_Don._ No, we are bold enough in trusting them with our souls, I'll never trust them with the body of my daughter, look you, _guarda!_ You see what comes of trusting churchmen here in England; and 'tis because the women govern the families, that chaplains are so much in fashion. Trust a churchman!--trust a coward with your honour, a fool with your secret, a gamester with your purse, as soon as a priest with your wife or daughter; look you, _guarda!_ I am no fool, look you. _Mrs. Caut._ Nay, I know you are a wise man, brother. _Don._ Why, sister, I have been fifteen years in Spain for it, at several times, look you: now in Spain, he is wise enough that is grave, politic enough that says little, and honourable enough that is jealous; and though I say it, that should not say it, I am as grave, grum, and jealous, as any Spaniard breathing. _Mrs. Caut._ I know you are, brother. _Don._ And will be a Spaniard in everything still, and will not conform, not I, to their ill-favoured English customs, for I will wear my Spanish habit still, I will stroke my Spanish whiskers still, and I will eat my Spanish _olio_ still; and my daughter shall go a maid to her husband's bed, let the English custom be what 'twill: I would fain see any finical, cunning, insinuating monsieur of the age, debauch, or steal away my daughter. But, well, has she seen my cousin? how long has he been in England? _Mrs. Caut._ These three days. _Don._ And she has seen him, has she? I was contented he should see her, intending him for her husband; but she has seen nobody else upon your certain knowledge? _Mrs. Caut._ No, no, alas! how should she? 'tis impossible she should. _Don._ Where is her chamber? pray let me see her. _Mrs. Caut._ You'll find her, poor creature, asleep, I warrant you: or, if awake, thinking no hurt, nor of your coming this morning. _Don._ Let us go to her, I long to see her, poor innocent wretch. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II.--_A Room in_ Don DIEGO'S _House._ _Enter_ HIPPOLITA, GERRARD, _and_ PRUE _at a distance._ _Ger._ Am I not come upon your own summons, madam? and yet receive me so? _Hip._ My summons, sir! no, I assure you; and if you do not like your reception, I cannot help it; for I am not used to receive men, I'd have you to know. _Ger._ She is beautiful beyond all things I ever saw. [_Aside._ _Hip._ I like him extremely! [_Aside._ _Ger._ Come, fairest, why do you frown? _Hip._ Because I am angry. _Ger._ I am come on purpose to please you, then; do not receive me so unkindly. _Hip._ I tell you, I do not use to receive men.--There has not been a man in the house before, but my cousin, this twelvemonth, I'd have you to know. _Ger._ Then you ought to bid me the more welcome, I'd have you to know.