_Jac._ Someone rings. That jingling bell pursues me unto death; In faith, this porter's is a tedious office. [_Exit._
_Gasp._ More tedious still the wearing of the knees Upon this pavement. I am weary of it.
_Jac._ One who inquires for thee, Anselmo, Who would confess.
_Gasp._ (_Takes a confessional chair._) I know the man: Jacobo, leave us. [_Exit Jacobo._ My son, we are alone; now thou may'st profit By holy rite, and on thy bended knees Pour out thy soul to me in deep contrition. Hast thou perform'd the penance I enjoin'd For the sad stumblings thou did'st last confess?
_Ant._ I have, most holy father, to my belief Obey'd thy strict injunction. I have so much to think of for my master, My thoughts are scarce mine own; Still do I often call upon the saints.
_Gasp._ I trust thou dost--and not as I have heard That worldlings do, invoke them in mere blasphemy.
_Ant._ Nay, father, when I call, I am sincere.
_Gasp._ Thou dost evade, I fear, with double meaning. But to the purpose--by what sins hast thou, Since last we met, endanger'd thy poor soul?
_Ant._ Father, my mind is ill at ease. I serve A master most equivocal--a false one In all he says and does; in love--in everything. I know not what to think. He's here and there-- In fact, I do believe he is--the devil.
_Gasp._ Give me the grounds for this thy strange suspicion.
_Ant._ He keeps his chamber lock'd, his haunts unknown. He comes when least expected. How he comes I cannot tell. He goes, and Heaven knows where. I ne'er can make him out with all my prying.
_Gasp._ It would appear thy master doth not trust thee. Why should'st thou watch, and seek to find out that He would conceal? This base prying nature Is a dark sin, and must be check'd by penance. Hast thou no more?
_Ant._ Yes, father, I've a grievous fault to tell; One that I'm fearful thou wilt much abhor-- An accident, 'tis true, and most unlucky-- I have two wives in Seville.
_Gasp._ Two wives! Thou hast profaned the holy rite! What! wedded twice! and say 'twas accident!
_Ant._ An accident--they both have come to Seville.
_Gasp._ It is a heinous sin--one that demands Justice on earth; scarce pardon claims from Heaven. Two wives! How long hast thou thus lived in sin?
_Ant._ 'Tis now three years since I did wed the second! I had forgot, my memory is so bad, I wedded was before--till yesterday, I chanced to meet with both of them in Seville.