Enter a Poet with verses.
1 Serv. Now, what's your business, friend?
Poet. An epithalamium, to the noble bridegrooms.
1 Serv. Let me see; what's here? as I live,
[Takes it.
Nothing but downright bawdry: Sirrah, rascal,
Is this an age for ribaldry in verse;
When every gentleman in town speaks it
With so much better grace, than thou canst write it?
I'll beat thee with a stave of thy own rhymes.
Poet. Nay, good sir—[Runs off, and Exit.
2 Serv. Peace, they are here.
[Enter Don RODORICK, Don MANUEL, JULIA, and Company.
1 Serv. My lord looks sullenly, and fain would hide it.
2 Serv. Howe'er he weds Don Manuel's sister, yet I fear he's hardly reconciled to him.
Jul. I tremble at it still.