Don F. There's no such thing in nature left as better,
Julio; the worst proves always true with me.
Yet prythee, tell, how does that noble beauty
(Wherein high quality is so richly stamp'd)
Comport her servile metamorphosis?
Don J. As one whose body, as divine as 'tis,
Seems bound to obey exactly such a mind,
And gently take whate'er shape that imposes.
Don F. Ah, let us mention her no more, my Julio!
Ideas flow upon me too abstracted
From her unfaithfulness, and may corrupt
The firmest reason. Above all, be sure
I do not see her so transform'd, lest that
Transform me too: I'll rather pass with Blanca
Both for unkind and rude, and leave Valencia
Without seeing her.
Don J. Leave that to me, Fernando;
But if you intend the honour to my sister,
It will be time: the night draws on apace.
Don F. Come, let's begone then.
[As they are going out, enter Fabio hastily.
Fab. Stay, sir, for heaven's sake, stay——
Don F. Why, what's the matter?
Fab. That will surprise you both, as much as me.
Don Pedro de Mendoça is below,
Newly alighted.
Don F. Ha! What say'st thou, sirrah?
Elvira's father?