_Countess._ How! Figaro! Can you consent? _Figaro._ And why not, Madam? _Susan._ But if you can, sir, do you think I-- _Figaro._ Nay, my Charmer, do not imagine I would wish thee to grant him any thing thou wishest to refuse--But first we must dress up the Page in your cloaths, my dear Susan--, he is to be your Representative. _Countess._ The Page! _Susan._ He is gone. _Figaro._ Is he?--Perhaps so. But a whistle from me will bring him back. (_The Countess seems pleased._) _Susan._ So! Now Figaro’s happy!--Plots and Contrivances-- _Figaro._ Two! Three! Four at a time! Embarrass’d! Involv’d! Perplex’d!--Leave me to unravel them. I was born to thrive in Courts. _Susan._ I have heard the Trade of a Courtier is not so difficult as some pretend. _Figaro._ Ask for every thing that falls, seize every thing in your power, and accept every thing that’s offered--There is the whole art and mystery in three words. _Countess._ Well, but the Count, Figaro? _Figaro._ Permit me, Madam, to manage him--And first, the better to secure _my_ property, I shall begin by making him dread the loss of _his own_.--{{“Oh, what pleasure shall I have in cutting out Employment for him during the whole day!--To see him waste that time in jealously-watching your conduct, Madam, which he meant to employ in amorous dalliance with my sweet Bride--To behold him running here and there and he does not know where, and hunting a monstrous Shadow, which he dreads to find, yet longs to grasp.”}} _Countess._ Surely, Figaro, you are out of your wits. _Figaro._ Pardon, my dear Lady, but it is your good Lord who will soon be out of his wits. _Countess._ But as you know him to be so jealous, how will you dare?-- _Figaro._ Oh, Madam! Were he not jealous, my scheme would not be worth a doit: but it will now serve a double purpose--The Jewel which Possession has made him neglect, will again become valuable, if once he can be brought to dread its loss. _Countess._ To confess the truth, Figaro, your project exactly corresponds with the one I meant to practise--An anonymous Letter must be sent, informing him, that a Gallant, meaning to profit by his neglect-- _Figaro._ And absence--is at present with his beauteous Countess----The thing is already done, Madam. _Countess._ How!--Have you dared to trifle thus with a Woman of Honor? _Figaro._ Oh, Madam, it is only with a Woman of Honor I should presume to take a liberty like this; least my Joke should happen to prove a Reality. _Countess_ (_Smiles_). You don’t want an agreeable excuse, Figaro. _Figaro._ The hour of performing the marriage Ceremony will arrive post haste--he will be disconcerted, and having no good excuse ready, will never venture in your presence, Madam, to oppose our union. _Susan._ But if he will not, Marcelina will; and thou wilt be condemned to pay--