University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—THE RIVER SIDE. VIEW OF SEVILLE.
Enter the King, Don Arias, Don Gomez, Lords, Gentlemen, Courtiers, &c.
KING.
Hail to fair Seville! to our goodly town,
Which in the golden sunshine smiles so bright!
Of all the cities in our vast dominions,
Which we have progressed through,—albeit in arms,
In commerce, and in learning high renown'd,
Famed for the bounteous gifts of lavish Nature,
Or for the arts which had drawn interest from them,—
None ever, on our first beholding it,—
Appear'd so fair as yonder Seville seems,
Girt with her orange groves, whose balmy breath,
Stirr'd by the morning's wings, e'en here salutes us,
And wound around with the enamoured arms
Of the Guadalquivir!

ARIAS.
It seems, in sooth,
A pleasant city, and your highness means
To rest here long?

KING.
As long, coz, as may serve
To make our onward path appear more sweet.

ARIAS.
The people seem most loyally inclined.

KING.
Ay, faith, their welcomes made the shores resound
Long ere we came in sight. Loyal, good troth!
If shouts, which rent the harmless, yielding air,
Shook either bank, and in his hollow bed
Awoke the river God, which must have damaged
Our lieges' throats, or we are much deceived,
And our own ears,—if this be loyalty,
You shall not find a truer set of subjects,
More noisy loving, in the universe.

GOMEZ.
'Tis said this mighty and unruly concourse,
Tumultuously thus poured abroad, has caused
Broils not a few, and bloodshed.

KING.
Odso! true,
We had forgot; but thou rememberest us,
Thyself reminded by too fresh a grief,
That we designed to have, on our arrival,
The use of swords and arms prohibited,
While we sojourn in Seville; gentlemen,
Ye must divest ye of these warlike gauds;
We have not yet forgotten Saragossa,
Whose streets, to welcome us, ran down with blood
Of jostling youngsters, fighting by the dozen,
Where this, our very friend and counsellor,
Was, by ill chance, made childless by the slaughter,
Of a fair only son, such strife prevailed;
To prevent which, let instant proclamation
Be made through Seville, that on pain of death,
No one presume armed to walk abroad
During the time of our abiding here.
See to it, Gomez; gentlemen, come on!
We halt upon the threshold. Seville, ho!

[Exit, with train
Enter Hyacinth and Sancho.
HYACINTH.

Never credit me, Sancho, if I don't think thee more
stupid, yea, more obtusely, intensely, and impenetrably
thick-skulled than ever man or woman was before thee.

SANCHO.

You may think so, sir, and say so, too; 'tis ever the
way when you are perplexed at aught; when you have
on colours you love not; or a sword-knot that sits not
well, or an over-tightened shoe,—you call me hard
names, and so make matters better; but, Master Hyacinth.

HYACINTH.

Don Hyacinthus, blockhead!

SANCHO.

Don Hyacinthus, blockhead!

HYACINTH.

Thou apish varlet! have a care! I shall commit a
mischief.

SANCHO.

On your new hose, mayhap, if you lunge too wide;
but as I know that, for the soul of you, you cannot run,
I'll speak my mind at this good distance, thus—and then
take to my heels. When you left Segovia for Seville,
your father bestowed on you much good advice, your
mother, a purse of gold, and me for servidor; since
which time I have not ceased to toil in your behalf;

but, sir, you have grown out of all behaviour, and
my service beyond all endurance. I will no more be
owed my fees by you; I will no more go strutting at
your heels in your cast-off apparel, which do make me
the scoff of all eyes, nor devise, at every new town
we come to, the monstrous lies you blazon yourself
forth in.

HYACINTH.

Thou speakest not the thing that is; id est, thou
sayest the thing that is not; 'tis I devise, and thou hast
not even the wit to utter them.

SANCHO.

'Tis conscience chokes them in the utterance.

HYACINTH.

Take this, and clear thy conscience's throat withal;
nay, honest Sancho, pray thee help my hand into my
pocket, Sancho, for my mother's sake, who bade thee
watch over me, Sancho.

SANCHO.

Nay, if you touch the virtue of compassion in me,
'tis only there I'm weak.

HYACINTH.

Oh! thou art all compassion! Here, here be thy
wages for the past, and this I give thee as an earnest;
—art thou touched?

SANCHO.

Marry, pierced to the heart; master, what shall I do?

HYACINTH.

Get thee on to Seville, to a house of resort, called
the Anchor, with those same things thou bearest upon
thy back; be heedful of the straw-coloured mantle,

good Sancho; and, Sancho, I pray thee look to the
pink hose, lest they be crushed. When thou shalt have
safely lodged my apparel, not without some observation
to attract notice and importance, made whilst thou art
unpacking of them, in hearing of the guests, the
hostess, or even the drawers; such as, “Ay, marry!
he's a gallant that owns this mantle; the ladies do
mightily affect him;” remember that.

SANCHO.

Infect him,—I shall.

HYACINTH.

Or this—“These hose he wore upon the very day the
Countess, what name thou wilt, so it be long enough,
and end in a—

SANCHO.

Antarididlearida?

HYACINTH.

Mark me, the Countess—

SANCHO.

Antari—plague on't, I have forgot; Antilly—I have
forgot the name I found—Antunedonypesthemopora.

HYACINTH.

Well, well; “did so beseech him to supper,”—dost
mark?

SANCHO.

Oh, sir, 'tis an oft taught lesson; the maids that have
run from their wits, the wives from their lords, and
the widows from their weeds, for the love of you, I
have noted in a book; and in another leaf, the brothers,
fathers, husbands, lovers, and guardians, that, by your

valour, were brought as low as their honour was by your
love.

HYACINTH.

Good, then; con but o'er thy task, and say it off
glibly. Well, having deposited my suits, inquire out
one Antonio, my uncle, an orange merchant of great
note in Seville; greet him from me, and tell him I shall
see him this very night; that he may look for me: and
then, good Sancho, get thee to thine inn again, and
wait there until I come to attire me.

SANCHO.

I will not fail.

[Exit.
HYACINTH.

My purple suit, with orange slashings; ay, that shall
it be; I marvel what manner of man my uncle, the
orange merchant, is; he hath a fair daughter, they
say,—'tis not to be doubted she will love me! My
purple suit, a courtier withal; moreover, I will spread
the news abroad, that besides being a most resistless
wooer, I'm bound in promise to some high-born lady in
Segovia, who pines for my return. There's nothing so
becomes a man, or makes him to be so sought after by
women, as knowing that he hath triumphed over all but
one; and that from that one, he is in honour bound not
to stray; for 'tis to be thought that whatsoever fortunate
fair seduces him from his loving allegiance, hath
the double delight of winning his heart and breaking
his lady's. My purple suit—curse on these galling
shoes!—with orange slashings, and my fire of Egypt
mantle!

[Exit.