Meanwhile, my son, I crave one patient hearing To what I have to say.
_Lope._ Silence, sir! Coming here, we must expect And bear such things. Pray speak, sir.
_Urr._ You see, Lope, (And doubtless must have heard of it before,) In what a plight we are: my property, What yet remains of it, embroil’d and hamper’d, And all so little, that this last expense, Of getting (as I have) your Estifania, Who has already cost us all so much, Into a convent; to do this, I say, I have been forced to let my house for hire To my old friend; yea, almost, I assure you, To beg from door to door. Enough of that: ’Tis done; and you are now at last restor’d To home, and station—wealth I cannot say— But all is well that ends well. All I ask, (And ’tis with tears and with a broken voice I ask it: I would ask it on my knees If these white hairs forbade not such descent,) That from this day, in pity to us all— Perhaps in gratitude—you would repent Your past excess; yea, surfeited with that, Would henceforth tame your headlong passions down Into a quiet current. Help me, son, Restore the shaken credit of our house, And show—let us _both_ show—that misery Has taught us not in vain. Let us be friends Henceforth; no rivalry of love or hate Between us; each doing what in him lies To make what may remain of life to each Happy and honourable. On my part I stake a father’s love and tenderness; And will not you as freely on your side Wager your filial obedience? Your father asks, implores you. Oh, consider You may not always have a friend in need To rescue you as now: nay, disappoint His mercy and again provoke the laws He now remits, that friend may turn to foe And sacrifice the life he vainly spared.
_Vic._ There only wants, ‘in sæcula sæculorum,’ To finish off with.
_Lope._ Sir, I promise you Amendment, that shall make the past a foil To set the future off.
_Men._ I come in time To vouch fulfilment of so fair a vow.
_Men._ I knew you on your road to me; Your errand too; and thus much have forestall’d Of needless courtesy.
_Lope._ Pray God, reward you With such advancement in your prince’s love As envy, the court Hydra, shall not hiss, But general love and acclamation Write in gold letters in our history, For ages and for ages. Sir, your hand!