Don. What a fooling's here still among you, voto!
Mons. So, there he is with you, voto!—Turn out, turn out; I vow and swear you shall turn out. [Takes him by the shoulder.
Don. Well, shall I see her dance it to the violin at last?
Ger. Yes, yes, sir; what do you think I teach her for?
Mons. Go, go, turn out.—[Exit Don Diego.] And you too, aunt.
Mrs. Caut. Seriously, nephew, I shall not budge; royally, I shall not.
Mons. Royally, you must, aunt: come.
Mrs. Caut. Pray hear me, nephew.
Mons. I will not hear you.
Mrs. Caut. 'Tis for your sake I stay: I must not suffer you to be wronged.