‘Was it for this you took your sudden journey. Under pretence of business indispensable With that sublime of rascals your attorney, Whom I see standing there, and looking sensible Of having play’d the fool? though both I spurn, he Deserves the worst, his conduct ’s less defensible, Because, no doubt, ’twas for his dirty fee, And not from any love to you nor me.
‘If he comes here to take a deposition, By all means let the gentleman proceed; You’ve made the apartment in a fit condition: There’s pen and ink for you, sir, when you need— Let every thing be noted with precision, I would not you for nothing should be fee’d— But, as my maid ’s undrest, pray turn your spies out.’ ‘Oh!’ sobb’d Antonia, ‘I could tear their eyes out.’
‘There is the closet, there the toilet, there The antechamber—search them under, over; There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair, The chimney—which would really hold a lover. I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care And make no further noise, till you discover The secret cavern of this lurking treasure— And when ’tis found, let me, too, have that pleasure.
‘And now, Hidalgo! now that you have thrown Doubt upon me, confusion over all, Pray have the courtesy to make it known Who is the man you search for? how d’ ye cal Him? what ’s his lineage? let him but be shown— I hope he ’s young and handsome—is he tall? Tell me—and be assured, that since you stain My honour thus, it shall not be in vain.
‘At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years, At that age he would be too old for slaughter, Or for so young a husband’s jealous fears (Antonia! let me have a glass of water). I am ashamed of having shed these tears, They are unworthy of my father’s daughter; My mother dream’d not in my natal hour That I should fall into a monster’s power.
‘Perhaps ’tis of Antonia you are jealous, You saw that she was sleeping by my side When you broke in upon us with your fellows: Look where you please—we’ve nothing, sir, to hide; Only another time, I trust, you’ll tell us, Or for the sake of decency abide A moment at the door, that we may be Drest to receive so much good company.
‘And now, sir, I have done, and say no more; The little I have said may serve to show The guileless heart in silence may grieve o’er The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow: I leave you to your conscience as before, ’Twill one day ask you why you used me so? God grant you feel not then the bitterest grief!- Antonia! where’s my pocket-handkerchief?’