Mel. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee to marry her! I was blind to all but her scorn!—deaf to all but my passion and my rage! Give me back my poverty and my honor!
Beau. It is too late,—you must marry her! and this day. I have a story already coined, and sure to pass current. This Damas suspects thee,—he will set the police to work!—thou wilt be detected—Pauline will despise and execrate thee. Thou wilt be sent to the common gaol as a swindler.
Mel. Fiend!
Beau. And in the heat of the girl’s resentment (you know of what resentment is capable) and the parents’ shame, she will be induced to marry the first that offers—even perhaps your humble servant.
Mel. You! No; that were worse—for thou hast no mercy! I will marry her.—I will keep my oath. Quick, then, with the damnable invention thou art hatching;—quick, if thou wouldst not have me strangle thee or myself.
Gla. What a tiger! Too fierce for a prince; he ought to have been the Grand Turk.
Beau. Enough—I will dispatch; be prepared.
[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS.
Enter DAMAS with two swords.
Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your excuse. I have brought you a couple of dictionaries; let us see if your highness can find out the Latin for bilbo.