Cres. Simply because yesterday you didn’t ask me. To-day you are courteous, and I am shy.
Lope. Yesterday you were all thistle and hedgehog; to-day as soft as silk.
Cres. It is only because you yourself were so. I always answer in the key I’m spoken to; yesterday you were all out of tune, and so was I. It is my principle to swear with the swearer, and pray with the saint; all things to all men. So much so as I declare to you your bad leg kept me awake all night. And, by the by, I wish, now we are about it, you would tell me which of your legs it is that ails you: for, not knowing, I was obliged to make sure by swearing at both of mine: and one at a time is quite enough.
Lope. Well, Pedro, you will perhaps think I have some reason for my tetchiness, when I tell you that for thirty years during which I have served in the Flemish wars through summer’s sun, and winter’s frost, and enemy’s bullets, I have never known what it is to be an hour without pain.
Cres. God give you patience to bear it!
Lope. Pish! can’t I give it myself?
Cres. Well, let him leave you alone then!
Lope. Devil take patience!
Cres. Ah, let him! he wants it; only it’s too good a job for him.