Cæsar. Here! here's an obstinate perverse slut!
Oliv. Bless me, sir, are you angry that I look forward to your marriage without murmuring?
Cæsar. Yes, I am—yes, I am; you ought to murmur; and you ought to—to—to——
Oliv. Dear me! I find love, taken up late in life, has a bad effect on the temper.—I wish, my dear papa, you had felt the influence of Donna Marcella's charms somewhat sooner.
Cæsar. You do! you do! why this must be all put on.—This can't be real.
Oliv. Indeed, indeed it is; and I protest, your engagement with this lady has given me more pleasure than I have tasted ever since you began to tease me about a husband. You seem determined to have a marriage in the family; and I hope, now, I shall live in quiet, with my dear, sweet, young mother-in-law.
Cæsar. Oh! oh! [Walking about.] Was there ever—[Crosses, c.] She doesn't care for a mother-in-law!—Can't frighten her!
Oliv. Sure, my fate is very peculiar; that being pleased with your choice, and submitting, with humble duty, to your will, should be the cause of offence.
Cæsar. Hussy! I don't want you to be pleased with my choice—I don't want you to submit with humble duty to my will.—Where I do want you to submit, you rebel: you are a—you are——But I'll mortify that wayward spirit, yet.
[Exit Don Cæsar and Marcella, r.