the village of El Pardillo. Enter Chispa cracking a whip, and
singing the Cachucha._
_Chis._ Halloo! the post-house! Let us have horses! and quickly. Alas,
poor Chispa! what a dog’s life dost thou lead! I thought when I left my
old master Victorian, the student, to serve my new master Don Carlos,
the gentleman, that I too should lead the life of a gentleman; should go
to bed early, and get up late. But in running away from the thunder I
have run into the lightning. Here I am in hot chase after my old master
and his gipsy girl. And a good beginning of the week it is, as he said
who was hanged on Monday morning.
(_Enter Don Carlos._)
_Don C._ Are not the horses ready yet?
_Chis._ I should think not, for the hostler seems to be asleep. Ho!
within there! Horses! horses! horses!
(_He knocks at the gate with his whip, and enter Mosquito, putting on his
jacket._)
_Mos._ Pray have a little patience. I’m not a musket.
_Chis._ I’m glad to see you come on dancing, padre! Pray, what’s the
news?
_Mos._ You cannot have fresh horses; because there are none.
_Chis._ Cachiporra! Throw that bone to another dog. Do I look like your
aunt?
_Mos._ No; she has a beard.
_Chis._ Go to! go to!
_Mos._ Are you from Madrid?
_Chis._ Yes; and going to Estramadura. Get us horses.
_Mos._ What’s the news at court?
_Chis._ Why, the latest news is that I am going to set up a coach, and,
as you see, I have already bought the whip. (_Strikes him round the
legs._)
_Mos._ Oh! oh! you hurt me!
_Don C._ Enough of this folly. Let us have horses. (_Gives money to
Mosquito._) It is almost dark; and we are in haste. But tell me, has a
band of gipsies passed this way of late?
_Mos._ Yes; and they are still in the neighborhood.
_Don C._ And where?
_Mos._ Across the fields yonder, in the woods near El Pardillo.
[_Exit._
_Don C._ Now this is lucky. We’ll turn aside and visit the gipsy camp.
_Chis._ Are you not afraid of the evil eye? Have you a stag’s horn with
you?
_Don C._ Fear not. We will pass the night at the village.
_Chis._ And sleep like the squires of Hernan Daza, nine under one
blanket.
_Don C._ I hope we may find the Preciosa among them.
_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._