THE
MISTAKE.
[ACT I. SCENE I.]
SCENE, the Street.
Enter Carlos and Sancho.
Car. I Tell thee, I am satisfy'd, I'm in love enough to be suspicious of every body.
San. And yet methinks, Sir, you shou'd leave me out.
Car. It may be so; I can't tell: but I'm not at ease. If they don't make a knave, at least they will make a fool of thee.
San. I don't believe a word on't: but good faith, Master, your love makes somewhat of you; I don't know what 'tis; but methinks when you suspect me, you don't seem a man of half those parts I us'd to take you for. Look in my face, 'tis round and comely, not one hollow line of a villain in it: men of my fabrick don't use to be suspected for knaves; and when you take us for fools, we never take you for wise men. For my part, in this present case, I take myself to be mighty deep. A stander-by, Sir, sees more than a gamester. You are pleased to be jealous of your poor Mistress without a cause, she uses you but too well, in my humble opinion; she sees you, and talks with you, till I'm quite tir'd on't sometimes; and your rival that you are so scar'd about, forces a visit upon her about once in a fortnight.
Car. Alas, thou art ignorant of these affairs, he that's the civilest received is often the least car'd for: women appear warm to one, to hide a flame for another. Lorenzo in short appears too compos'd of late to be a rejected lover, and the indifference he shews upon the favours I seem to receive from her, poisons the pleasure I else shou'd taste in them, and keeps me upon a perpetual rack. No——I would fain see some of his jealous transports, have him fire at the sight of me, contradict me whenever I speak, affront me wherever he meets me, challenge me, fight me——