Diego. In the dark I seldom see any thing—but I have heard—
Alonzo. What!—what have you heard?
Diego. The voice of the great High-Priest himself.
Alonzo. The High-Priest!—What could he want here?
Diego. To put me into the right path, nothing more. It is the same in this, as in all other countries, Priests are the only people who are able to lead us into the right path.
Alonzo. But what could bring him into this wilderness?—Oh, speak, Velasquez!—tell me, what dost thou think could be his errand?
Juan. To what purpose speak? What end can conjecture serve? To rush with my sword drawn, and eyes averted, into the thickest of the press, is my maxim in any case of danger. Talking dissipates courage, as a shower disperses the thin coat of earth scattered over a rock, so that no foundation remains from which any adventurous action can shoot forth. If I were disposed to talk, I could find enough to say.
Alonzo. Of what nature?
Diego. Oh speak, Sir, I entreat you!—When it is dark I always like to hear talking.
Juan. Well, it shall be so. It may amuse you too, Alonzo, till the hour when your constellation shall rise; for the time always appears horribly tedious when one is waiting for a tender appointment. I will therefore talk till you command my silence; and this shall be the text with which I introduce my discourse.—My friend, this adventure bodes no good!—believe me, it bodes no good!