 | The Carnival |  |
SCENA I.
Enter Lorenzo, Bartolo.Bart.
Pray, my Lord, do not go abroad.
I dare not tell him, hee'll be out on's wits.
[aside.
Lor.
Why not? why not, good Bartolo?
It is a day of mirth, I love to see them merry:
I was a merry man when I was young,
And lov'd these brave Devices;
Once on this time of Carnival I rid,
And with a Line and Hook I firk'd the peoples hats off,
'Tis true some unruly fellow's grew angry, and I was beaten,
55
They were so taken with my Garb.
Bar.
Very likely, my Lord,
But why will you go now? you are not of an age
To Masquerade it through the streets.
Lor.
What then, ye fool?
Think'st I have I cannot see others? ha?
Bar.
Yes, my Lord;
But here every body will see you.
Lor.
Why, what then?
I have committed no treason.
I dare be seen; the fellow's drunk.
Bar.
Nay, my Lord, what you please,
Would I durst tell ye though.
[aside.
Lor.
Here wee'll stand; here we can see all;
Hark, I here some coming this way.
Enter Sancho with Quintagona, Rabble.
San.
Oh, yonder's Game for me;
I have been game for others all this while.
Lor.
A pleasant couple;
Look, Bartolo, is not this very Pleasant?
Bar.
Oh, Yes, my Lord, very pleasant.
Aside]
You little think that you are the pleasanter sight of the two
San.
Most renowned, most worthy, and most munificent Lord
Lor.
I thank thee, friend;
But prythee keep on thy way:
Do not address thy self in particular to me.
San.
To you, my Lord?
Why, to whom is respect, and address more proper?
By this my beard, (which I think is a fair one.)
Lor.
Prythee keep it so still with thy Bygotero's,
And about thy business.
San.
Why, I am so, my Lord;
But, as I said before, there is none in Sevil.
Lor.
That will be sooner, or more angry with you,
If you depart not presently.
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San.
What care I, or what need your Lordship care for the Rabble?
By this Beard I swear again,
And that's no small Oath for a man of my profession.
Lor.
Why, what profession art thou of?
San.
A Barber, my Lord.
Lor.
A good trade; Nay, prithee away now.
San.
Heaven forbid I should displease your Lordship,
By this Beard I would not do it for the Indies.
Lor.
Now a plague on thy Beard, and a Pox on thee;
Nay, such a Pox as may plague thy Beard too;
Here's ado with it.
Bartolo? prythee thrust him away.
Bar.
Away, friend, be gone,
This Rogue has found him out.
[aside.
San.
Why, friend, the street is as free for me as you,
By my Beard, thy Beard, and thy Lords Beard,
I do infinitely Honour, Worship and admire.
Lor.
Ye Rogue, swear by my Beard?
Why, I can do that my self; and will:
For if you be not presently gone,
I'll have ye cudgell'd,
By these Honourable Mustachio's I will;
Ha; why, Bartolo; what's this?
[Misses his Beard.
San.
Ha, ha, ha, come, duck, I will not stay to offend your Lordship.
[Exit San. Quin.
Lor.
Ten thousand Devils, and their Dams,
My Beard? Hieco de Puta, my Beard.
Bar.
Is quite gone on the one side, my Lord.
Lor.
Why? thou Dog, thou Mungril,
Wouldst thou let me come abroad,
And not tell me on't?
I have been sport for all comers and goers.
Bar.
Why, my Lord, you mist it not when you
Came abroad; this fellow has bewitch'd you.
Lor.
Have mercy on me, Heaven!
A witch, a witch, Run Bartolo for an Officer,
I'll have him in the Inquisition; a witch.
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My Lord, he's gone;
Or by this time has transform'd himself
Into some other shape: Oh, he's a cunning Rogue.
Lor.
'Tis too true;
But I, poor miserable I,
What respect shall people pay me now?
No Beard no Brain they'l cry;
A Boy, a meer Tom-boy I shall appear:
My Servants too will make me still their mirth,
Who have been still their Terror.
Bar.
My Lord, I know a remedy for all.
Lor.
What is't, good Bartolo? oh, some comfort, prithee.
Bar.
Why, my Lord, this time of Carnival
It may pass for a youthful frollick,
And after Ash-wednesday,
You may say it was a Penance enjoyn'd you
By your Ghostly Father:
But for Decorum you must cut off
The other side; thus it is very ridiculous.
Lor.
Thou counsell'st well; I would not have my
Servants see me so for a thousand Pistols:
Hast thou no scissers, good Bartolo?
Bar.
No, my Lord, but I have a knife.
Lor.
Come then, cut it off presently.
[Bartolo cuts, and Lor. makes faces.
Oh, oh, oh!
Bar.
So, my Lord, 'tis done.
Lor.
Come, Bartolo, I have seen enough for this day:
A Plague of all Witches! a beard-witch! O Diavolo!
[Exeunt.
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