_San._ Nor me, I hope; and yet I fear those eyes will look out sharp to snatch up such a prize. [_Pointing to ~Jacinta~._ _Jacin._ He's coming to us, Madam, to beg pardon; but sure you'll never grant it him? _Leo._ If I do may heaven never grant me mine. _Jacin._ That's brave. _Car._ You look, Madam, upon me, as if you thought I came to trouble you with my usual importunities; I'll ease you of that pain, by telling you my business now is calmly to assure you, but I assure it you with Heaven and hell for seconds; for may the joys of one fly from me, whilst the pains of t'other overtake me, if all your charms display'd e'er shake my resolution; I'll never see you more. _San._ Bon. _Leo._ You are a man of that nice honour, Sir, I know you'll keep your word: I expected this assurance from you, and came this way only to thank you for't. _Jacin._ Very well. _Car._ You did, imperious dame, you did: how base is woman's pride! How wretched are the ingredients it is form'd of! If you saw cause for just disdain, why did you not at first repulse me? Why lead a slave in chains, that could not grace your triumphs? If I am thus to be contemn'd, think on the favours you have done the wretch, and hide your face for ever. _San._ Well argued. _Leo._ I own you have hit the only fault the world can charge me with: the favours I have done to you, I am indeed asham'd of; but since women have their frailties, you'll allow me mine. _Car._ 'Tis well, extremely well, Madam. I'm happy however, you at last speak frankly. I thank you for it: from my soul I thank you: but don't expect me groveling at your feet again; don't, for if I do---- _Leo._ You will be treated as you deserve; trod upon. _Car._ Give me patience;----but I don't want it; I am calm: Madam, farewel;----be happy if you can; by heavens I wish you so, but never spread your net for me again; for if you do---- _Leo._ You'll be running into it. _Car._ Rather run headlong into fire and flames; rather be torn with pincers bit from bit; rather be broil'd like martyrs upon gridirons----But I am wrong; this sounds like passion, and heaven can tell I am not angry: Madam, I think we have no farther business together; your most humble servant. _Leo._ Farewel t'ye, Sir. _Car._ Come along. [_To ~Sancho~._ [_Goes to the scene and returns._ Yet once more before I go (lest you should doubt my resolution) may I starve, perish, rot, be blasted, dead, damn'd, or any other thing that men or gods can think of, if on any occasion whatever, civil or military, pleasure or business, love or hate, or any other accident of life, I, from this moment, change one word or look with you. [_Going off, ~Sancho~ claps him on the back._ _Leo._ Content: come away, _Jacinta_. _~Carlos~ returns._