Lor. No harm, I warrant you.

Dom. Well, you are a charitable man; and I’ll take your word:  my comfort is, I know not the contents; and so far I am blameless.  But an answer you shall have; though not for the sake of your fifty pieces more:  I have sworn not to take them; they shall not be altogether fifty.  Your mistress—­forgive me, that I should call her your mistress, I meant Elvira,—­lives but at next door:  I’ll visit her immediately; but not a word more of the nine-and-forty pieces.

Lor. Nay, I’ll wait on you down stairs.—­Fifty pounds for the postage of a letter! to send by the church is certainly the dearest road in Christendom. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—­A Chamber.

  Enter GOMEZ and ELVIRA.

Gom. Henceforth I banish flesh and wine:  I’ll have none stirring within these walls these twelve months.

Elv. I care not; the sooner I am starved, the sooner I am rid of wedlock.  I shall learn the knack to fast o’ days; you have used me to fasting nights already.

Gom. How the gipsey answers me!  Oh, ’tis a most notorious hilding.

Elv. [Crying.] But was ever poor innocent creature so hardly dealt with, for a little harmless chat?

Gom. Oh, the impudence of this wicked sex!  Lascivious dialogues are innocent with you!

Elv. Was it such a crime to inquire how the battle passed?

Gom. But that was not the business, gentlewoman:  you were not asking news of a battle passed; you were engaging for a skirmish that was to come.

Elv. An honest woman would be glad to hear, that her honour was safe, and her enemies were slain.

Gom. [In her tone.] And to ask, if he were wounded in your defence; and, in case he were, to offer yourself to be his chirurgeon;—­then, you did not describe your husband to him, for a covetous, jealous, rich, old hunks.

Elv. No, I need not; he describes himself sufficiently:  but, in what dream did I do this?

Gom. You walked in your sleep, with your eyes broad open, at noon-day; and dreamt you were talking to the foresaid purpose with one Colonel Hernando—­

Elv. Who, dear husband, who?

Gom. What the devil have I said?—­You would have farther information, would you?

Elv. No; but my dear, little, old man, tell me now, that I may avoid him for your sake.

Gom. Get you up into your chamber, cockatrice; and there immure yourself; be confined, I say, during our royal pleasure.  But, first, down on your marrowbones, upon your allegiance, and make an acknowledgement of your offences; for I will have ample satisfaction.
          
                                          [Pulls her down.

Elv. I have done you no injury, and therefore I’ll make you no submission:  but I’ll complain to my ghostly father.