Flor. Let him consider my Youth, Beauty and Fortune; which ought not to be thrown away on his Age and Jointure.
Pedro. ’Tis true, he’s not so young and fine a Gentleman as that Belvile—but what Jewels will that Cavalier present you with? those of his Eyes and Heart?
Hell. And are not those better than any Don Vincentio has brought from the Indies?
Pedro. Why how now! Has your Nunnery-breeding taught you to understand the Value of Hearts and Eyes?
Hell. Better than to believe Vincentio deserves Value from any woman—He may perhaps encrease her Bags, but not her Family.
Pedro. This is fine—Go up to your Devotion, you are not design’d for the Conversation of Lovers.
Hell. Nor Saints yet a while I hope. [Aside.] Is’t not enough you make a Nun of me, but you must cast my Sister away too, exposing her to a worse confinement than a religious Life?
Pedro. The Girl’s mad—Is it a Confinement to be carry’d into the Country, to an antient Villa belonging to the Family of the Vincentio’s these five hundred Years, and have no other Prospect than that pleasing one of seeing all her own that meets her Eyes—a fine Air, large Fields and Gardens, where she may walk and gather Flowers?
Hell. When? By Moon-Light? For I’m sure she dares not encounter with the heat of the Sun; that were a Task only for Don Vincentio and his Indian Breeding, who loves it in the Dog-days—And if these be her daily Divertisements, what are those of the Night? to lie in a wide Moth-eaten Bed-Chamber with Furniture in Fashion in the Reign of [King Sancho the First]; the Bed that which his Forefathers liv’d and dy’d in.
Pedro. Very well.