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[_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 sc.r.a.p 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 a.s.sure 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 G.o.ddess, 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 G.o.ds, 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 pa.s.sion extremely tender, though romantic and extravaganza.
