Peep from thy window and tell,
Fairest of flowers, Isabel.
Lope (aside). Pebbles thrown up at the window too! But I’ll say nothing, for all sakes. (Aloud.) What foolery!
Cres. Boys! Boys! (Aside.) To call her very name too! If it weren’t for Don Lope—
Juan (going). I’ll teach them—
Cres. Holloa, lad, whither away?
Juan. To see for a dish—
Cres. They’ll see after that. Sit still where thou art.
Song (within).