Susan. What unexpected Happiness!
Figaro. Chance, my Susan—All the effect of Chance—“Yesterday, without a Relation in the World I could claim, to-day, behold me restored to my Parents—True it is, they are neither so rich nor so right honorable, so belaced nor betitled as my imagination had painted them—But that’s all one, they are mine”—I may truly be called both a Chance Child, and a Child of Chance—By Chance was I begot, by Chance brought into the World, by Chance was I stole, by Chance am I found, by Chance have I lived, and by Chance I shall die—Chance is Nature’s Sovereign, and must be mine.
Susan. Yes, and by Chance thou mayst come to be hang’d. (Laughs.)
Figaro. Or thou to be an Empress—Neither of them are impossible—He, the Conqueror, whose Ambition ravages the Earth, and whose Pride eats up Nations, is not less the sport of Chance than the blind Beggar who is conducted by his dog.
Susan. Ha, ha, ha!—Prithee leave thy Philosophy, and—
Figaro. And think of that other blind beggar, Love—Most willingly, my Angel. (Kisses her.)
Susan. Pooh, Pooh!—That was not what I meant.
Figaro. Rather say it was not half thy meaning, or thy meaning ill expressed. (Kisses her again.)
Susan. Ah, Figaro! Were this fondness, these days but durable—
Figaro. Durable!—Iron and Adamant—No; may millions of imaginary Gallants wrack my heart and decorate my—