Mal. The night (though) shall be mine. [Exeunt.
Scæna Quarta.
Enter Clara, and Bobadilla with Letters.
Cla. What said he, sirrah?
Bob. Little, or nothing: faith I saw him not,
Nor will not: he doth love a strumpet, Mistriss,
Nay, keeps her spitefully, under the Constables nose,
It shall be justified by the Gentleman
Your brothers Master that is now within
A practising: there are your Letters: come
You shall not cast your self away, while I live,
Nor will I venture my Right worshipful place
In such a business—here's your Mother, down:
And he that loves you: another 'gates fellow, I wish,
If you had any grace.
Enter Eugenia and Sayavedra.
Cla. Well rogue.
Bob. I'll in, to see Don Lucio manage, he'll make
A pretty piece of flesh, I promise you,
He does already handle his weapon finely. [Exit.
Eug. She knows your love, Sir, and the full allowance
Her Father and my self approve it with,
And I must tell you, I much hope it hath
Wrought some impression by her alteration;
She sighs, and saies, forsooth, and cries heigh-ho,
She'll take ill words o' th' Steward, and the Servants,
Yet answer affably, and modestly:
Things Sir, not usual with her: there she is,
Change some few words.