Don. His name! why, 'tis an easy matter to tell you a false name, I hope.
Mrs. Caut. So! must you teach him to cheat us?
Don. Why did you say my questions were not shrewd questions, then?
Mrs. Caut. And why would you not let me ask him the question, then? Brother, brother, ever while you live, for all your Spanish wisdom, let an old woman make discoveries: the young fellows cannot cheat us in anything, I'd have you to know. Set your old woman still to grope out an intrigue, because, you know, the mother found her daughter in the oven. A word to the wise, brother.
Don. Come, come, leave this tattling: he has dishonoured my family, debauched my daughter; and what if he could excuse himself? The Spanish proverb says, excuses neither satisfy creditors nor the injured. The wounds of honour must have blood and wounds, St. Jago para mi! [Kisses the cross of his sword, and runs at Gerrard.
Hip. O hold, dear father! and I'll confess all.
Ger. She will not, sure, after all. [Aside.
Hip. My cousin sent him; because, as he said, he would have me recover my dancing a little before our wedding, having made a vow he would never marry a wife who could not dance a corant. I am sure I was unwilling; but he would have him come, saying I was to be his wife as soon as you came, and therefore expected obedience from me.
Don. Indeed, the venture is most his, and the shame would be most his; for I know here in England, 'tis not the custom for the father to be much concerned what the daughter does; but I will be a Spaniard still.
Hip. Did not you hear him say last night he would send me one this morning?