PANTALONE, TARTAGLIA, BRIGELLA, SOLDIERS.
_The foregoing._
PANTALONE.
Here he is, by the Lord Harry, here he is!
TARTAGLIA.
Who is this man, your Royal Highness?
PANTALONE.
Where the dickens have you been to, my dearest
Prince? What sort of people are you honouring
with your intercourse, my dearest Prince?
BARAK (_aside_).
Great heavens, what threatens now?
CALAF.
This is some stranger,
Whom here I met and questioned of the way.
TARTAGLIA.
By your leave, my dearest Royal Highness, I
had not previously noticed that there was any
screw loose under your turban. Your conduct
so far had led me, I trust not misled me, to
believe that your head was screwed on quite safe.
But what the deuce are you up to now, if you
will allow me to say so?
PANTALONE.
'Sh! 'Sh! It's no use crying over spilt milk.
Heaven knows, my dear Prince, you little suspect
what hot water you've got into, and if we hadn't
kept a sharp eye on you, you'd be in a fine
pickle at this moment. (_To_ BARAK.) Your
presence here, Mr. Nanny-goat, is no longer
desired! As for you, my dearest Royal Highness,
will you have the goodness to withdraw to
your private apartments? Brigella, you will
forthwith call two thousand men of the guards to
arms, and with your corps of pages sentinel the
entrance to his suite, taking care that no one
gains admission. Our most Sublime Majesty,
the Emperor, is so much in love with the Prince
that he is all the time in a perfect state lest
anything should happen to him. If he is not his
son-in-law by to-morrow morning, Heaven knows
the old gentleman will succumb to this violent
passion. (_To_ CALAF.) And let me tell you,
you've been making a fool of yourself. (_Whispering
to him._) For Heaven's sake, don't let your
name get between your teeth! But if by any
chance you would care to whisper it to a venerable,
discreet old man, I can assure you it would be
in good keeping. What do you say?
CALAF.
You serve your Emperor ill, old gentleman!
PANTALONE.
Oh, bravo! Oh, bravo! Now then, Mr.
Brigella, off you go!
BRIGELLA.
You stop your parleying first. I'll see to my
duty in due course.
TARTAGLIA.
I should advise you to. Off you go, or off
goes your head.
BRIGELLA.
My head's hard enough to stand _your_ pecking,
old cock.
TARTAGLIA.
(_Whispering to_ CALAF.) I'm simply bursting
with curiosity to know your dear, delightful name.
If you would only have the kindness to confide it
to me!
CALAF.
Enough! Enough! To-morrow you shall hear it.
TARTAGLIA.
Excellent. By George!
PANTALONE.
Your Royal Highness, I take my leave! (_To_
BARAK.) And you, my worthy Mr. Nanny-goat,
you will do well to depart this place and smoke
your pipe on the market square instead of standing
about here. I urgently recommend you to
mind your own business. I believe that would
do you a lot more good.
(_Exit._)
TARTAGLIA.
(_To_ BARAK.) A lot more good, believe me!
You have, if I may say so, a rascal's face; and
I can tell you I don't like it.
(_Exit._)
BRIGELLA.
Permit me, your Royal Highness, to execute
my commission. Have the goodness to follow
me to your apartments!
CALAF.
I am coming.
(_To_ BARAK.)
Friend, until we meet again,
Some better time, farewell.
BARAK.
Your humble servant.
BRIGELLA.
Come along! Come along! No more fooling.
(_Exit at the head of his guards, who march
in two lines, with_ CALAF _between them_.)