Catherine.
_Don Ferd_. St. Catherine!
_Isaac_. Yes; and that Antonio was to come to her there.
_Don Ferd_. Is this the truth?
_Isaac_. It is indeed; and all I know, as I hope for life!
_Don Ferd_. Well, coward, take your life; 'tis that false,
dishonourable Antonio, who shall feel my vengeance.
_Isaac_. Ay, ay, kill him; cut his throat, and welcome.
_Don Ferd_. But, for Clara! infamy on her! she is not worth my
resentment.
_Isaac_. No more she is, my dear brother-in-law. I'faith I would not
be angry about her; she is not worth it, indeed.
_Don Ferd_. 'Tis false! she is worth the enmity of princes!
_Isaac_. True, true, so she is; and I pity you exceedingly for having
lost her.
_Don Ferd_. 'Sdeath, you rascal! how durst you talk of pitying me?
_Isaac_. Oh, dear brother-in-law, I beg pardon! I don't pity you in
the least, upon my soul!
_Don Ferd_. Get hence, fool, and provoke me no further; nothing but
your insignificance saves you!
_Isaac. [Aside_.] I'faith, then, my insignificance is the best friend
I have.--[_Aloud_.] I'm going, dear Ferdinand.--[_Aside_.] What a
curst hot hot-headed bully it is! [_Exeunt severally_.]
SCENE III.--_The Garden of the Convent_.
_Enter_ DONNA LOUISA _and_ DONNA CLARA.
Pages:
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65