+Chi.+ Fire on thy tongue! +Don Z.+ Ah, my Francisca, if there be no hopes Of pardon, nor of pity, yet at least Let Blanca, for her own sake, be so just As not to give me cruel death unheard: Do you your part at least, and do but give her This letter from me-- [_He offers her a letter, and she starting back_: +Fran.+ _Guarda!_ that's a thing She has forbidden with such menaces, I dare as well become another Porcia,[15] And eat red burning coals. I had much rather Consent that, now she's all alone at home, You should transportedly rush in upon her, As following me: so possibly you might Attain your end without exposing me Who, in that case, know how to act my part So smartly against you, as shall keep her clear From all suspicion. But I am to blame Thus to forget my duty: I'll stay no longer. [_He stops her, and, pulling out a purse of money, puts it into her hand. +Francisca+ offers to restore the purse, but yet holding it fast._ +Don. Z.+ Spoke like an angel. +Fran.+ This is, you know, superfluous with me, And shocks my humour; but anything from you! Be sure you follow boisterously. [_She trudges away, and goes in hastily, as at +Julio's+ house, and +Don Zancho+ follows her in. +Chichon+ stops at the door._ +Chi.+ I'll bring you no ill-luck a second time. If for sport's sake you have projected me Another summersault from the balcony, Make your account that 'tis already done, Here you will find me halting in the street. [_Exit +Chichon+._ _Scene changes to +Donna Blanca's+ antechamber. Enter +Blanca+._ +Blan.+ How true it is that nature cheats mankind, And makes us think ourselves the only tasters Of pure delight and bliss; when as indeed, Oppressing us with pains and griefs, she makes Deliv'rance from them pass for solid pleasure! Witness in me those images of joy, Wherewith she flatters now my expectation: What will its highest satisfaction be At most, but ease from what tormented me? _Enter +FRANCISCA+ hastily._ +Fran.+ It now imports you have affected rage As ready at hand as usually you have Anger in earnest. But, above all, be sure You discharge it smartly upon me; for here He presses at my heels. _Enter +Don Zancho+, and goes to cast himself at +Donna Blanca's+ feet, and she starting back from him._ +Blan.+ What insolence is this? Think not, Francisca, That I am to be fool'd! This is your work: You shall not stay an hour within these walls-- By all that's good, you shall not!