Phil. Here's a letter for you, sir, from Don Alphonso.
Ped. I don't know any Don Alphonso, boy. What's the letter about?
Phil. I think, sir, 'tis to invite you to a feast.
Ped. A feast!—Oh, I recollect now—Don Alphonso, what! my old acquaintance! give it me, boy.
Phil. But, are you sure, sir, you're Don Fernando?
Ped. Sure, you dog!—don't you think I know myself?—let's see, let's see—[Opens the Letter, and reads.] Signor, though you seem ready to fall on to a love-feast, I hope a small repast in the field won't spoil your stomach—Oh, this is only a snack before supper—I shall be, at six o'clock this evening—You dog, it's past six now—in the meadow, near the cottage of the vines, where I expect you'll meet me—Oh dear, I shall be too late!—As you aspire to Donna Victoria, your sword must be long enough to reach my heart, Alphonso. My sword long enough! [Frightened.] Oh, the devil!—Feast! Zounds, this is a downright challenge!
Phil. I beg your pardon, signor, but if I hadn't met my sweetheart, Catilina, you would have had that letter two hours ago.
Ped. Oh, you have given it time enough, my brave boy.
Phil. Well, sir, you'll come?
Ped. Eh! Yes, I dare say he'll come.