Lor. [Aside.] I am glad he knows me only by that name of Hernando, by which I went at Barcelona; now he can tell no tales of me to my father.—­[To him.] Come, thou wer’t ever good-natured, when thou couldst get by it—­Look here, rogue; ’tis of the right damning colour:  Thou art not proof against gold, sure!—­Do not I know thee for a covetous—­

Gom. Jealous old hunks? those were the marks of your mistress’s husband, as I remember, colonel.

Lor. Oh the devil!  What a rogue in understanding was I, not to find him out sooner! [Aside.

Gom. Do, do, look sillily, good colonel; ’tis a decent melancholy after an absolute defeat.

Lor. Faith, not for that, clear Gomez; but—­

Gom. But—­no pumping, my dear colonel.

Lor. Hang pumping!  I was thinking a little upon a point of gratitude.  We two have been long acquaintance; I know thy merits, and can make some interest;—­Go to; thou wert born to authority; I’ll make thee Alcaide, Mayor of Saragossa.

Gom. Satisfy yourself; you shall not make me what you think, colonel.

Lor. Faith, but I will; thou hast the face of a magistrate already.

Gom. And you would provide me with a magistrate’s head to my magistrate’s face; I thank you, colonel.

Lor. Come, thou art so suspicious upon an idle story!  That woman I saw, I mean that little, crooked, ugly woman,—­for t’other was a lie,—­is no more thy wife,—­As I’ll go home with thee, and satisfy thee immediately, my dear friend.

Gom. I shall not put you to that trouble; no, not so much as a single visit; not so much as an embassy by a civil old woman, nor a serenade of twinkledum twinkledum under my windows; nay, I will advise you, out of my tenderness to your person, that you walk not near yon corner-house by night; for, to my certain knowledge, there are blunderbusses planted in every loop-hole, that go off constantly of their own accord, at the squeaking of a fiddle, and the thrumming of a guitar.

Lor. Art thou so obstinate?  Then I denounce open war against thee; I’ll demolish thy citadel by force; or, at least, I’ll bring my whole regiment upon thee; my thousand red locusts, that shall devour thee in free quarters.  Farewell, wrought night-cap. [Exit LORENZO.

Gom. Farewell, Buff.  Free quarters for a regiment of red-coat locusts?  I hope to see them all in the Red-Sea first!  But oh, this Jezabel of mine!  I’ll get a physician that shall prescribe her an ounce of camphire every morning, for her breakfast, to abate incontinency.  She shall never peep abroad, no, not to church for confession; and, for never going, she shall be condemned for a heretic.  She shall have stripes by Troy weight, and sustenance by drachms and scruples:  Nay, I’ll have a fasting almanack, printed on purpose for her use, in which
  No Carnival nor Christmas shall appear,
  But lents and ember-weeks shall fill the year. [Exit.