Juan. I wonder, father, that, rich as you are, you still submit yourself to these nuisances.
Cres. Why, boy, how could I help them?
Juan. You know; by buying a patent of Gentility.
Cres. A patent of Gentility! upon thy life now dost think there’s a soul who doesn’t know that I’m no gentleman at all, but just a plain farmer? What’s the use of my buying a patent of Gentility, if I can’t buy the gentle blood along with it! will any one think me a bit more of a gentleman for buying fifty patents? Not a whit; I should only prove I was worth so many thousand royals, not that I had gentle blood in my veins, which can’t be bought at any price. If a fellow’s been bald ever so long, and buys him a fine wig, and claps it on; will his neighbours think it is his own hair a bit the more? No, they will say, ‘So and so has a fine wig; and, what’s more, he must have paid handsomely for it too.’ But they know his bald pate is safe under it all the while. That’s all he gets by it.
Juan. Nay, sir, he gets to look younger and handsomer, and keeps off sun and cold.
Cres. Tut! I’ll have none of your wig honour at any price. My grandfather was a farmer, so was my father, so is yours, and so shall you be after him. Go, call your sister.
Enter Isabel and Ines.
Oh, here she is. Daughter, our gracious king (whose life God save these thousand years!) is on his way to be crowned at Lisbon; thither the troops are marching from all quarters, and among others that fine veteran Flanders regiment, commanded by the famous Don Lope de Figueroa, will march into Zalamea, and be quartered here to-day; some of the soldiers in my house. Is it not as well you should be out of the way?
Isab. Sir, ’twas upon this very errand I came to you, knowing what nonsense I shall have to hear if I stay below. My cousin and I can go up to the garret, and there keep so close, the very sun shall not know of our whereabout.