ACT III.

SCENE, the Great Hall.

(_A Judge’s Chair, four other Chairs, Benches with red Baize, a Table and a Stool, with Pen, Ink and Paper._)

_Enter the_ COUNT, _dressed, and a_ SERVANT, _booted._

_Count._ Ride to Seville with all speed; enquire if the Page has joined his Regiment, and at what o’clock precisely he arrived; give him this Commission, and return like lightening.

_Servant._ And if he is not there--

_Count._ Return still quicker.--Go; fly!----(_Exit Servant_)--I was wrong to send Basil out of the way--He might have been very serviceable--But Anger was never wise--I scarcely know at present what I wish--When once the Passions have obtained the Mastery, there is no Mind, however consistent, but becomes as wild and incongruous as a Dream--If the Countess, Susan, and Figaro should understand each other and plot to betray me!--If the Page _was_ shut up in her dressing-room--Oh! no!--The Respect she bears herself--my Honor!--My Honor? And in my Wife’s keeping?--Honor in a Woman’s possession, like Ice Cream in the mouth, melts away in a contest of Pleasure and Pain--I will sound Figaro, however.

_Enter_ FIGARO, _behind_.

_Figaro._ Here am I. (_Aside._)

_Count._ And if I have reason to suppose them plotting against me, he shall marry Marcelina.

_Figaro._ Perhaps not. (_Aside._)

_Count._ But in that case, what must Susan be?

_Figaro._ My Wife, if you please.--

(_Figaro’s eagerness occasions him to speak aloud----The Count turns round astonished._)

_Count._ My Wife, if you please!--To whom did you say my Wife, if you please?

_Figaro._ To--to--to--That is--They were the last words of a sentence I was saying to one of the Servants--Go and tell so and so to--_my Wife, if you please_.

_Count._ Your Wife!--Zounds, you are very fond of your Wife.

_Figaro._ I love to be singular.

_Count._ You have made me wait for you here a long while.

_Figaro._ I have been changing my Stockings, which I dirtied in the fall.

_Count._ Servants, I think, are longer dressing than their Masters.

_Figaro._ Well they may--They are obliged to dress themselves.

_Count._ If in sifting my Gentleman, I find him unwilling to go to France, I may conclude Susan has betrayed me. (_Aside._)

_Figaro._ He has mischief in his head, but I’ll watch his motions. (_Aside._)

_Count._ (_Approaches Figaro with familiarity_)--Thou knowest, Figaro, it was my intention to have taken thee with me on my Embassy to Paris, but I believe thou dost not understand French.

_Figaro._ Perfectly.

_Count._ Indeed!--Let’s hear.--(_Figaro pulls out his purse and jingles it_)--Is that all the French thou understandest?

_Figaro._ All!--Is not that enough, think you, my Lord?--That’s a Language understood in every corner of the habitable Earth, and in no place better than in Paris.--{{“Your Philosophers, who lament the loss of an universal Language, are Fools--They always carry one in their pockets.”}} As for a knowledge of French, my Lord, I maintain, _s’il vous plait_, and a Purse are all that’s necessary--Let but the sound of Silver jingle in a Frenchman’s ears, and he will instantly understand your meaning, be it what it will.--{{“If you have a Law-suit, and wish to gain your Cause, go to the Judge, pull off your Hat, and pull out your Purse; smile, shake it, and pronounce, _s’il vous plait, Monsieur_--

_Count._ “And your Adversary is overthrown.

_Figaro._ “Undoubtedly--Unless he understands French still better than you--Do you wish the _Friendship_ of a great Lord, or a great Lady, its still the same--Chink, chink, and _s’il vous plait, Monseigneur--S’il vous plait, Madame_--The French are a very witty People!--Amazingly quick of apprehension!--Therefore, my Lord, if you have no other reason than this for leaving me behind--”}}

_Count._ But thou art no Politician.

_Figaro._ Pardon me, my Lord, I am as great a master of Politics----

_Count._ As thou art of French.

_Figaro._ Oh, my Lord, the thing is so easy--He must be a Fool indeed who could find his vanity flattered by his skill in Politics--To appear always deeply concerned for the good of the State, yet to have no other end but Self-interest; to assemble and say Nothing; to pretend vast Secrecy where there is nothing to conceal; to shut yourself up in your Chamber, and mend your pen or pick your Teeth, while your Footmen inform the attending Croud you are too busy to be approach’d--this, with the art of intercepting Letters, imitating Hands, pensioning Traitors, and rewarding Flatterers, is the whole mystery of Politics, or I am an Idiot.

_Count._ This is the definition of a Partisan not a Politician.

_Figaro._ Party and Politics are much the same, they are become synonimous terms.

_Count._ (_Aside_) Since he is so willing to go to Paris, Susan has said nothing.

_Figaro._ ’Tis now my turn to attack. (_Aside._)

_Count._ And--I suppose thou wilt take thy Wife with thee--to Paris?

_Figaro._ No--no--I should be obliged to quit her so frequently, that I am afraid the Cares of the marriage state would lie too heavy on my head (_significantly._)

_Count._ Susan has betrayed me. (_Aside._)

_Figaro._ (_Aside_) He does not like the retort.

(_The Count smiles, approaches Figaro with great familiarity, and leans upon his shoulder--By-play between the Count and Figaro._)

_Count._ The time was, Figaro, when thou wert more open--Formerly thou wouldst tell me any thing.

_Figaro._ And at present I conceal nothing.

_Count._ What can be the Countess’s motives--(_The Count puts his arm round Figaro’s neck--By-play again_)--I--Thou seest I anticipate her wishes, load her with presents----

_Figaro._ Will give her any thing but yourself--Of what worth are Trinkets when we are in want of Necessaries?

_Count._ Come, come; be sincere--Tell me--How much did the Countess give thee for this last plot?

_Figaro._ As much as your Lordship gave me for helping you to steal her from her old jealous Guardian--{{“A noble Lord should not endeavour to degrade an honest Servant, lest he should make him a Knave.”}}

_Count._ But wherefore is there continually some Mystery in thy conduct?

_Figaro._ Because the Conduct of others is mysterious.

_Count._ Appearances, my dear Figaro, really speak thee a great Knave.

_Figaro._ (_Looking round at the Count’s hand upon his shoulders, and observing his familiarity_)--_Appearances_, my dear Lord, are frequently false--I am much better than I appear to be-Can the Great in general say as much?--(_Aside_)--Take that.

_Count._ Yes, yes; she has told him. (_Aside._)

{{_Figaro._ “I shall content myself, my Lord, with the portion your Lordship has promised me on my Marriage, and the place of Steward of this Castle, with which you have honoured me, and willingly remain with my Wife here in Andalusia, far from troubles and intrigue.

_Count._ “But thou hast Abilities, and might rise to Preferment.

_Figaro._ “Preferred by my Abilities my Lord!----Your Lordship is pleased to laugh at me.”}}

_Count._ Yes, yes; Susan has betrayed me, and my Gentleman marries Marcelina. (_Aside._)

_Figaro._ He has been angling for Gudgeons, and what has he caught? (_Aside._)

_Enter a_ SERVANT.

_Servant._ Don Guzman and the Counsellors are without.

_Count._ Let them wait.

_Figaro._ (_Ironically_) Aye, let them wait. (_Exit Serv._)

_Count._ And dost thou expect to gain thy Cause?

_Figaro._ With the assistance of Justice and my Lord’s good wishes, who respects Youth too much himself to force others to wed with Age.

_Count._ A Judge knows no distinction of persons.

_Figaro._ “Well--Time, say the Italians, is a valiant Fellow, and tells Truth”--But what was it your Lordship was pleased to send for me for?

_Count._ For--(_Somewhat embarrassed_) To see these benches and chairs set in order.

_Figaro._ That is already done, my Lord. Here is the great chair for your Lordship, a seat for the President, a table and stool for his Clerk, two benches for the Lawyers, the middle for the Beau monde, and the Mob in the back ground. (_Exit._)

_Count._ He is too cunning; I can get nothing out of him; but they certainly understand each other.--They may toy and be as loving as they please, but as for wedding--

_Enter_ SUSAN.

(_She comes up to the Count’s elbow while he is speaking, and is surprized to see him in such an ill humour._)

_Susan._ My Lord!

_Count._ My Lady!

_Susan._ My Lady has sent me for your Lordship’s smelling-bottle; she has got the vapours.

_Count._ Here; and when she has done with it, borrow it for yourself,--it may be useful.

_Susan._ I the vapours, my Lord! Oh no, that’s too polite a disease for a Servant to pretend to!

_Count._ Fits may come;--Love so violent as yours cannot bear disappointment; and when Figaro marries Marcelina--

_Susan._ Oh, suppose the worst, my Lord, we can pay Marcelina with the Portion your Lordship has promised us!

_Count._ I promis’d you a portion?

_Susan._ If my ears did not deceive me, I understood as much.

_Count._ Yes, if you had pleas’d to _understand_ me, but since you do not.--

_Susan._ (_Pretending bashfulness_) It’s always soon enough to own one’s weakness, my Lord.

_Count._ (_with an instant change of countenance_) What! Wilt thou take a walk this evening in the garden, by the Pavilion?

_Susan._ Don’t I take Walks every evening, my Lord?

_Count._ Nay, nay, but let us understand each other--No Pavilion, no Marriage.

_Susan._ And no Marriage, no Pavilion, my Lord! (_curtsying_)

_Count._ What a witty little Devil! I wonder what she does to fascinate me so!--But prithee tell me why hast thou always, till now, refused with such obstinacy? This very Morning, thou knowest----

_Susan._ This Morning, my Lord!--What, and the Page behind the Great-chair!

_Count._ Oh, true! I had forgot!--But when Basil has spoken to thee in my behalf.--

_Susan._ Is it necessary, my Lord, such a knave as Basil should know every thing that passes?

_Count._ She is right again!--But--(_Suspicious_) thou wilt go, now, and tell Figaro all.

_Susan._ To be sure, my Lord. I always tell him all--except what is necessary to conceal.

_Count._ Ah the Hussey! What a charming little Knave it is! Run, run to thy Mistress; she is waiting, and may suspect us.

_Susan._ (_Hesitating_) So your Lordship can’t perceive that I only wanted a pretext to speak to your Lordship.

(_The Count unable to conceal his transport, is going to kiss her, but hears somebody coming, and they separate_)

_Count._ (_As he turns._) She absolutely bewitches me! I had sworn to think no more of her, but she winds me just as she pleases!

(_The Count goes off, and Figaro enters, but the Count hearing Figaro’s Voice, returns and peeps_)

_Figaro._ Well, my Susan, what does he say?

_Susan._ Hush! Hush! He is just gone--Thou hast gained thy Cause--Run, run, run.

(_Exit Susan, running, Figaro following._)

_Figaro._ Well, but how, how, my Charmer?

(_Exeunt._)

_Re-enter_ COUNT.

_Count._ Thou hast gained thy Cause--Aha! And is it so, my pair of Knaves!--Am I your Dupe then?--A very pretty Net! But the Cuckoo is not caught--Come!--Proceed we to judgment! (_With passion_) Be we just!--Cool!--Impartial!--Inflexible--

(_Exit._)

_Enter_ Don GUZMAN, MARCELINA, _and_ DOCTOR.

_Marcelina._ I shall be happy, Mr. President, to explain the justice of my Cause.

_Doctor._ To shew you on what grounds this Lady proceeds.

_D. Guzman._ (_Stuttering_) We-e-e-ell, le-et us exa-a-mine the matter ve-erbally.

_Marcelina._ There is a promise of Marriage----

_Guzman._ I co-o-o-ompre--hend! Gi-i-iven by you-ou-ou--to--

_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, given _to_ me.

_Guz._ I co-o-o-omprehend! Gi-iven _to_ you.

_Marcelina._ And a sum of Money which I----

_Guzman._ I co-o-o-omprehend! Which you-ou ha-ave received.

_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, which I have lent.

_Guzman._ I co-o-o-omprehend!--It is re-e-paid.

_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, it is _not_ repaid.

_Guzman._ I co-o-o-omprehend--The m-m-man would marry you to pay his de-de-de-bts.

_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, he would neither marry me, _nor_ pay his debts.

_Guzman._ D-d--do you think I d-d-d-don’t co-o-omprehend you?

_Doctor._ And are you, Mr. President, to judge this Cause?

_Guzman._ T-t-t-to be sure--Wha-at else did I purchase my Place for thi-ink you, (_Laughs stupidly at the supposed folly of the Question_) And where is the De-fe-e-endant?

_Enter_ FIGARO.

_Figaro._ Here, at your service.

_Doctor._ Yes, that’s the Knave.

_Figaro._ Perhaps I interrupt you.

{{_Guzman._ “Ha-ave not I see-een you before, young Man?

_Figaro._ “Oh yes, Mr. President, I once served your Lady.

_Guzman._ “How lo-ong since?

_Figaro._ “Nine months before the birth of her last Child--And a fine Boy it is, though I say it.

_Guzman._ “Y-es--He’s the F-flower of the Flock”--}} And the cau-ause betwee-een--

_Figaro._ A Bagatelle, Mr. President! A Bagatelle.

_Guzman._ (_Laughs._) A Ba-ag-a-telle! A pro-o-mise of Ma-a-arriage a Ba-a-gatelle! Ha! ha! ha!----And dost thou hope to ca-ast the Pla-aintiff?

_Figaro._ To be sure, Mr. President! You being one of the Judges.

_Guzman._ (_With stupid dignity_) Ye-e-es! I am one of the Judges!--Hast thou see-een D-D-Doublefee, my Se-ecretary?

_Figaro._ Yes, Mr. President! That’s a duty not to be neglected.

_Guzman._ The young Fellow is not so si-i-imple I thought.

_Enter Cryer of the Court, Guards, Count, Counsellors and Vassals._

_Cryer._ Make room there, for my Lord, the Count.

_Count._ Wherefore in your Robes, Don Guzman? It was unnecessary for a mere domestic matter like this.

_Guzman._ Pa-a-ardon me, my Lord! {{“Those who would tre-e-emble at the Clerk of the Court in his Robes, would la-augh at the Judge without ’em.”}} Forms! Forms! are sacred things.

(_The Count and the Court seat themselves._)

_Count._ Call silence in the Court.

_Cryer._ Silence in the Court.

_Guzman._ Read “over the Causes”, D-D-Doublefee.

{{_Doublefee._ “The Count de los Altos Montes di Agnas Frescas, Señor di Montes Fieros, y otros Montes, Plaintiff, against Alonzo Calderon, a Comic Poet. The question at present before the Court, is, to know the Author of a Comedy that has been damned; which they mutually disavow and attribute to each other.

_Count._ “They are both very right in mutually disavowing it; and be it decreed, that if, hereafter, they should produce a successful Piece, its Fame shall appertain to the Count, and its Merit to the Poet--The next.

_Doublefee._ “Diego Macho, Day-labourer, Plaintiff, against Gil-Perez-Borcado, Tax-gatherer, and receiver of the Gabels, for having violently dispossessed the said Diego Macho, Day-labourer, of his Cow.

_Count._ “This Cause does not come within my Jurisdiction; but as it is probable the Day-labourer will never obtain Justice; do thou see, Figaro, that another Cow be sent him; lest his Family should be starved--The next.”}}

_Doublefee._ Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, Spinster, Plaintiff, against--(_To Figaro_) Here’s no surname!

_Figaro._ Anonymous.

_Guzman._ Ano-o-onymous--I never heard the Name before!

_Doublefee._ Against Figaro Anonymous. What Profession?

_Figaro._ Gentleman.

_Count._ Gentleman!

_Figaro._ I might have been born a Prince, if Heaven had pleased.

_Doublefee._ Against Figaro Anonymous, Gentleman, Defendant. The Question before the Court relates to a promise of Marriage; the Parties have retained no Council, contrary to the ancient and established practice of Courts.

_Figaro._ What occasion for Council? A race of Gentlemen who are always so very learned, they know every thing, except their Briefs! Who insolently interrogate Modesty and Timidity, and endeavour, by confusing, to make Honesty forswear itself; and, after having laboured for hours, with all legal prolixity, to perplex self-evident Propositions, and bewilder the understandings of the Judges, sit down as proud as if they had just pronounced a Phillipic of Demosthenes--(_Addressing himself to the Court_) My Lord, and Gentlemen--The Question before the Court is----

_Doublefee._ (_Interrupting him_) It is not you to speak, you are the Defendant----Who pleads for the Plaintiff?

_Doctor._ I.

_Doublefee._ You! A Physician turn Lawyer?--

_Figaro._ Oh yes, and equally skilful in both.

_Count._ Read the Promise of Marriage, Doctor.

_Guzman._ Re-e-ead the Pro-o-omise of Marriage.

_Doctor._ (_Reads_) I acknowledge to have received of Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the sum of two thousand Piasters, in the Castle of Count Almaviva, which sum I promise to repay to the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, _and_ to marry her. Signed, Figaro. (_Addressing himself to the Count_) My Lord, and Gentlemen! Hem! Never did cause more interesting, more intricate, or in which the Interest of Mankind, their Rights, Properties, Lives and Liberties were more materially involved, ever claim the profound Attention of this most learned, most honourable Court, and from the time of Alexander the Great, who promised to espouse the beauteous Thalestris----

_Count._ Stop, most formidable Orator; and ere you proceed, enquire whether the Defendant does not contest the validity of your Deed.

_Guzman._ (_To Figaro_) Do you co-ontest the va-va-va-va-lidity of the Dee-eed?

_Figaro._ My Lord and Gentlemen! Hem! There is in this Case, either Fraud, Error, Malice, or mischievous Intention, for the Words of the Acknowledgment are, I promise to repay the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the said sum of two thousand Piasters _or_ to marry her, which is very different.

_Doctor._ I affirm it is AND.

_Figaro._ I affirm it is OR.

_Doctor._ Well, suppose it.

_Figaro._ No Supposition, I will have it granted.

_Count._ Clerk, Read you the Promise.

_Guzman._ Re-e-ead the P-P-P-Promise, D-D-D-Double-fee.

_Doublefee._ (_Reads_) I acknowledge to have received of Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the sum of two thousand Piasters, in the Castle of Count Almaviva, which sum I promise to repay the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, _and--or--and--or--or_--The Word is blotted.

_Doctor._ No matter; the Sense of the Phrase is equally clear. This learned Court is not now to be informed the word or particle, Or, hath various significations--It means _otherwise_ and _either_--It likewise means _before_--For example, in the language of the Poet.

_Or_ ’ere the Sun decline the western Sky, ’Tis Fate’s decree the Victims all must die.

_Figaro._ This was the language of Prophesy, and spoken of the Doctor’s own Patients.

{{_Count._ “Silence in the Court.

_Crier._ “Silence in the Court.

_Doctor._ “Hence then, I clearly deduce (granting the word to be _Or_) the Defendant doth hereby promise, not only to pay the Plaintiff, but marry her _before_ he pays her--Again, the word _Or_ doth sometimes signify _Wherefore_, as another great and learned Poet hath it,

“_Or_ how could heav’nly Justice damn us all, Who ne’er consented to our Father’s Fall?

“That is _wherefore_? For what reason could heavenly Justice do such an unjust thing? Let us then substitute the adverb _Wherefore_, and the intent and meaning of the Promise will be incontestable; for, after reciting an acknowledgement of the debt, it concludes with the remarkable words, _Or_ to marry her, that is, wherefore, for which reason, out of gratitude, for the Favour above done me, _I will marry her_.

_Figaro._ “Oh most celebrated Doctor? Most poetic Quibbler!

“Hark with what florid Impotence he speaks, And as his Malice prompts, the Puppet squeaks, _Or_ at the ear of Eve, familiar Toad, Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad In legal Puns, _or_ Quibbles, Quirks, _or_ Lies, _Or_ Spite, _or_ Taunts, _or_ Rhymes, _or_ Blasphemies.

“What think you we know not Quotations, and Poets, and _Ands_, and _Ors_, and _Whys_, and _Wherefores_.

“What Drop _or_ Nostrum, can such Plagues remove, _Or_ which must end me, a Fool’s Wrath--_Or_ Love?

(_Pointing first to the Doctor, and then to Marcelina_)

“We have neither forgot our Reading nor our Syntax, but can easily translate a dull Knave into a palpable Fool--”}} My Lord, and Gentlemen, You hear his Sophisms, Poetical, and Conundrums, Grammatical.

_Count._ Yes, yes, we hear.

(_Count and the Counsellors rise and consult together._)

_Antonio._ I’m glad they have put an end to your prating.

_Marcelina._ Their Whisperings and wise Grimaces forebode me no good. That Susan has corrupted the chief Judge, and he is corrupting all the others.

_Doctor._ It looks devilish like it.

(_The Count and Counsellors resume their seats._)

_Doublefee._ Silence in the Court.

_Crier._ Silence in the Court.

_Count._ The judgment of the Court is, that since the validity of the promise of Marriage is not well established, Figaro is permitted to dispose of his Person.

_Figaro._ The Day’s my own.

_Marcelina._ I thought how it would be.

_Count._ But as the Acknowledgement clearly expresses the words, _Which sum I promise to pay the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, or to marry her_, the said Figaro stands condemned to pay the two thousand Piasters to the Plaintiff, or marry her in the course of the Day.

_Figaro._ I’m undone!

_Marcelina._ I am happy!

_Count._ And I am revenged!

_Antonio._ Thank your noble Lordship! Most humbly thank your noble Lordship!--Ah ha! I’m glad thou art not to marry my Niece! I’ll go and tell her the good news!

(_Exit._)

_Crier._ Clear the Court.

(_Exeunt Guards, Counsellors, and Vassals._

_Manent Don Guzman, Figaro, Marcelina and Dr. Bartholo._

_Figaro._ ’Tis this Furze-ball, this Fungus of a President that has lost me my Cause.

_Guzman._ I a F-F-Furze-ball and a F-F-Fungus!

_Figaro._ (_Sits down dejected_) I will never marry her.

_Guzman._ Thou mu-ust ma-arry her.

_Figaro._ What! Without the Consent of my noble Parents?

_Count._ (_Returning_) Where are they? Who are they?--He will still complain of injustice--Name them.

_Figaro._ Allow me time, my Lord--I must first know where to find them, and yet it ought not to be long, for I have been seeking them these five Years.

_Doctor._ What! A Foundling?

_Figaro._ No Foundling, but stolen from my Parents.

_Count._ Poh! This is too palpable.

(_Exit Count_)

_Figaro._ Had I no other Proof of my Birth than the precious Stones, Ring, and Jewels found upon me, these would be sufficient--but I bear the Mark----

(_He is going to shew his Arm._)

_Marcelina._ Of a Lobster on your left Arm.

_Figaro._ How do you know that?

_Marcelina._ ’Tis he himself!

{{_Figaro._ “Yes, it’s me myself.”}}

_Marcelina._ ’Tis Fernando!

_Doctor._ Thou wert stolen away by Gypsies.

_Figaro._ By Gypsies!--Oh Doctor, if thou can’st but restore me to my illustrious Parents, {{“Mountains of Gold will not sufficiently speak their gratitude.”}}

_Doctor._ Behold thy Mother.

(_Pointing to Marcelina._)

_Figaro._ Nurse, you mean!

_Doctor._ Thy own Mother!

_Figaro._ Explain!

_Marcelina._ And there behold thy Father.

(_Pointing to the Doctor._)

_Figaro._ He, my Father! Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Oh Lord! (_Stamps about._)

_Guzman._ (_With great wisdom_) It will be no m-m-match--that’s evi-dent.

_Marcelina._ Hast thou not felt Nature pleading within thee, at sight of me?

_Figaro._ Never.

_Marcelina_. This was the secret cause of all my Fondness for thee.

_Figaro._ No doubt--And of my aversion--Instinct is very powerful.

_Marcelina._ Come to my arms, my dear, my long lost Child.

(_Figaro and Marcelina embrace, the Doctor leans against the Benches._)

_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ SUSAN.

(_The latter runs to find the Count_)

_Susan._ (_In great Agitation_) Oh, where is my Lord? Here is the Money to pay Marcelina with! The Portion which my noble and generous Lady has given me!

_Antonio._ (_pulling Susan, and pointing to Figaro, who kisses Marcelina._) Here! here! Look this way!

(_Susan, at seeing them embrace becomes furious, and is going away, Figaro runs and brings her back._)

_Figaro._ Stop, stop, my Susan.

_Susan._ I have seen enough--Since you are so fond of her, pray marry her.

_Figaro._ Thou art mistaken.

_Susan._ No, I am not mistaken.

(_Gives him a slap in the face._)

{{_Figaro._ (_Rubbing his Cheek_) “This is Love--Pshaw! Prithee come hither, look at that Lady--How dost thou like her?

_Susan._ “Not at all.

_Figaro._ “Well said Jealousy, she does not mince the Matter.”}}

_Marcelina._ Dear Susan, this, this is my Son!

{{_Figaro._ “Yes, they wanted me to marry my Mother.”

_Antonio._ “Your Mother!----It is not long since----

_Figaro._ “I have known it--True.”}}

_Marcelina._ Yes, my dearest Susan, embrace thy Mother--Thy Mother, who will love thee dearly.

_Susan._ And do you consent I shall have my Figaro?

_Marcelina._ Willingly. (_Susan runs and kisses her_) Here, my Son, here is the Promise.

(_Gives him the Paper._)

_Susan._ And here is the Portion.

(_Gives him a Purse of Money._)

{{_Figaro._ “My manly Pride would fain make me restrain my tears, but they flew in spite of me--Well, let ’em! Let ’em flow! Joys like these never come twice in one’s Life! Oh, my Mother, Oh, my Susan!”}}

(_They all three embrace, weeping._)

_Guzman._ (_weeping._) What a Foo-oo-ool am I! L-L-Look, if I don’t k-k-k-cry as well as the best of ’em.

_Figaro._ (_to the Doctor_) My Father.

_Doctor._ Keep off! I disclaim thee!

_Antonio._ Why then, if you are his Father, you are a Turkish Jew, and no Christian Father.

_Doctor._ A Knave that tricked me of my Ward, cheated me of my Money, and now has been turning my Wisdom into ridicule.

_Susan._ And are not you, being a wise Man, proud to have a Son wiser than yourself?

_Doctor._ No--I would have no one wiser than myself.

_Antonio._ Come, come, look you, I am {{“a good Catholic, and”}} an old Castilian, therefore, unless your Father and Mother become lawful Man and Wife, I will never consent to give you my Niece. No, no, she sha’n’t marry a man who is the child of Nobody, neither.

_Guzman._ Here’s an old Fool!--The Child of Nobody, Ha! ha! ha! (_Laughs stupidly, and then assumes great Wisdom_) Hav’n’t you lived long enough to know that every Child must have a Father?

{{_Marcelina._ “Consider, good Doctor, your Promise, if ever our Child was found.

_Doctor._ “Pshaw!

_Marcelina._ “And here is a Son you surely need not be ashamed of.

_Susan._ “Ah my dear Pappa!

_Figaro._ “My generous, worthy Father.

(_Susan strokes his Cheek, Figaro kneels, and Marcelina coaxes him._)

_Susan._ “You don’t know how we will all love you.

_Marcelina._ “What care we will take of you.

_Figaro._ “How happy we will make you.

_Doctor._ “Good Doctor, dear Pappa, generous Father! (_Bursts out a crying_) See, if I am not even a greater Foo-oo-ool than Mr. President! (_Guzman staggers back at the Doctor’s Compliment_) they mould me like Dough, lead me like a Child. (_Marcelina, Susan, and Figaro testify their Joy by their Actions._) Nay, nay, but I hav’n’t yet said yes.

_Susan._ “But you have thought yes.

_Marcelina._ “And look’d yes.

_Figaro._ “Come, come, we must be quick; let us run and find the Count, otherwise he will invent some new pretext to break off the Match.

(_Exeunt Doctor, Marcelina, Figaro and Susan._)

_Manent Don_ GUZMAN.

_Guzman._ “A greater Foo-oo-ool than Mr. President!--The People in this House are truly very stupid and ill bred.” (_Exit._)}}

End of ACT III.