_Duen_. What?

_Don Jer_. A scarecrow--to prove a decoy-duck! What have you to say
for yourself?

_Duen_. Well, sir, since you have forced that letter from me, and
discovered my real sentiments, I scorn to renounce them.--I am
Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that your daughter should
have served you as all such old tyrannical sots should be served--I
delight in the tender passions and would befriend all under their
influence.

_Don Jer_. The tender passions! yes, they would become those
impenetrable features! Why, thou deceitful hag! I placed thee as a
guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's beauty. I thought that
dragon's front of thine would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry:
steel traps and spring guns seemed writ in every wrinkle of it.--But
you shall quit my house this instant. The tender passions, indeed! go,
thou wanton sibyl, thou amorous woman of Endor, go!

_Duen_. You base, scurrilous, old--but I won't demean myself by naming
what you are.--Yes, savage, I'll leave your den; but I suppose you
don't mean to detain my apparel--I may have my things, I presume?

_Don Jer_. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe on--what have you
pilfered, eh?

_Duen_. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress; she has valuables of
mine: besides, my cardinal and veil are in her room.