Car. Rather run headlong into fire and flames; rather be torn with pincers bit from bit; rather be broil'd like martyrs upon gridirons——But I am wrong; this sounds like passion, and heaven can tell I am not angry: Madam, I think we have no farther business together; your most humble servant.
Leo. Farewel t'ye, Sir.
Car. Come along.
[To Sancho.
[Goes to the scene and returns.
Yet once more before I go (lest you should doubt my resolution) may I starve, perish, rot, be blasted, dead, damn'd, or any other thing that men or gods can think of, if on any occasion whatever, civil or military, pleasure or business, love or hate, or any other accident of life, I, from this moment, change one word or look with you.
[Going off, Sancho claps him on the back.
Leo. Content: come away, Jacinta.
Carlos returns.
Car. Yet one word, Madam, if you please; I have a little thing here belongs to you, a foolish bawble I once was fond of. [Twitching her picture from his breast.] Will you accept a trifle from your servant?