[Exit.
Enter Guillen.
Guil. Oh how thrice welcome is my lady’s favour,
Sent to me by the hand of such a friend!
How but in such an attitude as this
Dare I receive it? (Kneels.)
Lope. Rise, Don Guillen, rise:
Flowers are but fading favours that a breath
Can change and wither.
Guil. What mean you by this?