Cres. And Mayor of Zalamea. Within there!
Enter Constables.
Take him to prison.
Juan. Your own son, sir?
Cres. Ay, sir, my own father, if he transgressed the law I am made guardian of. Off with him! (They carry off Juan.) So I shall keep him out of harm’s way at least. And now for a little rest. (He lays by his wand.)
Lope. (calling within). Stop! Stop!
Cres. Who’s that calling without? Don Lope!
Enter Lope.
Lope. Ay, Peter, and on a very confounded business too. But at least I would not put up any where but at your friendly house.
Cres. You are too good. But, indeed, what makes you back, sir, so suddenly?