_Page._ Yes, my Lord, but I was then trembling behind it. _Count._ That’s false, again, for I hid myself behind it, when Basil entered. _Page._ (_Timidly_) Pardon me, my Lord, but as you approach’d, I retired, and crouched down as you now see me. _Count._ (_Angrily_) It’s a little Serpent that glides into every crevice--And he has been listening too to our discourse! _Page._ Indeed, my Lord, I did all I could not to hear a word. _Count._ (_To Susan_) There is no Figaro, no Husband for you, however. _Basil._ Somebody is coming; get down. _Enter the_ COUNTESS, FIGARO, AGNES, _and_ VASSALS, _in their holiday cloaths_. Figaro _carrying the nuptial cap--The_ Count _runs and plucks the Page from the great chair, just as they enter_. _Count._ What! Would you continue crouching there before the whole world? _(The Count and Countess salute._ _Figaro._ We are come, my Lord, to beg a favour, which we hope, for your Lady’s sake, you will grant. (_Aside to Susan_) Be sure to second what I say. _Susan._ It will end in nothing. (_Aside._ _Figaro._ No matter: let us try, at least. (_Aside._ _Countess._ You see, my Lord, I am supposed to have a much greater degree of influence over you than I really possess. _Count._ Oh no, my Lady; not an atom, I assure you. _Figaro._ (_Presenting the cap to the Count_) Our petition is, that the Bride may have the honor of receiving from our worthy Lord’s hand, this Nuptial-Cap; ornamented with half-blown roses, and white ribbands, Symbols of the purity of his intentions. _Count._ Do they mean to laugh at me? (_Aside._ {{_Figaro._ “And as you have been kindly pleased to abolish that abominable right, which, as Lord of the Manor, you might have claimed, permit us, your Vassals, to celebrate your praise, in a rustic Chorus I have prepared for this occasion. The Virtues of so good a master should not remain unsung. _Count._ “A Lover, a Poet, and a Musician!--These titles, Figaro, might perhaps merit our indulgence, if”--}} _Countess._ Let me beg, my Lord, you will not deny their request: in the name of that Love you once had for me. _Count._ And have still, Madam. _Figaro._ Join with me, my friends. _Omnes._ My Lord. _Susan._ Why should your Lordship refuse Eulogiums which you merit so well? _Count._ Oh the Traitress. (_Aside_) Well, well,--I consent. _Figaro._ Look at her, my Lord; never could a more beauteous Bride better prove the greatness of the sacrifice you have made. _Susan._ Oh do not speak of my Beauty, but of his Lordship’s Virtues. _Count._ My Virtues!--Yes, yes,--I see they understand each other. (_Aside_) Who can tell me where is Marcelina? _Agnes._ I met her, my Lord, just now, in the close walk by the park wall, along with Doctor Bartholo. She seemed in a passion, and the Doctor tried to pacify her. I heard her mention my Cousin Figaro’s name. _Count._ (_Aside_) No Cousin yet, my dear; and perhaps never may be.