Tor. She bids me hope; oh heavens, she pities me! 
And pity still foreruns approaching love,
As lightning does the thunder!  Tune your harps,
Ye angels, to that sound; and thou, my heart,
Make room to entertain thy flowing joy. 
Hence, all my griefs and every anxious care;
One word, and one kind glance, can cure despair. [Exit.

SCENE II.—­A Chamber.  A Table and Wine set out.

  Enter LORENZO.

Lor. This may hit; ’tis more than barely possible; for friars have free admittance into every house.  This jacobin, whom I have sent to, is her confessor; and who can suspect a man of such reverence for a pimp?  I’ll try for once; I’ll bribe him high; for commonly none love money better than they, who have made a vow of poverty.

  Enter Servant.

Serv. There’s a huge, fat, religious gentleman coming up, sir.  He says he’s but a friar, but he’s big enough to be a pope; his gills are as rosy as a turkey cock’s; his great belly walks in state before him, like an harbinger; and his gouty legs come limping after it:  Never was such a ton of devotion seen.

Lor. Bring him in, and vanish. [Exit Servant.

  Enter Father DOMINICK.

Lor. Welcome, father.

Dom. Peace be here:  I thought I had been sent for to a dying man; to have fitted him for another world.

Lor. No, faith, father, I was never for taking such long journeys.  Repose yourself, I beseech you, sir, if those spindle legs of yours will carry you to the next chair.

Dom. I am old, I am infirm, I must confess, with fasting.

Lor. ’Tis a sign by your wan complexion, and your thin jowls, father.  Come, to our better acquaintance:—­here’s a sovereign remedy for old age and sorrow. [Drinks.

Dom. The looks of it are indeed alluring:  I’ll do you reason.
          
                                                  [Drinks.

Lor. Is it to your palate, father?

Dom. Second thoughts, they say, are best:  I’ll consider of it once again. [Drinks.] It has a most delicious flavour with it.  Gad forgive me, I have forgotten to drink your health, Son, I am not used to be so unmannerly. [Drinks again.

Lor. No, I’ll be sworn, by what I see of you, you are not:—­To the bottom;—­I warrant him a true church-man.—­Now, father, to our business:  ’tis agreeable to your calling; I do intend to do an act of charity.

Dom. And I love to hear of charity; ’tis a comfortable subject.

Lor. Being in the late battle, in great hazard of my life, I recommended my person to good Saint Dominick.

Dom. You could not have pitched upon a better; he’s a sure card; I never knew him fail his votaries.