_San._ I am cunning, you know; and I believe he named that cursed Conde, only to draw me on the faster. _Carl._ And do you think a gentleman can succeed against a Conde with a woman? _San._ Why not? _Carl._ No more than a Conde against a duke, and so upwards;--abandon her, I say. _San._ No; I am resolute. _Carl._ To be the shoeing-horn for the Conde? _San._ I confess I would not be the shoeing-horn, to draw him on. _Carl._ No, for that's to be a pimp for him. _San._ Right; therefore I will leave her. _Carl._ Then go back, and quarrel with her and her father; go, I say, immediately, before your virtue cools. _San._ I'll give them their own, I'll warrant them. What, make a shoeing-horn of a man of honour? [_Exit_ SANCHO. _Carl._ [_alone_] If the Conde be in love, then why should Lopez admit of Sancho for a suitor? if not, the fool is in the right, that it was only feigned, to draw him on. However, my advice will strike on both sides; for, if Sancho quarrels, he's discarded; and for the Conde--stay a little--what, if I should play this Conde? I know him, and can mimic him exactly; 'tis but a jest if I am discovered; and if the Conde loves her, and she him, then I marry her in his shape.--Oh, they are coming out to quarrel in the open air, for the house is grown too hot for them; but I dare not stay to see the battle, for fear of getting blows on both sides. [_Exit_ CARLOS. _Enter_ LOPEZ, DALINDA, _and_ SANCHO. _Lop._ I'll wait upon you out of my house, however. _San._ Father-in-law, that might have been, no more ceremonies; I'll be no shoeing-horn for any man. _Lop._ You would not be my daughter's hindrance? _San._ There's no more to be said on't; but either a bargain, or no bargain. _Lop._ A bargain, if the Conde comes not on. _San._ Then, as he comes on, I must go off, with a pox to you and to your daughter! _Dal._ At least it shall not be a pox of your giving. _San._ The Conde's pox take you then! that's an honourable pox, descended in a right line from Don Roderic the Goth, I'll warrant you. _Lop._ Indeed, if your estate were as great as his-- _San._ Nay, for that matter, I can drop gold with him, as little as I care for her. _Dal._ But then his title? _San._ I have more gold yet, to weigh down his parchment: and then my wit against a Conde's wit; that's for overplus; for, though I say it-- _Lop._ Who should not say it-- _San._ Yet I do say it, and will say it, especially as lords go now. Come, there's no more to be said, Lopez; but take back your trumpery, I mean your daughter; or I'll send for the scavenger with a dung-cart. _Lop._ This is insufferable; and by this honourable beard-- _San._ Which I'll pull off by handfuls, if you swagger-- Lop. [_Aside, to_ DAL.] What shall we do with this madman, daughter?