_Prue._ O miss, miss! your father, it seems, is just now arrived, and is here coming in upon you. _Hip._ My father. _Enter_ Don DIEGO _and_ Mrs. CAUTION. _Don._ My daughter and a man! _Mrs. Caut._ A man! a man in the house! _Ger._ Ha! what mean these?--a Spaniard! _Hip._ What shall I do? Stay--Nay, pray stir not from me; but lead me about, as if you led me a corant.[58] [_Leads her about._ _Don._ Is this your government, sister? and this your innocent charge, that hath not seen the face of a man this twelvemonth? _en hora mala!_ _Mrs. Caut._ O, sure, it is not a man! it cannot be a man! [_Puts on her spectacles._ _Don._ It cannot be a man! if he be not a man, he's a devil. He has her lovingly by the hand too, _valgame el cielo!_ _Hip._ Do not seem to mind them, but dance on, or lead me about still. _Ger._ What d'ye mean by it? [_Apart to_ HIPPOLITA. _Don._ Hey, they are frolic, a-dancing! _Mrs. Caut._ Indeed, they are dancing, I think.--Why, niece! _Don._ Nay, hold a little: I'll make 'em dance in the devil's name; but it shall not be _la gallarda_. [_Draws his sword._ _Mrs. Caut._ O niece! why niece! [Mrs. CAUTION _holds him._ _Ger._ Do you hear her? what do you mean? [_Apart to_ HIPPOLITA. _Hip._ Take no notice of them; but walk about still, and sing a little, sing a corant. _Ger._ I can't sing: but I'll hum, if you will. _Don._ Are you so merry? well I'll be with you: _en hora mala!_ _Mrs. Caut._ O niece, niece! why niece! oh-- _Don._ Why, daughter, my dainty daughter! My shame! my ruin! my plague! [_Struggling, gets from_ Mrs. CAUTION, _goes towards them with his sword drawn._ _Hip._ Mind him not, but dance and sing on. _Ger._ A pretty time to dance and sing, indeed, when I have a Spaniard with a naked Toledo at my tail! No, pray excuse me, miss, from fooling any longer. _Hip._ [_Turning about._] O, my father, my father! poor father! you are welcome; pray give me your blessing. _Don._ My blessing, _en hora mala!_ _Hip._ What! am I not your daughter, sir? _Don._ My daughter! _mi mal! mi muerte!_ _Hip._ My name's Hippolita, sir: I don't own your Spanish names. But, pray father, why do you frighten one so? you know I don't love to see a sword: what do you mean to do with that ugly thing out? _Don._ I'll show you. _Traidor! ladron de mi honra!_ thou diest. [_Runs at_ GERRARD. _Ger._ Not if I can help it, good Don. But by the names you give me, I find you mistake your man: I suppose some Spaniard has affronted you. [_Draws._ _Don._ None but thee, _ladron!_ and thou diest for't. [_Fight._ _Mrs. Caut._ Oh! oh! oh!--help! help! help! _Hip._ O--what, will you kill my poor dancing-master? [_Kneels._ _Don._ A dancing-master! he's a fencing-master rather, I think. But is he your dancing-master? umph-- _Ger._ So much wit and innocency were never together before. [_Aside._ _Don._ Is he a dancing-master? [_Pausing._ _Mrs. Caut._ Is he a dancing-master? He does not look like a dancing-master.