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 better 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 Cæsar—to compare him with this puppy—but I must forget my children, Dame Isabel will have me upon no other terms.
[Aside.
Ped. D'ye hear, Don Scipio, let us have a plentiful feast.
Don Scipio. Was ever such a conceited, empty, impudent——
[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 scrap 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.