SCENE I.--_A Room in_ Don DIEGO'S _House.

_Enter_ Monsieur de PARIS _without a peruke, with a Spanish hat, a Spanish doublet, stockings, and shoes, but in pantaloons, a waist-belt, and a Spanish dagger in it, and a cravat about his neck._--HIPPOLITA _and_ PRUE _behind laughing._

_Mons._ To see wat a fool love do make of one, _jarni!_ It do metamorphose de brave man in de beast, de sot, de animal.

_Hip._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Mons._ Nay, you may laugh, 'tis ver vell, I am become as ridicule for you as can be, _morbleu!_ I have deform myself into a ugly Spaniard.

_Hip._ Why, do you call this disguising yourself like a Spaniard, while you wear pantaloons still, and the cravat?

_Mons._ But is here not the double doublet, and the Spanish dagger _aussi_?

_Hip._ But 'tis as long as the French sword, and worn like it. But where's your Spanish beard, the thing of most consequence?

_Mons. Jarni!_ do you tink beards are as easy to be had as in the playhouses? non; but if here be no the ugly long Spanish beard, here are, I am certain, the ugly long Spanish ear.

_Hip._ That's very true, ha! ha! ha!

_Mons._ Auh de ingrate, dat de woman is! wen we poor men are your gallants, you laugh at us yourselves, and wen we are your husband, you make all the world laugh at us, _jarni!_--Love, dam love, it makes the man more ridicule, than poverty, poetry, or a new title of honour, _jarni!_

_Enter_ Don DIEGO _and_ Mrs. CAUTION.

_Don._ What! at your _jarnis_ still? _voto!_

_Mons._ Why, _oncle_, you are at your _votos_ still.

_Don._ Nay, I'll allow you to be at your _votos_ too, but not to make the incongruous match of Spanish doublet, and French pantaloons. [_Holding his hat before his pantaloons._

_Mons._ Nay, pray, dear _oncle_, let me unite France and Spain; 'tis the mode of France now, _jarni, voto!_

_Don._ Well, I see I must pronounce: I told you, if you were not dressed in the Spanish habit to-night, you should not marry my daughter to-morrow, look you.

_Mons._ Well! am I not _habillé_ in de Spanish habit? my doublet, ear and hat, leg and feet, are Spanish, that dey are.

_Don._ I told you I was a Spanish _positivo, voto!_

_Mons._ Will you not spare my pantaloon! begar, I will give you one little finger to excuse my pantaloon, da--

_Don._ I have said, look you.

_Mons._ Auh, _cher_ pantaloons! Speak for my pantaloons, cousin. My poor pantaloons are as dear to me as de scarf to de countree capitane, or de new-made officer: therefore have de compassion for my pantaloons, Don Diego, _mon oncle. Hélas! hélas! hélas!_ [_Kneels._

_Don._ I have said, look you, your dress must be Spanish, and your language English: I am _un positivo_.

_Mons._ And must speak base good English too! Ah! _la pitié! hélas!_

_Don._ It must be done; and I will see this great change ere it be dark, _voto!_--Your time is not long; look to't, look you.

_Mons. Hélas! hélas! hélas!_ dat _Espagne_ should conquer _la France_ in England! _Hélas! hélas! hélas!_ [_Exit._

_Don._ You see what pains I take to make him the more agreeable to you, daughter.

_Hip._ But indeed, and indeed, father, you wash the blackamoor white, in endeavouring to make a Spaniard of a monsieur, nay, an English monsieur too; consider that, father: for when once they have taken the French _plie_ (as they call it) they are never to be made so much as Englishmen again, I have heard say.

_Don._ What! I warrant you are like the rest of the young silly baggages of England, that like nothing but what is French? You would not have him reformed, you would have a monsieur to your husband, would you, _cuerno_?

_Hip._ No, indeed, father, I would not have a monsieur to my husband; not I indeed: and I am sure you'll never make my cousin otherwise.

_Don._ I warrant you.

_Hip._ You can't, you can't indeed, father: and you have sworn, you know, he shall never have me, if he does not leave off his monsieurship. Now, as I told you, 'tis as hard for him to cease being a monsieur, as 'tis for you to break a Spanish oath; so that I am not in any great danger of having a monsieur to my husband.

_Don._ Well, but you shall have him for your husband, look you.

_Hip._ Then you will break your Spanish oath.

_Don._ No, I will break him of his French tricks; and you shall have him for your husband, _cuerno!_

_Hip._ Indeed and indeed, father, I shall not have him.

_Don._ Indeed you shall, daughter.

_Hip._ Well, you shall see, father.

_Mrs. Caut._ No, I warrant you, she will not have him, she'll have her dancing-master rather: I know her meaning, I understand her.

_Don._ Thou malicious foolish woman! you understand her!--But I do understand her; she says, I will not break my oath, nor he his French customs; so, through our difference, she thinks she shall not have him: but she shall.

_Hip._ But I shan't.

_Mrs. Caut._ I know she will not have him, because she hates him.

_Don._ I tell you, if she does hate him, 'tis a sign she will have him for her husband; for 'tis not one of a thousand that marries the man she loves, look you. Besides, 'tis all one whether she loves him now or not; for as soon as she's married, she'd be sure to hate him. That's the reason we wise Spaniards are jealous, and only expect, nay, will be sure our wives shall fear us, look you.

_Hip._ Pray, good father and aunt, do not dispute about nothing; for I am sure he will never be my husband to hate.

_Mrs. Caut._ I am of your opinion, indeed; I understand you. I can see as far as another.

_Don._ You! you cannot see so much as through your spectacles!--But I understand her: 'tis her mere desire to marriage makes her say she shall not have him; for your poor young things, when they are once in the teens, think they shall never be married.

_Hip._ Well, father, think you what you will; but I know what I think.

_Re-enter_ Monsieur de PARIS _in the Spanish habit entire, only with a cravat, and followed by the little_ Blackamoor _with a golilla_[62] _in his hand._

_Don._ Come, did not I tell you, you should have him? look you there, he has complied with me, and is a perfect Spaniard.

_Mons._ Ay! ay! I am ugly rogue enough now, sure, for my cousin. But 'tis your father's fault, cousin, that you han't the handsomest, best-dressed man in the nation; a man _bien mis_.

_Don._ Yet again at your French! and a cravat on still! _voto á St. Jago!_ off, off, with it!

_Mons._ Nay, I will ever hereafter speak clownish good English, do but spare me my cravat.

_Don._ I am _un positivo_, look you.

_Mons._ Let me not put on that Spanish yoke, but spare me my cravat; for I love cravat _furieusement_.

_Don._ Again at your _furieusements!_

_Mons._ Indeed I have forgot myself: but have some mercy. [_Kneels._

_Don._ Off, off, off with it, I say! Come, refuse the _ornamento_ principal of the Spanish habit! [_Takes him by the cravat, pulls it off, and the_ Black _puts on the golilla._

_Mons._ Will you have no mercy, no pity? alas! alas! alas! Oh! I had rather put on the English pillory, than that Spanish _golilla_, for 'twill be all a case I'm sure: for when I go abroad, I shall soon have a crowd of boys about me, peppering me with rotten eggs and turnips. _Hélas! hélas!_ [Don DIEGO _puts on the golilla._

_Don. Hélas_, again!

_Mons._ Alas! alas! alas!

_Hip._ I shall die! } } Ha! ha! ha! _Prue._ I shall burst! }

_Mons._ Ay! ay! you see what I am come to for your sake, cousin: and, uncle, pray take notice how ridiculous I am grown to my cousin, that loves me above all the world: she can no more forbear laughing at me, I vow and swear, than if I were as arrant a Spaniard as yourself.

_Don._ Be a Spaniard like me, and ne'er think people laugh at you: there was never a Spaniard that thought any one laughed at him. But what! do you laugh at a _golilla_, baggage? Come, sirrah black, now do you teach him to walk with the _verdadero gesto, gracia,_ and _gravidad_ of a true Castilian.

_Mons._ Must I have my dancing-master too?--Come, little master, then, lead on. [_The_ Black _struts about the stage,_ Monsieur _follows him, imitating awkwardly all he does._

_Don. Malo! malo!_ with your hat on your poll, as it it hung upon a pin!--the French and English wear their hats as if their horns would not suffer 'em to come over their foreheads, _voto!_

_Mons._ 'Tis true, there are some well-bred gentlemen have so much reverence for their peruke, that they would refuse to be grandees of your Spain for fear of putting on their hats, I vow and swear!

_Don._ Come, black, teach him now to make a Spanish leg.[63]

_Mons._ Ha! ha! ha! your Spanish leg is an English courtesy, I vow and swear, hah! hah! hah!

_Don._ Well, the hood does not make the monk; the ass was an ass still, though he had the lion's skin on. This will be a light French fool, in spite of the grave Spanish habit, look you.--But, black, do what you can; make the most of him; walk him about.

_Prue._ Here are the people, sir, you sent to speak about provisions for the wedding; and here are clothes brought home too, mistress. [_Goes to the door and returns._

_Don._ Well, I come.--Black, do what you can with him; walk him about.

_Mons._ Indeed, uncle, if I were as you, I would not have the grave Spanish habit so travestied: I shall disgrace it, and my little black master too, I vow and swear.

_Don._ Learn, learn of him; improve yourself by him--and do you walk him, walk him about soundly.--Come, sister, and daughter, I must have your judgments, though I shall not need 'em, look you.--Walk him, see you walk him. [_Exeunt_ Don DIEGO, HIPPOLITA, _and_ Mrs. CAUTION.

_Mons. Jarni!_ he does not only make a Spaniard of me, but a Spanish jennet, in giving me to his lackey to walk.--But come along, little master. [_The_ Black _instructs_ Monsieur _on one side of the stage_, PRUE _standing on the other._

_Prue._ O the unfortunate condition of us poor chambermaids! who have all the carking and caring, the watching and sitting up, the trouble and danger of our mistresses' intrigues, whilst they go away with all the pleasure! And if they can get their man in a corner, 'tis well enough; they ne'er think of the poor watchful chambermaid, who sits knocking her heels in the cold, for want of better exercise, in some melancholy lobby or entry, when she could employ her time every whit as well as her mistress, for all her quality, if she were but put to't. [_Aside._

_Black._ Hold up your head, hold up your head sir:--a stooping Spaniard, _malo!_

_Mons._ True, a Spaniard scorns to look upon the ground.

_Prue._ We can shift for our mistresses, and not for ourselves. Mine has got a handsome proper young man, and is just going to make the most of him; whilst I must be left in the lurch here with a couple of ugly little blackamoor boys in bonnets, and an old withered Spanish eunuch; not a servant else in the house, nor have I hopes of any comfortable society at all. [_Aside._

_Black._ Now let me see you make your visit-leg, thus.

_Mons._ Auh, _tête non!_--ha! ha! ha!

_Black._ What! a Spaniard, and laugh aloud! No, if you laugh, thus only--so--Now your salutation in the street, as you pass by your acquaintance; look you, thus--if to a woman, thus--putting your hat upon your heart; if to a man, thus, with a nod--so--but frown a little more, frown:--but if to a woman you would be very ceremonious to, thus--so--your neck nearer your shoulder--so--Now, if you would speak contemptibly of any man, or thing, do thus with your hand--so--and shrug up your shoulders till they hide your ears.--[Monsieur _imitating the_ Black.] Now walk again. [_The_ Black _and_ Monsieur _walk off the stage._

_Prue._ All my hopes are in that coxcomb there: I must take up with my mistress's leavings, though we chambermaids are wont to be beforehand with them. But he is the dullest, modestest fool, for a frenchified fool, as ever I saw; for nobody could be more coming to him than I have been, though I say it, and yet I am ne'er the nearer. I have stolen away his handkerchief, and told him of it; and yet he would never so much as struggle with me to get it again: I have pulled off his peruke, untied his ribbons, and have been very bold with him: yet he would never be so with me: nay, I have pinched him, punched him and tickled him; and yet he would never do the like for me.

_Re-enter the_ Black _and_ Monsieur.

_Black._ Nay, thus, thus, sir.

_Prue._ And to make my person more acceptable to him, I have used art, as they say; for every night since he came, I have worn the forehead-piece of bees-wax and hog's-grease, and every morning washed with butter-milk and wild tansy; and have put on every day for his only sake my Sunday's bowdy[64] stockings, and have new-chalked my shoes, as constantly as the morning came: nay, I have taken occasion to garter my stockings before him, as if unawares of him; for a good leg and foot, with good shoes and stockings, are very provoking, as they say; but the devil a bit would he be provoked.--But I must think of a way. [_Aside._

_Black._ Thus, thus.

_Mons._ What, so! Well, well, I have lessons enough for this time, little master; I will have no more, lest the multiplicity of them make me forget them, da.--Prue, art thou there and so pensive? what art thou thinking of?

_Prue._ Indeed, I am ashamed to tell your worship.

_Mons._ What, ashamed! wert thou thinking then of my beastliness? ha! ha! ha!

_Prue._ Nay, then I am forced to tell your worship in my own vindication.

_Mons._ Come then.

_Prue._ But indeed, your worship--I'm ashamed, that I am, though it was nothing but a dream I had of your sweet worship last night.

_Mons._ Of my sweet worship! I warrant it was a sweet dream then:--what was it? ha! ha! ha!

_Prue._ Nay, indeed, I have told your worship enough already; you may guess the rest.

_Mons._ I cannot guess; ha! ha! ha! What should it be? prithee let's know the rest.

_Prue._ Would you have me so impudent?

_Mons._ Impudent! ha! ha! ha! Nay, prithee tell me; for I can't guess, da--

_Prue._ Nay, 'tis always so, for want of the men's guessing the poor women are forced to be impudent:--but I am still ashamed.

_Mons._ I will know it; speak.

_Prue._ Why then, methought last night you came up into my chamber in your shirt when I was in bed; and that you might easily do, for I have ne'er a lock to my door.--Now I warrant I am as red as my petticoat.

_Mons._ No, thou'rt as yellow as e'er thou wert.

_Prue._ Yellow, sir!

_Mons._ Ay, ay: but let's hear the dream out.

_Prue._ Why, can't you guess the rest now?

_Mons._ No, not I, I vow and swear: come, let's hear.

_Prue._ But can't you guess, in earnest?

_Mons._ Not I, the devil eat me!

_Prue._ Not guess yet! why then, methought you came to bed to me.--Now am I as red as my petticoat again.

_Mons._ Ha! ha! ha!--well, and what then? ha! ha! ha!

_Prue._ Nay, now I know by your worship's laughing you guess what you