Your servant, fair Martina.
Mar. Servant, sir.
P. Cura. This gentleman is hungry. See thou to it.
Let us have supper.
Mar. ’Twill be ready soon.
P. Cura. And bring a bottle of my Val-de-Peñas
Out of the cellar. Stay; I’ll go myself.
Pray you, Señor, excuse me. [Exit.
Hyp. (beckoning off.) Hist! Martina!
One word with you. Bless me! what handsome eyes!