While Isabel and your Juana rest,
You and I, Manuel, will steal into
The little village nestled there below,
And of such travellers as come this way,
Demand (our own all gone) a scanty living,
By fair entreaty, not by violence;
Until, pursuit giv’n up, we may retreat
Elsewhere, to live upon what little means
Injustice leaves us.
Man. Gil, ’tis nothing new