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_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 pa.s.sionate, 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._
