Basil. Yes, my pretty Susan, but you must not suppose I am the dupe of these fine appearances. I know it isn’t Figaro who is the great obstacle to my Lord’s happiness, but a certain beardless Page, whom I surprised here, this morning, looking for you as I entered.
Susan. I wish you would be gone, you wicked—Devil.
Basil. Wicked Devil! Ah, one is a wicked Devil for not shutting one’s eyes.
Susan. I wish you would be gone, I tell you.
Basil. Was it not for you that he wrote the Song, which he goes chanting up and down the house, at every instant?
Susan. O yes! For me, to be sure!
Basil. At least it was either for you, or your Lady.
Susan. What next?
Basil. Why really, when he sits at table, he does cast certain very significant glances towards a beauteous Countess, who shall be nameless—But let him beware! If my Lord catches him at his tricks, he’ll make him dance without music.