Lope. Traitor!—I say that he’s the traitor
Whoever—
Urr. Madman, can you not forbear
When your grey-headed father holds your sword!
Lope. And in so doing robs me of the honour
I never got from him.
Urr. Oh! ruffian!
But if this graceless son will not respect
His father, my white hairs appeal to you,
Don Guillen.