University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—Hall in Lodoro's palace.
Peter, Beppo, and other Servants' arranging the Room.
Peter.

—By the holy keys of St. Peter! but this is
the most cruel catastrophe to such a day that ever was
degendered on a house!

Beppo.

—Marry! Master Peter, but you're too
learned for a servant—you talk finer than your master.
What now may be the meaning of these corkscrew
words?

Peter.

—Demonstrate the word.

Beppo.

—Ay, rumonstrate—you're a rum un to get
out such expressions—you remind me of a beef-eater
at a show.

Peter.

—Beppo, thy vulgarity will for ever keep
thee and good luck on the wrong side of the hedge.

Look you, let me see your man that talks big, and all
the world shall look up to his great words—but let me
see your fool that speaks low, and all the world shall
walk over his imbecility: I tell you, Beppo, your
modest man is but the rug on which every gentleman
wipes his shoes.

Beppo.

—Well, Master Peter, you won't suffer under
the defects of modesty. I never saw a servant who
carried his head more fearlessly in the face of his master.

Peter.

—Why, friend Beppo, an' we will be civil to
the insolent world, we must take the consequence,
which is—the world's contempt. But an' a man carry
his head with becoming hauteur, he at least keeps his
nose above all unpleasant odours.

Beppo.

—Hortur—what a word for a Christian to swallow!

Peter.

—It is an elegant extract from our neighbours
the French. And, let me tell you, Beppo, to season
your conversation with a spice of French, now-a-days,
is the criterion whereby a person of breeding is judged.

Beppo.

—But you cannot speak French.

Peter.

—N'importe, violà donc.

Beppo.

—Holy mother!

Peter.

—There again, Beppo, in that indigenous oath
you manifest the coarseness of your extraction. Now
a lady's lips may pout out Sa'cristi, which, being interpreted,
is much worse than yours—but as the one is
foreign, it comes within the pale of fashion, whereas the
other is totally excommunicated from ears polite.

Beppo.

—Well, it must be a grand thing to travel!

Peter.

—Truly, Beppo, it is the sign whereby, in
these times, you shall know the gentleman from the
boor. Look you! not to be able to speak of the
Pyramids and Les Modes de Paris, Parnassus and
Le Palais Royal, Timbuctoo and the Holy Land,
argueth an insignificance, not only very lamentable in
itself, but militating much against the advancement of
our great toe into the drawing-room of the recherché.

Beppo.

—By Saint Peter!—

Peter.

—Ah! swear not by such a vulgar oath! unfortunately
I am called Peter, but my parents were
very religious, and consequently very silly old people.

Beppo.

—Master Peter, mayhap I'm somewhat older,
though less learned than you—but let me tell you, I
am too old ever to learn that true religion makes a
fool of a man.

Peter.

—Upon my honor! The boor is insolent!

Beppo.

—I'm honest, Master Peter.

Peter.

—Ruffian! would you insult a gentleman? Villain, and knave!

Beppo.

—Hard words for an honest man to stomach!

Peter.

—Dirty and detestable varlet!

Beppo.

—Varlet to yourself!

Peter.

—Zounds! are you saucy! sir, I wear a steel!

Beppo.

—And I, Master Peter, carry about with me
the only defence that an honest man needs—a bold
heart and a willing arm! Come! an' we try a tussel in
the good old fashion, I will acquaint that mountebank

jacket with the nature of the canal. I don't know,
and I don't much respect your modes abroad—but, an'
you wish to be friend or foe after the good old custom
of my country, and my fathers, I'm your man, and
am ready for what you will!

Peter.

—Gracious Lady! what a Russian bear!

Enter Maria.
Mar.

—How! quarrelling in the hall among yourselves,
instead of holding together to study your master's
wants? It seems those who are paid for their service
are ever the last to render it.

Beppo.

—Indeed, Mistress Maria—

Maria.

—Beppo, this disturbance was not yours.

Peter.

—Ineffably divine creature!

Maria.

—Sir, if there be one thing more than another,
that turns me sick, it is the intrusion of a fool!

Peter.

—Ah! my adorable and perfectly exquisite angel!

Maria.

—How long must silenced patience bear such
insults! Shame upon ye all, rioting now in such absurdities,
when you should mourn behind our buried
pastimes! Augustus will be dispatched to Cyprus, to
cut his way back to his father's favours through the
ranks of war. My poor lady is dying of grief! Julian
may be hung for taking justice out of the hands of the
law—and my lord and lady will break their hearts for
spite, that all the world won't go at the bidding of their
wish—and here are you knaves quarrelling over a straw

while the house is tumbling to pieces about your
ears! Get away, with you, each man to his work! and,
Beppo, you shall go with me to inquire the news of
Julian's fortunes.

Exeunt.