_Pac._ This is he apprehends whores in the way of justice, and lodges 'em in his own house, in the way of profit: he with him, is the Grand Don _Vitelli_, 'twixt whom and _Fernando_ _Alvarez_, the mortal hatred is; he is indeed my Don's Bawd, and does at this present, lodge a famous Curtizan of his, lately come from _Madrid_. _Vit._ Let her want nothing _Signior_, she can aske: What loss or injury you may sustain I will repair, and recompence your love: Only that fellows coming I mislike, And did fore-warn her of him: bear her this With my best love, at night I'll visit her. _Alg._ I rest your Lordships Servant. _Vit._ Good ev'n, Signiors: Oh _Alvarez_, thou hast brought a Son with thee Both brightens, and obscures our Nation, Whose pure strong beams on us, shoot like the Suns On baser fires: I would to heaven my bloud Had never stain'd thy bold unfortunate hand, That with mine honor I might emulate, Not persecute such virtue: I will see him, Though with the hazard of my life: no rest In my contentious spirits, can I find Till I have gratify'd him in like kind. [_Exit._ _Alg._ I know you not: what are ye? hence ye base _Besegnios_. _Pac. Mary Catzo Signior Alguazier_, d'ye not know us? why, we are your honest neighbors, the Cobler, Smith, and Botcher, that have so often sate snoaring cheek by joll with your Signiorie, in rug at midnight. _Laz._ Nay, good Signior, be not angry: you must understand, a Cat, and such an Officer see best in the dark. _Met._ By this hand, I could find in my heart to shooe his head. _Pac._ Why then know you, _Signior_; thou mongril, begot at midnight, at the Goal gate, by a Beadle, on a Catchpoles wife, are not you he that was whipt out of _Toledo_ for perjury. _Men._ Next; condemn'd to the Gallies for pilfery, to the Buls pizel. _Met._ And after call'd to the Inquisition, for Apostacie. _Pac._ Are not you he that rather than you durst goe an industrious voyage being press'd to the Islands, skulk'd till the Fleet was gone, and then earn'd your Royal a day by squiring puncks, and puncklings up and down the City? _Laz._ Are not you a _Portuguize_ born, descended o' the _Moors_, and came hither into _Sevil_ with your Master, an arrant Tailor, in your red Bonnet, and your blue Jacket, lousie, though now your block-head be cover'd with the _Spanish_ block, and your lashed Shoulders with a Velvet Pee. _Pac._ Are not you he that have been of thirty callings, yet ne'r a one lawful? that being a Chandler first, profess'd sincerity, and would sell no man Mustard to his Beef on the Sabbath, and yet sold Hypocrisie all your life time?