Reb. and Solds. Huzzah for our captain!
Capt. Your quarters are ready, and the Commissary will give every one his billet on marching in.
Chis. (singing). Now then for
Titiri tiri, hither, my deary,
Heat the oven and kill the old hen.
[Exit with Soldiers.
Capt. Well, Mr. Sergeant, have you my billet?
Serg. Yes, sir.
Capt. And where am I to put up?
Serg. With the richest man in Zalamea, a farmer, as proud as Lucifer’s heir-apparent.