Don F. Say, Fabio, what is't?
Fab. Pray, sir, allow me
This night to think, whether it be fit or no
To tell it you; since 'tis a thing relates not,
As I conceive, to you nor to your business;
And yet, in the concernments of another,
May trouble you.
Don F. Be not o'erwise, I prythee. I will know
What 'tis, since you have raised curiosity
By such grimaces.
Fab. You must be obey'd; but pray remember, sir,
If afterwards I am call'd fool for my pains,
Who made me so: but since I do not only
Expect the fool, but ready to be thought
A madman too, ere I have done my story,
In this I will be wilful, not to tell it
Till y' are abed, that I may run away—
So if you long to hear it, hasten thither.
[Exit Fabio, as to the chamber within.
Don F. Content, i'faith; you ask no great compliance. [Exit.
Scene changes to the room in Zancho's house. Enter Don Zancho; and Chichon, as at home, halting.
Don Z. We're well come off from danger; would we were
But half as well from Blanca's jealousy.
Chi. Speak for yourself; I never came off worse.
A pox upon your venery, it has made me
Another Vulcan. [He halts about, grumbling.
Don Z. Go, rest to-night, or grumble, as you please;
But do not think limping will serve your turn
To-morrow: faith, I'll make you stir your stumps.
Think you a lover of my temper likely
To sit down by it so?