Isab. Oh, sir, do not mar the grace of a good deed by poor compliment, and so make me less mindful of the real thanks I owe you.
Capt. Wit and modesty kiss each other, as well they may, in that lovely face. (Kneels.)
Isab. Heavens! my father!
Enter Crespo and Juan with swords.
Cres. How is this, sir? I am alarmed by cries of murder in my house—am told you have pursued a poor man up to my daughter’s room; and, when I get here expecting to find you killing a man, I find you courting a woman.
Capt. We are all born subjects to some dominion—soldiers especially to beauty. My sword, though justly raised against this man, as justly fell at this lady’s bidding.
Cres. No lady, sir, if you please; but a plain peasant girl—my daughter.
Juan (aside). All a trick to get at her. My blood boils. (Aloud to Captain.) I think, sir, you might have seen enough of my father’s desire to serve you to prevent your requiting him by such an affront as this.
Cres. And, pray, who bid thee meddle, boy? Affront! what affront? The soldier affronted his captain; and if the captain has spared him for thy sister’s sake, pray what hast thou to say against it?