Vict. You have seen my rich old uncle in the country?
Gasp. What, Don Sancho, who, with two thirds of a century in his face, affects the misdemeanors of youth; hides his baldness with amber locks, and complains of the tooth-ache, to make you believe, that the two rows of ivory he carries in his head, grew there?
Vict. Oh, you know him, I find; could you assume his character for an hour, and make love for him? you know, it must be in the style of King Roderigo the First.
Gasp. Hang it! I am rather too near his own age; to appear an old man with effect, one should not be above twenty; 'tis always so on the stage.
Vict. Pho! you might pass for Juan's grandson.
Gasp. Nay, if your ladyship condesends to flatter me, you have me.
Vict. Then follow me; for Don Cæsar, I hear, is approaching—in the garden I'll make you acquainted with my plan, and impress on your mind every trait of my uncle's character. If you can hit him off, the arts of Laura shall be foiled, and Carlos be again Victoria's.
[Exeunt, r.
Enter Don Cæsar, followed by Olivia, l.
Cæsar. No, no, 'tis too late—no coaxings; I am resolved, I say.