Fran. Rare News,—we are all free and ransom’d! All’s well, and the Man has his Mare again.
Isa. You still forget your Duty and your Distance.
Fran. A pox of your troublesom Honour; a man can’t be overjoy’d in quiet for’t.
Enter Baltazer and Sebastian.
Seb. Sure, I am not mistaken, this is the House of my Son Antonio.
Bal. Let it be whose house ‘twill, I think the Devil’s broke loose in’t.
Seb.—Or the Turks; for I have yet met with ne’er a Christian thing in’t.
Fran. Hah,—do I dream, or is that my Father-in-law, and Signior Sebastian?
Ant. My Father here?
Car. Baltazer! [Aside.