Chi. Curse on thee, hold thy tongue! Dost thou not see,
Who stands against that wall?
Fran. Away, sauce-box!
[She, thrusting him off, goes on. Don Zancho sets himself just in her way, and makes as if he would lie down in it.
Don Z. Pass, trample on me, do, trample—but hear me!
Fran. These shoes have been my lady's, and she'd ne'er
Forgive it, should they do you so much honour. [Showing her foot.
'Tis thou hast caus'd all this. [Aside, turning to Chichon.
Chi. Fire on thy tongue!
Don Z. Ah, my Francisca, if there be no hopes
Of pardon, nor of pity, yet at least
Let Blanca, for her own sake, be so just
As not to give me cruel death unheard:
Do you your part at least, and do but give her
This letter from me—
[He offers her a letter, and she starting back:
Fran. Guarda! that's a thing
She has forbidden with such menaces,
I dare as well become another Porcia,[15]
And eat red burning coals. I had much rather
Consent that, now she's all alone at home,
You should transportedly rush in upon her,
As following me: so possibly you might
Attain your end without exposing me
Who, in that case, know how to act my part
So smartly against you, as shall keep her clear
From all suspicion. But I am to blame
Thus to forget my duty: I'll stay no longer.
[He stops her, and, pulling out a purse of money, puts it into her hand. Francisca offers to restore the purse, but yet holding it fast.