OCT. Ah! my dear Scapin, I am in despair; I am lost; I am the most
unfortunate of mortals.

SCA. How is that?

OCT. Don't you know anything of what has happened to me?

SCA. No.

OCT. My father is just returning with Mr. Geronte, and they want to
marry me.

SCA. Well, what is there so dreadful about that?

OCT. Alas! you don't know what cause I have to be anxious.

SCA. No; but it only depends on you that I should soon know; and I am
a man of consolation, a man who can interest himself in the troubles
of young people.

OCT. Ah! Scapin, if you could find some scheme, invent some plot, to
get me out of the trouble I am in, I should think myself indebted to
you for more than life.

SCA. To tell you the truth, there are few things impossible to me
when I once set about them. Heaven has bestowed on me a fair enough
share of genius for the making up of all those neat strokes of mother
wit, for all those ingenious gallantries to which the ignorant and
vulgar give the name of impostures; and I can boast, without vanity,
that there have been very few men more skilful than I in expedients