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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 portmantean. While I go lead him in triumph to his bride. [Ex-it.

Don Fer. Pray, my good, new, old friend, when has your care deposited this portmanteau?

Spado. Gone ! [Looking 1y"ter Don Scirro.

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 today of I know not what, in a strange incohe» rent 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 oil‘ 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

ellow 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 said I was the pope's nuncio.

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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 heimagines, belonged to his deceased lady.

Don Fer. True, he asked me something about a ring.

Don Scipio. [With01it.] I'll wait on you presently.

Enter Don Scrrro.

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

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Spado. [To FERNAN 0o.] 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 thisring, and take the money. [/lpart.—Gi'ves FERNANDO a Ring. Don Fer. [Presents it to Don Scu>1o.] There, sir. Don Scipio. [Gites lWoney.]' And there, sir,—Oh, you mercenary rascal! [Aside] I knew ’twas on 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 Jlloney from, FERNAN Do. Ped. [H/a”t0ut.] Pedrillo! Pedrillol sirrah!

Don Scipio. Run, (lon't you hear your master, you brace of rascals ?—Fly! [Exit SPADO. Don Scipio. [Looking out.] What an alteration!

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Ped. Pedrillol

Don Fer. [Asizlz-.] What an impudent dog l--Sir?

Perl. N0thing—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. l'll break your bones, you villain.

Fed. Ahem! Tol de rol.

Don Scipio. Pedrillo!

Pfli- Sir? [Forgetting himsey.

Don Fer. [Apart.] What are you at, you rascal?

Ped. Ay. what are you at,you rascal? avoid?

Don Fer. I'm gone, sir. [E.cit. Ped. Cursed illnatured of him, not to let me give one kick. [Aside.

Don Scipio. Don Fernando, I like you vastly.

Peal. So you ought,-Tol de rol.—Who could now suspect me to be the son of a tailor, and that, four hours ago, Iwas a footmanl [Aside.] Tol do 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 toilette, would run to the windows,—peep through their fingers, their fans I mean, simper behind their handkcrchiefs, 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.— Bnt 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!

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[Asi1le. 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 bet

ter 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—t'o compare him with this puppy—but I must forget my children, Dame Isabel will have me upon no other terms. [Aside.

Peri. D’ye hear, Don Scipio, let us have a plentiful feast.

Don Scipio. Was ever such a conceited, empty, im-c pudent [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 Victotia-—Well, I'm not a capital fello\ ; but I was made for a gent}cman—gentleman! I’m the neat pattern for a lord—-I have a little honour about mo—a bit of love too ; ay, and a scrap of courage, perhaps—hem! Iwish I'd a rival to try it thoug,ti—od, I think I could fight at any weapon, from a needle to a hatchet.

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