Bal.  But hear reason, Son.

Fran.  What, from a Woman and a Wife?  Lord, Lord, where are your Wits, good Father-in-Law?  Why, what a Devil, shall I be made ridiculous, a Coxcomb, Cuckold, to shew my Wife?  No, no, there’s no Necessity of your Civility, Mistress; leave that to me who understand the due Punctilios of it.

Bal.  Harkye, Son, Harkye!

Fran.  Father mine, every Man to his business, I say, therefore say no more of this; for I’ll give my Mother’s Son to the Devil, when any Wife of mine ever makes a Visit to the Governor; and there’s an end on’t.  Was ever so horrid a Plot contriv’d against her own lawful Husband?  Visit the Governor with a Pox!

Bal.  ’Tis an Honour due to all Men of his Rank.

Fran.  I care not for that, my opinion is, my Wife’s my Slave, and let him keep his Rank to himself.

    Enter Guzman.

        [Fran. gets his Wife behind him, and fences her with his Cloke.

Guz.  He’s here, and with his Wife; how shall I do to deliver my Letter to her;—­Sir, by the order of my Master, Don Carlos, the Governour, I am commanded to come hither to the end that, going from hence, and returning to my Master, I may be able to inform him—­

Fran.  That I am in health,—­very well, I was afraid he wou’d have been harping upon my Wife in the first place—­the Devil take her, she looks for’t. [Makes signs to have her gone.

Guz.  Farther, Sir, he kisses your hand, with a more than ordinary friendship.

Fran.  A Pox of his Compliments.—­ [Aside.

Guz.  But he charg’d me, Sir, most passionately to present his Service to your Lady.

Fran.  Yes, yes; I thought as much.

Guz.—­In a more particular manner.

Fran.  Friend, my Wife, or Lady, has no need of his Service in a more particular manner, and so you may return it.

Jac.  Indeed, but she has great need of his service in a very particular manner.

Guz.  Sir, I meant no hurt, but ’tis always the fashion of your true bred Courtier, to be more ceremonious in his Civilities to Ladies than Men;—­and he desires to know how she does.

Fran.  How strong this Carlos smells of the Devil—­Friend, tell your Master she’s very well, but since she was married, she has forgot her gentile Civility and good Manners, and never returns any Compliments to Men.

Guz.—­How shall I get it to her?—­Sir, the Governor hopes he shall have the honour of entertaining you both at his House.  He’s impatient of your coming, and waits at home on purpose.

Fran.  Friend, let your Master know we are here in very good quarters already, and he does us both too much honour; and that if we have notice of the Wedding-day, and I have nothing else to do, we’ll certainly wait on him, and the next morning we intend to take our leaves, which I send him word of beforehand to prevent surprize.