SCENE II.—_Zalamea, before CRESPO’S House.

_Enter DON MENDO and NUÑO._

_Men._ How’s the gray horse?

_Nuñ._ You may as well call him the _Dun_; so screw’d he can’t move a leg.

_Men._ Did you have him walk’d gently about?

_Nuñ._ Walk’d about! when it’s corn he wants, poor devil!

_Men._ And the dogs?

_Nuñ._ Ah, now, they might do if you’d give them the horse to eat.

_Men._ Enough, enough—it has struck three. My gloves and tooth-pick!

_Nuñ._ That sinecure tooth-pick!

_Men._ I tell you I would brain anybody who insinuated to me I had not dined—and on game too. But tell me, Nuño, haven’t the soldiers come into Zalamea this afternoon?

_Nuñ._ Yes, sir.

_Men._ What a nuisance for the commonalty who have to quarter them!

_Nuñ._ But worse for those who haven’t.

_Men._ What do you mean, sir?

_Nuñ._ I mean the squires. Ah, sir; if the soldiers aren’t billeted on them, do you know why?

_Men._ Well, why?

_Nuñ._ For fear of being starved—which would be a bad job for the king’s service.

_Men._ God rest my father’s soul, says I, who left me a pedigree and patent all blazon’d in gold and azure, that exempts me from such impositions.

_Nuñ._ I wish he’d left you the gold in a more available shape, however.

_Men._ Though indeed when I come to think of it, I don’t know if I owe him any thanks; considering that unless he had consented to beget me an Hidalgo at once, I wouldn’t have been born at all, for him or any one.

_Nuñ._ Humph! Could you have help’d it?

_Men._ Easily.

_Nuñ._ How, sir?

_Men._ You must know that every one that is born is the essence of the food his parents eat.

_Nuñ._ Oh! Your parents did eat then, sir? You have not inherited _that_ of them, at all events.

_Men._ Which forthwith converts itself into proper flesh and blood—ergo, if my father had been an eater of onions, for instance, he would have begotten me with a strong breath; on which I should have said to him, ‘Hold, I must come of no such nastiness as that, I promise you.’

_Nuñ._ Ah, now I see the old saying is true.

_Men._ What is that?

_Nuñ._ That hunger sharpens wit.

_Men._ Knave, do you insinuate—

_Nuñ._ I only know it is now three o’clock, and we have neither of us yet had any thing but our own spittle to chew.

_Men._ Perhaps so, but there are distinctions of rank. An Hidalgo, sir, has no belly.

_Nuñ._ Oh Lord! that I were an Hidalgo!

_Men._ Possibly; servants must learn moderation in all things. But let me hear no more of the matter; we are under Isabel’s window.

_Nuñ._ There again—If you are so devoted an admirer, why on earth, sir, don’t you ask her in marriage of her father? by doing which you would kill two birds with one stone; get yourself something to eat, and his grandchildren squires.

_Men._ Hold your tongue, sir, it is impious. Am I, an Hidalgo with such a pedigree, to demean myself with a plebeian connexion just for money’s sake?

_Nuñ._ Well, I’ve always heard say a mean father-in-law is best; better stumble on a pebble than run your head against a post. But, however, if you don’t mean marriage, sir, what do you mean?

_Men._ And pray, sir, can’t I dispose of her in a convent in case I get tired of her? But go directly, and tell me if you can get a sight of her.

_Nuñ._ I’m afraid lest her father should get a sight of me.

_Men._ And what if he do, being my man? Go and do as I bid you.

_Nuñ._ (_after going to look_). Come, sir, you owe one meal at least now—she’s at the window with her cousin.

_Men._ Go again, and tell her something about her window being another East, and she a second Sun dawning from it in the afternoon.

(_ISABEL and INES come to the window._)

_Ines._ For heaven’s sake, cousin, let’s stand here and see the soldiers march in.

_Isab._ Not I, while that man is in the way, Ines; you know how I hate the sight of him.

_Ines._ With all his devotion to you!

_Isab._ I wish he would spare himself and me the trouble.

_Ines._ I think you are wrong to take it as an affront.

_Isab._ How would you have me take it?

_Ines._ Why, as a compliment.

_Isab._ What, when I hate the man?

_Men._ Ah! ’pon the honour of an Hidalgo, (which is a sacred oath,) I could have sworn that till this moment the sun had not risen. But why should I wonder? when indeed a second Aurora—

_Isab._ Signor Don Mendo, how often have I told you not to waste your time playing these fool’s antics before my window day after day!

_Men._ If a pretty woman only knew, la! how anger improved its beauty! her complexion needs no other paint than indignation. Go on, go on, lovely one, grow angrier, and lovelier still.

_Isab._ You shan’t have even that consolation; come, Ines.

[_Exit._

_Ines._ Beware of the portcullis, sir knight.

(_Shuts down the blind in his face._)

_Men._ Ines, beauty must be ever victorious, whether advancing or in retreat.

_Enter CRESPO._

_Cres._ That I can never go in or out of my house without that squireen haunting it!

_Nuñ._ Pedro Crespo, sir!

_Men._ Oh—ah—let us turn another way; ’tis an ill-conditioned fellow.

_As he turns, enter JUAN._

_Juan._ That I never can come home but this ghost of an Hidalgo is there to spoil my appetite.

_Nuñ._ His son, sir!

_Men._ He’s worse. (_Turning back._) Oh, Pedro Crespo, good day, Crespo, good man, good day.

[_Exit with NUÑO._

_Cres._ Good day indeed; I’ll make it bad day one of these days with you, if you don’t take care. But how now, Juanito, my boy?

_Juan._ I was looking for you, sir, but could not find you; where have you been?

_Cres._

To the barn, where high and dry, The jolly sheaves of corn do lie, Which the sun, arch-chemist old, Turn’d from black earth into gold, And the swinging flail one day On the barn-floor shall assay, Separating the pure ore From the drossy chaff away. This I’ve been about—And now, Juanito, what hast thou?

_Juan._ Alas, sir, I can’t answer in so good rhyme or reason. I have been playing at fives, and lost every bout.

_Cres._ What signifies if you paid?

_Juan._ But I could not, and have come to you for the money.

_Cres._

Before I give it you, listen to me. There are things two Thou never must do; Swear to more than thou knowest, Play for more than thou owest; And never mind cost, So credit’s not lost.

_Juan._ Good advice, sir, no doubt, that I shall lay by for its own sake as well as for yours. Meanwhile, I have also heard say,

Preach not to a beggar till The beggar’s empty hide you fill.

_Cres._ ’Fore Heaven, thou pay’st me in my own coin. But—

_Enter Sergeant._

_Serg._ Pray, does one Pedro Crespo live hereabout?

_Cres._ Have you any commands for him, if he does?

_Serg._ Yes, to tell him of the arrival of Don Alvaro de Ataide, captain of the troop that has just marcht into Zalamea, and quartered upon him.

_Cres._ Say no more; my house and all I have is ever at the service of the king, and of all who have authority under him. If you will leave his things here, I will see his room is got ready directly; and do you tell his Honour that, come when he will, he shall find me and mine at his service.

_Serg._ Good—he will be here directly.

[_Exit._

_Juan._ I wonder, father, that, rich as you are, you still submit yourself to these nuisances.

_Cres._ Why, boy, how could I help them?

_Juan._ You know; by buying a patent of Gentility.

_Cres._ A patent of Gentility! upon thy life now dost think there’s a soul who doesn’t know that I’m no gentleman at all, but just a plain farmer? What’s the use of my buying a patent of Gentility, if I can’t buy the gentle blood along with it! will any one think me a bit more of a gentleman for buying fifty patents? Not a whit; I should only prove I was worth so many thousand royals, not that I had gentle blood in my veins, which can’t be bought at any price. If a fellow’s been bald ever so long, and buys him a fine wig, and claps it on; will his neighbours think it is his own hair a bit the more? No, they will say, ‘So and so has a fine wig; and, what’s more, he must have paid handsomely for it too.’ But they know his bald pate is safe under it all the while. That’s all he gets by it.

_Juan._ Nay, sir, he gets to look younger and handsomer, and keeps off sun and cold.

_Cres._ Tut! I’ll have none of your wig honour at any price. My grandfather was a farmer, so was my father, so is yours, and so shall you be after him. Go, call your sister.

_Enter ISABEL and INES._

Oh, here she is. Daughter, our gracious king (whose life God save these thousand years!) is on his way to be crowned at Lisbon; thither the troops are marching from all quarters, and among others that fine veteran Flanders regiment, commanded by the famous Don Lope de Figueroa, will march into Zalamea, and be quartered here to-day; some of the soldiers in my house. Is it not as well you should be out of the way?

_Isab._ Sir, ’twas upon this very errand I came to you, knowing what nonsense I shall have to hear if I stay below. My cousin and I can go up to the garret, and there keep so close, the very sun shall not know of our whereabout.

_Cres._ That’s my good girl. Juanito, you wait here to receive them in case they come while I am out looking after their entertainment.

_Isab._ Come, Ines.

_Ines._ Very well— Though I’ve heard in a song what folly ’twould be To try keep in a loft what won’t keep on the tree.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter Captain and Sergeant._

_Serg._ This is the house, sir.

_Capt._ Is my kit come?

_Serg._ Yes, sir, and (_aside_) I’ll be the first to take an inventory of the pretty daughter.

[_Exit._

_Juan._ Welcome, sir, to our house; we count it a great honour to have such a cavalier as yourself for a guest, I assure you. (_Aside._) What a fine fellow! what an air! I long to try the uniform, somehow.

_Capt._ Thank you, my lad.

_Juan._ You must forgive our poor house, which we devoutly wish was a palace for your sake. My father is gone after your supper, sir; may I go and see that your chamber is got ready for you?

_Capt._ Thank you, thank you.

_Juan._ Your servant, sir.

[_Exit._

_Enter Sergeant._

_Capt._ Well, sergeant, where’s the Dulcinea you told me of?

_Serg._ Deuce, take me, sir, if I haven’t been looking everywhere in parlour, bed-room, kitchen, and scullery, up-stairs and down-stairs, and can’t find her out.

_Capt._ Oh, no doubt the old fellow has hid her away for fear of us.

_Serg._ Yes, I ask’d a serving wench, and she confess’d her master had lock’d the girl up in the attic, with strict orders not even to look out so long as we were in the place.

_Capt._ Ah! these clodpoles are all so jealous of the service. And what is the upshot? Why, I, who didn’t care a pin to see her before, shall never rest till I get at her now.

_Serg._ But how, without a blow-up?

_Capt._ Let me see; how shall we manage it?

_Serg._ The more difficult the enterprise, the more glory in success, you know, in love as in war.

_Capt._ I have it!

_Serg._ Well, sir?

_Capt._ You shall pretend—but no, here comes one will serve my turn better.

_Enter REBOLLEDO and CHISPA._

_Reb._ (_to CHISPA_). There he is; now if I can get him into a good humour—

_Chis._ Speak up then, like a man.

_Reb._ I wish I’d some of your courage; but don’t you leave me while I tackle him. Please your Honour—

_Capt._ (_to Sergeant_). I tell you I’ve my eye on Rebolledo to do him a good turn; I like his spirit.

_Serg._ Ah, he’s one of a thousand.

_Reb._ (_aside_). Here’s luck! Please your Honour—

_Capt._ Oh, Rebolledo—Well, Rebolledo, what is it?

_Reb._ You may know I am a gentleman who has, by ill luck, lost all his estate; all that ever I had, have, shall have, may have, or can have, through all the conjugation of the verb ‘_to have_.’ And I want your Honour—

_Capt._ Well?

_Reb._ To desire the ensign to appoint me roulette-master to the regiment, so I may pay my liabilities like a man of honour.

_Capt._ Quite right, quite right; I will see it done.

_Chis._ Oh, brave captain! Oh, if I only live to hear them all call me Madam Roulette!

_Reb._ Shall I go at once and tell him?

_Capt._ Wait. I want you first to help me in a little plan I have.

_Reb._ Out with it, noble captain. Slow said slow sped, you know.

_Capt._ You are a good fellow; listen. I want to get into that attic there, for a particular purpose.

_Reb._ And why doesn’t your Honour go up at once?

_Capt._ I don’t like to do it in a strange house without an excuse. Now look here; you and I will pretend to quarrel; I get angry and draw my sword, and you run away up-stairs, and I after you, to the attic, that’s all; I’ll manage the rest.

_Chis._ Ah, we get on famously.

_Reb._ I understand. When are we to begin?

_Capt._ Now directly.

_Reb._ Very good. (_In a loud voice._) This is the reward of my services—a rascal, a pitiful scoundrel, is preferred, when a man of honour—a man who has seen service—

_Chis._ Halloa! Rebolledo up! All is not so well.

_Reb._ Who has led you to victory—

_Capt._ This language to me, sir!

_Reb._ Yes, to you, who have so grossly insulted and defrauded—

_Capt._ Silence! and think yourself lucky if I take no further notice of your insolence.

_Reb._ If I restrain myself, it is only because you are my captain, and as such—but ’fore God, if my cane were in my hand—

_Chis._ (_advancing_). Hold! Hold!

_Capt._ I’ll show you, sir, how to talk to me in this way. (_Draws his sword._)

_Reb._ It is before your commission, not you, I retreat.

_Capt._ That shan’t save you, rascal! (_Pursues REBOLLEDO out._)

_Chis._ Oh, I shan’t be Madam Roulette after all. Murder! murder!

[_Exit, calling._