Serg. With the richest man in Zalamea, a farmer, as proud as Lucifer’s heir-apparent.
Capt. Ah, the old story of an upstart.
Serg. However, sir, you have the best quarters in the place, including his daughter, who is, they say, the prettiest woman in Zalamea.
Capt. Pooh! a pretty peasant! splay hands and feet.
Serg. Shame! shame!
Capt. Isn’t it true, puppy?
Serg. What would a man on march have better than a pretty country lass to toy with?
Capt. Well, I never saw one I cared for, even on march. I can’t call a woman a woman unless she’s clean about the hands and fetlocks, and otherwise well appointed—a lady, in short.
Serg. Well, any one for me who’ll let me kiss her. Come, sir, let us be going, for if you won’t be at her, I will.
Capt. Look, look yonder!