Chis. Among the squires?
Don C. No; among the gipsies, blockhead!
Chis. I hope we may; for we are giving ourselves trouble enough on her account. Don’t you think so? However, there is no catching trout without wetting one’s trowsers. Yonder come the horses. [Exeunt.
Scene V.—The gipsy camp in the forest. Night. Gipsies working at a forge. Others playing cards by the fire light.
Gipsies at the forge sing.
On the top of a mountain I stand,
With a crown of red gold in my hand,
Wild Moors come trooping over the lea,
Oh how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee?