+Don Z.+ Nay, then, I see I must once play the fool, In answering a fool seriously. The things thou say'st are heightenings indeed, Not of my fault, but merit in the action, Towards my Blanca; since, to save her honour, I did not only sacrifice Elvira's, But thus expose mine own. Time may recover Elvira's fame, and mine this quickly shall. [_Clapping his hand on his sword._ Here, take this letter, and employ your wit In finding out the means with secrecy To give it Don Fernando unobserv'd. I shall not stir from home, till I've his answer. +Chi.+ You found him, sir, a man of quick dispatch, In your last business with him at Madrid! [_Exit +Don Zancho+._ How honourable 'tis to serve a Don! What petty Basque on t' other side the mountains Durst have aspir'd to the high dignity Of carrying a cartel? A monsieur Would sooner have put up a twinge by the nose, Than sent a challenge by a serving-man. [_Exit._ _Enter +Blanca+ furiously, and, running to the cabinet, takes out thence a stiletto; and +Francisca+ earnestly after her, as in +Blanca's+ closet._ +Blan.+ Villains shall find I am not unprovided Wrongs to revenge, that cannot be forgiven. +Fran.+ I thought the strange constraint upon herself, Wherewith she heard her brother, would serve in the end But to make rage break out with greater fury; Yet it is well she kept it in so long As to get rid of him. [_Aside._ Good madam, moderate yourself a little. +Blan.+ Preach temper to the damned souls in hell, That they may teach the traitor moderation, When I have sent him thither with his devil. +Fran.+ I do confess the provocation such, As more than justifies all these transportments; And therefore I beseech you think not, madam, In what I say, I can the least aim have Of saving him from the extremest fury Of your resentment, or preserving her, Who has had the impudence to abuse you so, Under pretence of serving. May they perish! But let it be in such a way, as may not Draw a more dismal ruin on yourself: Let swift destruction seize them; yet let not, Madam, your hand, but head dispense their fate. What can the issue be of such an action, As that of which I see that shining steel And flaming eyes of yours the threat'ning comets? I beg but the reflection of a moment! [_+Blanca+ walking upon the stage with enraged gestures pauses, at length sheathing and putting her stiletto in her sleeve with a sober, composed, tone_: +Blan.+ Francisca, I thank you for recalling me Thus to myself: I will be temperate, [_Aside._] But it shall be to make revenge the surer.