SCENE I.--Don DIEGO'S _House in the morning.

_Enter_ Don DIEGO _in a Spanish habit, and_ Mrs. CAUTION.

_Don._ Have you had a Spanish care of the honour of my family? that is to say, have you kept my daughter close in my absence, as I directed?

_Mrs. Caut._ I have sir, but it was as much as I could do.

_Don._ I knew that; for 'twas as much as I could do to keep up her mother;--I that have been in Spain, look you.

_Mrs. Caut._ Nay 'tis a hard task to keep up an Englishwoman.

_Don._ As hard as it is for those who are not kept up to be honest, look you, _con licencia_, sister.

_Mrs. Caut._ How now, brother! I am sure my husband never kept me up.

_Don._ I knew that, therefore I cried _con licencia_, sister, as the Spaniards have it.

_Mrs. Caut._ But you Spaniards are too censorious, brother.

_Don._ You Englishwomen, sister, give us too much cause, look you;--but you are sure my daughter has not seen a man since my departure?

_Mrs. Caut._ No, not so much as a churchman.

_Don._ As a churchman! _voto!_ I thank you for that; not a churchman! not a churchman!

_Mrs. Caut._ No, not so much as a churchman; but of any, one would think one might trust a churchman.

_Don._ No, we are bold enough in trusting them with our souls, I'll never trust them with the body of my daughter, look you, _guarda!_ You see what comes of trusting churchmen here in England; and 'tis because the women govern the families, that chaplains are so much in fashion. Trust a churchman!--trust a coward with your honour, a fool with your secret, a gamester with your purse, as soon as a priest with your wife or daughter; look you, _guarda!_ I am no fool, look you.

_Mrs. Caut._ Nay, I know you are a wise man, brother.

_Don._ Why, sister, I have been fifteen years in Spain for it, at several times, look you: now in Spain, he is wise enough that is grave, politic enough that says little, and honourable enough that is jealous; and though I say it, that should not say it, I am as grave, grum, and jealous, as any Spaniard breathing.

_Mrs. Caut._ I know you are, brother.

_Don._ And will be a Spaniard in everything still, and will not conform, not I, to their ill-favoured English customs, for I will wear my Spanish habit still, I will stroke my Spanish whiskers still, and I will eat my Spanish _olio_ still; and my daughter shall go a maid to her husband's bed, let the English custom be what 'twill: I would fain see any finical, cunning, insinuating monsieur of the age, debauch, or steal away my daughter. But, well, has she seen my cousin? how long has he been in England?

_Mrs. Caut._ These three days.

_Don._ And she has seen him, has she? I was contented he should see her, intending him for her husband; but she has seen nobody else upon your certain knowledge?

_Mrs. Caut._ No, no, alas! how should she? 'tis impossible she should.

_Don._ Where is her chamber? pray let me see her.

_Mrs. Caut._ You'll find her, poor creature, asleep, I warrant you: or, if awake, thinking no hurt, nor of your coming this morning.

_Don._ Let us go to her, I long to see her, poor innocent wretch. [_Exeunt._