Alarming fears paint every danger
In a rival, left at home.
Spado returns down the Stairs.
Spado. [Aside.] Now for some talk with our prisoner here—Stay, are they all out of ear-shot? How the poor bird sings in its cage! I know more of his affairs than he thinks of, by overhearing his conversation at the inn at Lorca.
Don Alph. How shall I escape from these rascals? Oh, here is one of the gentlemen. Pray, sir, may I take the liberty—
Spado. No liberty for you.—Yet upon certain conditions, indeed—give me your hand.
Don Alph. [Aside.] Impudent scoundrel!
Spado. Signor, I wish to serve you—and serve you I will; but I must know the channel, before I make for the coast; therefore, to examine you with the pious severity of an holy inquisitor, who the devil are you?
Don Alph. A pious adjuration truly!—[Aside.]—Sir, my name is Alphonso, and I am son of a banker at Madrid.
Spado. Banker! Oh! I thought he sung like a young goldfinch.