_Guz_. Why he never read in's life; knows neither Longitude nor Latitude, and _Constantinople_ may be in the midst of _Spain_ for any thing he knows; besides, his Fear will give him little leisure for thinking.
_Ant_. But how shall we do with the Seamen of this other Gally?
_Guz_. There's not above a Dozen, besides the Slaves that are chain'd to the Oar, and those Dozen, a Pistole apiece wou'd not only make 'em assist in the design, but betray it in earnest to the _Grand Seignior_; --for them I'll undertake, the Master of it being _Pier de Sala_, your Father's old Servant, Sir. [_To_ Carlos.
_Ant_. But possibly his mind may alter upon the Arrival of this False Count of ours?
_Car_. No matter, make sure of those Seamen however; that they may be ready upon occasion.
_Ant_. 'Tis high time for me that your Count were arriv'd, for this morning is destin'd the last of my Liberty.
_Car_. This Morning--Come, haste and dress me-- [_To_ Guz.]--_Guzman_, where's our Count?
_Enter_ Guiliom _drest fine, two great_ Pages _and a little one following_.
_Guz_. Coming to give you the good morrow, Sir; And shew you how well he looks the Part.
_Car_. Good day to your Lordship-- [_Bowing_.
_Guil_. Morrow, morrow, Friend.
_Ant_. My Lord, your most humble Servant.
_Guil_. Thank you, Friend, thank you; Page, Boy--what's a-Clock, Sirrah?
_Page_. About Eight, my Lord.
_Ant_. Your Lordship's early up.
_Guil_. My Stomach was up before me, Friend; and I'm damnably hungry; 'tis strange how a man's Appetite increases with his Greatness; I'll swinge it away now I'm a Lord,--then I will wench without Mercy; I'm resolv'd to spare neither Man, Woman, nor Child, not I; hey, Rogues, Rascals, Boys, my Breakfast, quickly, Dogs--let me see, what shall I have now that's rare?
_Page_. What will your Honour please to have?
_Guil_. A small rasher of delicate Bacon, Sirrah--of about a Pound, or two, with a small Morsel of Bread--round the Loaf, d'ye hear, quickly, Slaves.
_Ant_. That's gross meat, Sir, a pair of Quails--or--
_Guil_. I thank you for that, i'faith, take your Don again, an you please, I'll not be starv'd for ne'er a Don in Christendom.
_Ant_. But you must study to refine your Manners a little.
_Guil_. Manners! you shall pardon me for that; as if a Lord had not more privilege to be more saucy, more rude, impertinent, slovenly and foolish than the rest of his Neighbours, or Mankind.
_Car_. Ay, ay, 'tis great.
_Guil_. Your saucy Rudeness, in a Grandee, is Freedom; your Impertinence, Wit; your Sloven, careless; and your Fool, good natur'd; as least they shall pass so in me, I'll warrant ye.
_Car_. Well, you have your full Instructions; your Baggage, Bills and Letters, from _Octavio_ the _Sevilian_ Merchant.
_Guz_. All, all, Sir, are ready, and his Lordship's breakfast waits.
_Car_. Which ended, we advance, Just when _Aurora_ rose from _Thetis'_ Bed, Where he had wantoned a short Summer's night, Harness'd his bright hoov'd Horses to begin His gilded course above the Firmament, Out sallied Don _Gulielmo Rodorigo de Chimney Sweperio_, and so forth.
Gad, this adventure of ours will be worthy to be sung in Heroick Rhime Doggerel, before we have finisht it; Come-- [_Goes out_.
_Guil_. Hey, Rogues, Rascals, Boys, follow me just behind.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE II. Francisco's _house_.
_Enter_ Clara _and_ Jacinta.
_Jac_. Nay, I knew he would be civil, Madam, or I would have borne you Company; but neither my Mistress nor I, cou'd sleep one wink all Night, for fear of a Discovery in the Morning; and to save the poor Gentleman a tumbling Cast from the Window, my Mistress, just at day-break, feigned her self wondrous sick,--I was called, desired to go to Signior _Spadilio's_ the Apothecary's, at the next Door, for a Cordial; and so he slipt out;--but the Story of this false Count pleases me extremely, and, if it should take, Lord, what mirth we shall have. Ha, ha, ha, I can't forbear with the thoughts on't.
_Cla_. And to see the Governor his Man?
_Jac_. Ah, what a Jest that would be too--Ha, ha, ha! but here comes _Isabella_; let's puff up her Pride with Flatteries on her Beauty.
_Enter_ Isabella _looking in a Glass, and seeing her Face_.
_Isa_. Ah, Heavens, those Eyes--that Look,--that pretty Leer,--that my Father shou'd be so doating an old Fool to think these Beauties fit for a little Merchandize; a Marchioness wou'd so much better become me.
[Looks again.
--Ah, what a Smile's there--and then that scornful Look--'tis great-- Heavens, who's here?
[Sees them.
_Cla_. Only those Friends that wish you better Fortune than this day promises.
_Jac_. Look on that Face; are there not Lines that foretel a world of Greatness, and promise much Honour?
_Cla_. Her Face, her Shape, her Mein, her every part declares her Lady--or something more.
_Isa_. Why, so, and yet this little Creature of a Father, ridiculously and unambitious, would spoil this Lady, to make up a simple Citizen's Wife--in good time.
_Jac_. That very look had some presaging Grandeur.
_Isa_. Do you think so, _Jacinta_? Ha, ha, ha.
_Jac_. That Laugh again, oh Heavens, how it charms!
_Cla_. And how graceful 'tis!
_Jac_. Ah, nothing but a great gilt Coach will become it.
_Cla_. With six _Spanish_ Mares.--
_Jac_. And embroidered Trappings.