Mons. Pray, good Spanish uncle, have but patience to hear me. Suppose—I say, suppose he had done, done, done the feat to your daughter.
Don. How! done the feat! done the feat: done the feat! en hora mala!
Mons. I say, suppose, suppose—
Don. Suppose!
Mons. I say, suppose he had, for I do but suppose it; well, I am ready to marry her, however. Now marriage is as good a solder for cracked female honour as blood; and can't you suffer the shame but for a quarter of an hour, till the parson has married us? and then if there be any shame, it becomes mine; for here in England, the father has nothing to do with the daughter's business, honour, what d'ye call't, when once she's married, d'ye see.
Don. England! what d'ye tell me of England? I'll be a Spaniard still, voto á mi honra! and I will be revenged.—Pedro! Juan! Sanchez! [Calls at the door.
Re-enter Mrs. Caution, followed by Flirt and Flounce, in vizard masks.
Mrs. Caut. What's the matter, brother?
Don. Pedro! Sanchez! Juan!—but who are these, sister? are they not men in women's clothes? what make they here?
Mrs. Caut. They are relations, they say, of my cousin's, who pressed in when I let in the parson; they say my cousin invited 'em to his wedding.