Ger. But does she enjoin you to this severe penance?—such I am sure it is to you.
Mons. No, no: 'tis by the compulsion of the starched fop her father, who is so arrant a Spaniard, he would kill you and his daughter, if he knew who you were: therefore have a special care to dissemble well. [Draws him aside.
Ger. I warrant you.
Mons. Dear Gerrard—Go, little master, and call my cousin: tell her her dancing-master is here. [Exit the Black]—I say, dear Gerrard, faith, I'm obliged to you for the trouble you have had. When I sent you, I intended a jest indeed; but did not think it would have been so dangerous a jest: therefore pray forgive me.
Ger. I do, do heartily forgive you.
Mons. But can you forgive me for sending you at first, like a fool as I was? 'Twas ill done of me: can you forgive me?
Ger. Yes, yes, I do forgive you.
Mons. Well, thou art a generous man, I vow and swear, to come and take upon you all this trouble, danger, and shame, to be thought a paltry dancing-master; and all this to preserve a lady's honour and life, who intended to abuse you. But I take the obligation upon me.
Ger. Pish! pish! you are not obliged to me at all.
Mons. Faith, but I am strangely obliged to you.