GUI. He died, that is, in giving birth to me?

FID. Aye, if you like,--you bear as much resemblance
To him as to your mother's husband, surely.

GUI. Take care, Fidelio!

FID. [Lightly] So! Then it angers you
Apollo should be deemed your sire! I told you
[Sadly.] You did not care for music!

GUI. You are a sly fool,
My merry friend. What hide you under the cloak?

FID. Why, 'tis a little patch of snow the sun
Would lay too hot a hand on.

GUI. By my life,--
And what are you that you can keep the sun
From shining where it will?

FID. Why, by your life,--
And a foul oath it is!--why, by your life,
I am a cloud,--that is an easy riddle.



Scene 2