Hyp.  ’T is Ovid, is it not?

  Padre C. No, Cicero.

Hyp.  Your Grace is right.  You are the better scholar. 
Now what a dunce was I to think it Ovid! 
But hang me if it is not! (Aside.)

  Padre C. Pass this way. 
He was a very great man, was Cicero! 
Pray you, go in, go in! no ceremony.
                              [Exeunt.

Scene III. —­ A room in the padre Cura’s house.  Enter the padre and Hypolito.

Padre C. So then, Senor, you come from Alcala.  I am glad to hear it.  It was there I studied.

Hyp.  And left behind an honored name, no doubt.  How may I call your Grace?

Padre C. Geronimo
De Santillana, at your Honor’s service.

Hyp.  Descended from the Marquis Santillana? 
From the distinguished poet?

Padre C. From the Marquis,
Not from the poet.

Hyp.  Why, they were the same. 
Let me embrace you!  O some lucky star
Has brought me hither!  Yet once more!—­once more! 
Your name is ever green in Alcala,
And our professor, when we are unruly,
Will shake his hoary head, and say, “Alas! 
It was not so in Santillana’s time!”

  Padre C. I did not think my name remembered there.

  Hyp.  More than remembered; it is idolized.

  Padre C. Of what professor speak you?

  Hyp.  Timoneda.

  Padre C. I don’t remember any Timoneda.

Hyp.  A grave and sombre man, whose beetling brow
O’erhangs the rushing current of his speech
As rocks o’er rivers hang.  Have you forgotten?

Padre C. Indeed, I have.  O, those were pleasant days,
Those college days!  I ne’er shall see the like! 
I had not buried then so many hopes! 
I had not buried then so many friends! 
I’ve turned my back on what was then before me;
And the bright faces of my young companions
Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more. 
Do you remember Cueva?

  Hyp.  Cueva?  Cueva?

Padre C. Fool that I am!  He was before your time. 
You’re a mere boy, and I am an old man.

  Hyp.  I should not like to try my strength with you.

Padre C. Well, well.  But I forget; you must be hungry. 
Martina! ho!  Martina!  ’T is my niece.

(Enter Martina.)

  Hyp.  You may be proud of such a niece as that. 
I wish I had a niece.  Emollit mores. 
    (Aside.)
He was a very great man, was Cicero! 
Your servant, fair Martina.

  Mart.  Servant, sir.

Padre C. This gentleman is hungry.  See thou to it. 
Let us have supper.

  Mart.  ’T will be ready soon.

Padre C. And bring a bottle of my Val-de-Penas
Out of the cellar.  Stay; I’ll go myself. 
Pray you.  Senor, excuse me. [Exit.