Iago, he shall never meet me again, while I am
master of a pair of heels. [_Runs out_.--DONNA LOUISA _lets down her
veil_.]
_Enter_ DON FERDINAND.
_Don Ferd_. So, sir, I have met with you at last.
_Don Ant_. Well, sir.
_Don Ferd_. Base, treacherous man! whence can a false, deceitful soul,
like yours, borrow confidence, to look so steadily on the man you've
injured!
_Don Ant_. Ferdinand, you are too warm: 'tis true you find me on the
point of wedding one I loved beyond my life; but no argument of mine
prevailed on her to elope.--I scorn deceit, as much as you. By heaven
I knew not that she had left her father's till I saw her!
_Don Ferd_. What a mean excuse! You have wronged your friend, then,
for one, whose wanton forwardness anticipated your treachery--of this,
indeed, your Jew pander informed me; but let your conduct be
consistent, and since you have dared to do a wrong, follow me, and
show you have a spirit to avow it.
_Don. Louisa_. Antonio, I perceive his mistake--leave him to me.
_Paul_. Friend, you are rude, to interrupt the union of two willing
hearts.
_Don Ferd_. No, meddling priest! the hand he seeks is mine.
_Paul_. If so, I'll proceed no further. Lady, did you ever promise
this youth your hand? [_To_ DONNA LOUISA, _who shakes her head_.
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