San. Yet I do say it, and will say it, especially as lords go now. Come, there's no more to be said, Lopez; but take back your trumpery, I mean your daughter; or I'll send for the scavenger with a dung-cart.
Lop. This is insufferable; and by this honourable beard—
San. Which I'll pull off by handfuls, if you swagger—
Lop. [Aside, to Dal.] What shall we do with this madman, daughter?
Dal. You should send for an alguazil to order him, if I were sure that the Conde would come on again; but, since that's uncertain, go in, father, and let me alone with him: if I make him your son-in-law, that's punishment sufficient for him.
Lop. Well, cavalier, you may chance to hear of me. [Exit Lopez.
San. Yes, and of your daughter too, in the next lampoon, I doubt not.—[To Dalinda.] Why don't you follow him? What do you and I together, madam countess?
Dal. Nay, I know not.
San. Nor I neither.
Dal. I hope you will not beat me. [She looks languishingly upon him.