Figaro. Pshaw! A trifle, my Lord: a note of hand for money borrowed; nothing more.
Count. Let the Advocates and Officers of Justice be assembled in the great Hall; we will there determine on the justice of your claim. It becomes us not to suffer any Vassal of ours, however we may privately esteem him, to be guilty of public injury.
Basil. Your Lordship is acquainted with my claims on Marcelina: I hope your Lordship will grant me your support.
Count. Oh, oh! Are you there, Prince of Knaves?
Antonio. Yes, that’s his title, sure enough.
Count. Approach, honest Basil; faithful Agent of our Will and Pleasure. (Basil bows) Go order the Lawyers to assemble.
Basil. My Lord!—
Count. And tell the Peasant, by whom you sent me the Letter this morning, I want to speak with him.
Basil. Your Lordship is pleased to joke with your humble Servant. I know no such Peasant.
Count. You will be pleased to find him, notwithstanding.