Bar. Mathias, as thou lovest me, not a word.280
Math. Well, let it pass, another time shall serve. [Exit.
Lod. Barabas, is not that the widow's son?
Bar. I, and take heed, for he hath sworn your death.
Lod. My death? what, is the base-born peasant mad?
Bar. No, no, but happily he stands in fear Of that which you, I think, ne'er dream upon, My daughter here, a paltry silly girl.
Lod. Why, loves she Don Mathias?
Bar. Doth she not with her smiling answer you?
Abig. He has my heart; I smile against my will. [Aside.290
Lod. Barabas, thou know'st I've loved thy daughter long.