 to +Donna Blanca's+ antechamber.
                            Enter +Blanca+._

    +Blan.+ How true it is that nature cheats mankind,
    And makes us think ourselves the only tasters
    Of pure delight and bliss; when as indeed,
    Oppressing us with pains and griefs, she makes
    Deliv'rance from them pass for solid pleasure!
    Witness in me those images of joy,
    Wherewith she flatters now my expectation:
    What will its highest satisfaction be
    At most, but ease from what tormented me?

                      _Enter +FRANCISCA+ hastily._

    +Fran.+ It now imports you have affected rage
    As ready at hand as usually you have
    Anger in earnest. But, above all, be sure
    You discharge it smartly upon me; for here
    He presses at my heels.

    _Enter +Don Zancho+, and goes to cast himself at +Donna
        Blanca's+ feet, and she starting back from him._

    +Blan.+ What insolence is this? Think not, Francisca,
    That I am to be fool'd! This is your work:
    You shall not stay an hour within these walls--
    By all that's good, you shall not!

    +Fran.+ For heaven's sake, madam, be not so unjust       [_Whining._
    To an old servant, always full of duty.
    But can I govern madmen? Would y' have had me
    Make all the street take notice? There he attack'd me
    With such transportment, the whole town had rung on't,
    Had I not run away. Could I imagine
    A man so wild as to pursue me hither
    Into your presence?

    +Blan.+ It is well, Don Zancho;          [_Severely and scornfully._
    Blanca may be thus used; but he that does it
    Shall find----
             [_She turns away as going out, he holds her by the sleeve._

    +Don Z.+ Pardon this rudeness, madam, but a man
    Made desperate hath nothing more to manage.
    Hither I come to give you satisfaction,
    And if my reasons can't, my heart-blood shall;
    But you must hear me, or here see me dead.

    +Blan.+ Since to be rid of him, Francisca, I see
                                              [_Turning to