Here I am in hot chase after my master and his
Gypsy 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?

Chispa. 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.)

Mosq. Pray, have a little patience. I'm not a musket.

Chispa. Health and pistareens! I'm glad to see you come on
dancing, padre! Pray, what's the news?

Mosq. You cannot have fresh horses; because there are none.

Chispa. Cachiporra! Throw that bone to another dog. Do I look
like your aunt?

Mosq. No; she has a beard.

Chispa. Go to! go to!

Mosq. Are you from Madrid?

Chispa. Yes; and going to Estramadura. Get us horses.

Mosq. What's the news at Court?

Chispa. Why, the latest news is, that I am going to set up a
coach, and I have already bought the whip.

(Strikes him round the legs.)

Mosq. 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 Gypsies passed this way of late?

Mosq. Yes; and they are still in the neighborhood.

Don C. And where?

Mosq. Across the fields yonder, in the woods near Guadarrama.
[Exit.

Don C. Now this is lucky. We will visit the Gypsy camp.

Chispa. 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.

Chispa. And sleep like the Squires of Hernan Daza, nine under
one blanket.

Don C. I hope we may find the Preciosa among them.

Chispa. Among the Squires?

Don C. No; among the Gypsies, blockhead!

Chispa. 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 trousers. Yonder come the
horses.
[Exeunt.

SCENE V. -- The Gypsy camp in the forest. Night. Gypsies
working at a forge. Others playing cards by the firelight.
Gypsies (at the forge sing).

On the top of a mountain I stand,
With a crown of red gold in my hand,
Wild Moors come trooping over the lea
O how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee?
O how from their fury shal