Mask. You shall never make me hold my tongue, except you conjure me to silence: What! did you not call me to look into a crystal, and there shewed me a fair garden, and a Spaniard stalking in his narrow breeches, and walking underneath a window? I should know him again amongst a thousand.
Beat. Don Melchor, in my conscience, madam.
Bel. This rogue will invent more stories of me, than e'er were fathered upon Lilly!
Mask. Will you confess, then? do you think I'll stain my honour to swallow a lie for you?
Bel. Well, a pox on you, I am an astrologer.
Beat. O, are you so, sir?
Theo. I hope then, learned sir, as you have been curious in enquiring into my secrets, you will be so much a cavalier as to conceal them.
Bel. You need not doubt me, madam; I am more in your power than you can be in mine: Besides, if I were once known in town, the next thing, for aught I know, would be to bring me before the fathers of the inquisition.
Beat. Well, madam, what do you think of me now? I have betrayed you, I have sold you! how can you ever make me amends for this imputation? I did not think you could have used me so——
[Cries, and claps her hands at her.
Theo. Nay, pr'ythee, Beatrix, do not cry; I'll leave off my new gown to-morrow, and thou shalt have it.