Don O. Will you allow me for a moment, sir,
To step into my house, and read a letter? [Bowing to Antonio.
Don A. I'll wait upon you in, and stay your leisure.
[Exeunt all but Diego.
Diego. These little black books do more devils raise
Than all the figures of the conjurors.
This is some missive from the heroine:
If it ends not in fighting, I'll be hang'd;
It is the method of their dear romances,
And persons of their rank make love by book.
Curse o'[60] th' inventor of that damn'd device
Of painting words, and speaking to our eyes!
Had I a hundred daughters, by this light,
Not one of 'em should ever read or write.
Enter Flora, and seems to go away in haste.
Here she comes again. 'Twas a quick despatch.
A word, Flora, or a kind glance at least;
What, grown cruel?
Flo. Diego, nobody w' you?[61]
This is no time for fooling, friend.
Diego. Nay, if you be so serious, fare you well.
But, now I think on't better, I'll do th' honours
Of our street, and bring you to the end on't.
Flo. I shall be well help'd up with such a squire.
If some wandering knight should chance to assault you,
To bear away your damsel, what would you do?
Diego. I'd use no other weapon but a torch:
I'd put aside your veil, show him your face,
That, I suppose, would guard us both.