Leo. None of his own Sir,
Which makes him put that right upon his Brother
Don Zanchio's child[ren]: one of which I am,
And therefore do not much err.
Phil. Still ye do Sir,
For neither has Don Zanchio any son;
A Daughter, and a rare one is his heir,
Which though I [n]ever was so blest to see,
Yet I have heard great good of.
Theo. Urge no further,
He is ashamed, and blushes.
Phil. Sir,
If it might import you to conceal your self,
I ask your mercy, I have been so curious:
Leo. Alas! I must ask yours Sir: for these lies,
Yet they were useful ones; for by the claiming
Such noble parents, I believ'd your bounties
Would shew more gracious: The plain truth is Gentlemen,
I am Don Zanchio's Stewards son, a wild boy,
That for the fruits of his unhappiness,
Is faign to seek the wars.
Theo. This is a lie too.
If I have any ears.
Phil. Why?
Theo. Mark his language,
And ye shall find it of too sweet a relish
For one of such a breed: I'll pawn my hand,
This is no boy.
Phil. No boy? what would you have him?
Theo. I know, no boy: I watcht how fearfully,
And yet how suddainly he cur'd his lies,
The right wit of a Woman: Now I am sure.