--don't you think I know myself?--let's see, let's see--[_Opens the Letter, and reads._] _Signor, though you seem ready to fall on to a love-feast, I hope a small repast in the field won't spoil your stomach_--Oh, this is only a snack before supper--_I shall be, at six o'clock this evening_--You dog, it's past six now--_in the meadow, near the cottage of the vines, where I expect you'll meet me_--Oh dear, I shall be too late!--_As you aspire to Donna Victoria, your sword must be long enough to reach my heart, Alphonso._ My sword long enough! [_Frightened._] Oh, the devil!--Feast! Zounds, this is a downright challenge!

_Phil._ I beg your pardon, signor, but if I hadn't met my sweetheart, Catilina, you would have had that letter two hours ago.

_Ped._ Oh, you have given it time enough, my brave boy.

_Phil._ Well, sir, you'll come?

_Ped._ Eh! Yes, I dare say he'll come.

_Phil._ He!

_Ped._ Yes, I'll give it him, my brave boy.

_Phil._ Him! Sir, didn't you say you were----

_Ped._ Never fear, child, Don Fernando shall have it.

_Phil._ Why, sir, an't you Don Fernando?

_Ped._ Me! not I, child--no, no, I'm not Fernando, but, my boy, I would go to the feast, but you have delayed the letter so long, that I have quite lost my stomach--Go, my fine boy.

_Phil._ Sir, I----

_Ped._ Go along, child, go! [_Puts PHILIPPO off._] however, Don Fernando shall attend you--but here comes my sposa--

_Enter LORENZA, reading a Letter._

_Dearest LORENZA,_

_By accident I heard of your being in the castle--If you don't wish to be the instrument of your mother's imposition, an impending blow, which means you no harm, this night shall discover an important secret relative to him, who desires to resign even life itself, if not your_

RAMIREZ.

My love! [_Kisses the Letter._] I wish to be nothing, if not your Lorenza; this foolish Fernando! [_Looking at PEDRILLO._] but, ha! ha! ha! I'll amuse myself with him--looks tolerably now he's dressed--not so agreeable as my discarded lover Alphonso, though.

[_Aside._

_Ped._ I'll accost her with elegance--How do you do, signora?

_Lor._ Very well, sir, at your service.--Dresses exactly like Prince Radifocani.

_Ped._ Now I'll pay her a fine compliment--Signora, you're a clever little body--Will you sit down, signora?

[_Hands a Chair._

_Lor._ So polite too!

_Ped._ Oh, I admire politeness.

[_Sits._

_Lor._ This would not be good manners in Florence, though.

_Ped._ Oh! [_Rises._] I beg pardon--Well, sit in that chair; I'll assure you, Donna Victoria, I don't grudge a little trouble for the sake of good manners.

[_Places another Chair._

_Lor._ Voi cette motto gentile.

[_Courtesies._

_Ped._ Yes, I sit on my seat genteelly--I find I understand a good deal of Italian--Now to court her--hem! hem! what shall I say? Hang it, I wish my master had gone through the whole business, to the very drawing of the curtains.--I believe I ought to kneel though--[_Aside._--_Kneels._]--Oh, you most beautiful goddess, you angelic angel!

[_Repeats._

_For you, my fair, I'd be a rose,_ _To bloom beneath that comely nose;_ _Or, you the flower, and I the bee,_ _My sweets I'd sip from none but thee._ _Was I a pen, you paper white,_ _Ye gods, what billet-doux I'd write!_ _My lips the seal, what am'rous smacks_ _I'd print on yours, if sealing-wax._ _No more I'll say, you stop my breath,_ _My only life, you'll be my death._

[Rises.

Well said, little Pedrillo!

[_Wipes his Knees._

_Lor._ There is something in Don Fernando's passion extremely tender, though romantic and extravaganza.

_Ped._ Oh, for some sweet sounds! signora, if you'll sing me a song, I'll stay and hear it, I'm so civil.

_Lor._ With pleasure, sir.

AIR XVI.--LORENZA.

_Heart beating,_ _Repeating,_ _Vows in palpitation,_ _Sweetly answers each fond hope;_ _Pr'ythee leave me,_ _You'll deceive me,_ _After other beauties running,_ _Smiles so roguish, eyes so cunning,_ _Show where points the inclination._

[Exeunt.