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over the whole figure: to those who have a taste for the whimsical and ridiculous, it would be invaluable. Don't you perceive it?

Bar. Not very sure.

Countess. Not sure! Look at it again. See how the eyes are turned languishingly aside, as if he were repeating, "Dear gentle idol of a heart too fond." (Mimicking the Baron's natural voice.)

Hov. Ha, ha, ha! Your mimickry is excellent, Countess. Is it not, Friend Johnadab?

Bar. O, vasht comical.

Hov. (aside to him.) She has a good talent.

Bar. (aside.) Shrewd witch! The words of my last sonnet, indeed; but I did not repeat them so.

Hov. (aloud.) Though you are an admirable mimick, Madam, my Friend Johnadab does not think your imitation of the Baron entirely correct.

Countess. (alarmed.) He knows the Baron then; I have been very imprudent.—But pray don't suppose I meant any disrespect to the worthy Baron, whom I esteem very much.

Bar. O vasht much!

Hov. Be not uneasy, Madam; my friend will be secret, and loves a joke mightily.

Countess. I'll trust, then, to his honour: and since he does not like my imitation of the Baron, he shall have it from one who does it better than I. Jeanetta, amuse this worthy gentleman by repeating the Baron's last sonnet.