Which I shall publish in the market-place.
Open your ears, and listen!

(Enter the PADRE CURA at the door of his cottage.)
Padre Cura,

Good-day! and, pray you, hear this edict read. PADRE CURA.-Good-day, and God be with you! Pray, what is it?

PEDRO CRESPO.-An act of banishment against the Gipsies!

(Agitation and murmurs in the crowd.)

PANCHO.-Silence!

PEDRO CRESPO (reads)." I hereby order and command,

That the Egyptian and Chaldean strangers,
Known by the name of Gipsies, shall hence-
forth

Be banished from the realm, as vagabonds
And beggars; and if, after seventy days,
Any be found within our kingdom's bounds,
They shall receive a hundred lashes each;
The second time, shall have their ears cut off;
The third, be slaves for life to him who takes
them,

Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, the King." Vile miscreants, and creatures unbaptized! You hear the law! Obey, and disappear! PANCHO.-And if in seventy days you are not gone, Dead or alive I make you all my slaves.

(The Gipsies go out in confusion, showing signs of fear and discontent. PANCHO follows.)

PADRE CURA.-A righteous law! A very righteous law!

Pray you sit down.

PEDRO CRESFO.

I thank you heartily.

(They seat themselves on a bench at the PADRE CURA's door. Sound of guitars heard at a distance, approaching during the dialogue which follows,)

A very righteous judgment, as you say.
Now tell me, Padre Cura,-you know all
things,-

How came these Gipsies into Spain?
PADRE CURA.—

Why, look you:
They came with Hercules from Palestine,
And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir
Alcalde.

As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus.

And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda says
There are a hundred marks to prove a Moor
Is not a Christian, so 'tis with the Gipsies.
They never marry, never go to mass,

Never baptize their children, nor keep Lent, Nor see the inside of a church,-nor-nor PEDRO CRESPO.-Good reasons, good, substantial reasons all!

No matter for the other ninety-five.

They should be burnt; I see it plain enough;
They should be burnt.

(Enter VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO playing.)

PADRE CURA. And pray, whom have we here? PEDRO CRESPO.-More vagrants! By St. Lazarus, more vagrants!

HYPOLITO.-Good-evening, gentlemen! Is this Guadarrama?

PADRE CURA.-Yes, Guadarrama, and good-evening to you.

HYPOLITO. We seek the Padre Cura of the village;

And, judging from your dress and reverend mien,

You must be he.

PADRE CURA.—I am. Pray, what's your pleasure?

HYPOLITO. We are poor students, travelling in

vacation.

You know this mark?

(Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-hand.)

PADRE CURA (joyfully).- Ay, know it, and have

worn it.

PEDRO CRESPO (aside).—

Soup-eaters! by the mass! The worst of vagrants!

And there's no law against them. Sir, your

servant.

[Exit.

PADRE CURA.-Your servant, Pedro Crespo.
HYPOLITO.-
Padre Cura,

From the first moment I beheld your face,
I said within myself, "This is the man!"
There is a certain something in your looks,
A certain scholar-like and studious some-
thing,-

You understand,-which cannot be mistaken;
Which marks you as a very learned man;
In fine, as one of us.

VICTORIAN (aside).—

What impudence. HYPOLITO. As we approached, I said to my com

panion,

"That is the Padre Cura; mark my words!" Meaning your Grace.

said I,

The other man,"

Ah! said you so?

"Who sits so awkwardly upon the bench,

Must be the sacristan."

PADRE CURA.—

Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the alcalde! HYPOLITO.-Indeed! you much astonish me! His

air

Was not so full of dignity and grace

As an alcalde's should be.

PADRE CURA.

That is true.

He is out of humour with some vagrant Gipsies, Who have their camp here in the neighbourhood.

There is nothing so undignified as anger. HYPOLITO.-The Padre Cura will excuse our bold

ness,

If, from his well-known hospitality,
We crave a lodging for the night.

PADRE CURA.

I pray you!

You do me honour! I am but too happy

To have such guests beneath my humble roof.
It is not often that I have occasion

To speak with scholars; and Emollit mores,
Nec sinit esse feros, Cicero says.
HYPOLITO.-'Tis Ovid, is it not?

PADRE CURA.

No, Cicero. HYPOLITO.-Your Grace is right. You are the better scholar.

Now what a dunce was I to think it Ovid!
But hang me if it is not!

PADRE CURA.

(Aside.)

Pass this way.

He was a very great man, was Cicero !
Pray you, go in, go in! no ceremony. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A room in the PADRE CURA's house. Enter the PADRE and HYPOLITO.

PADRE CURA.-So then, Senor, you come from Alcalá.

I am glad to hear it. It was there I studied. HYPOLITO. And left behind an honoured name, no doubt.

How may I call your Grace?

PADRE CURA.

Gerónimo

De Santillana, at your Honour's service. HYPOLITO.-Descended from the Marquis Santil

lana?

From the distinguished poet?

PADRE CURA.

Not from the poet.

HYPOLITO.

From the Marquis,

Why, they were the same.

Let me embrace you! O some lucky star

Has brought me hither! Yet once more !

once more!

Your name is ever green in Alcalá,

And our professor, when we are unruly,

Will shake his hoary head, and say, "Alas! It was not so in Santillana's time!" PADRE CURA.-I did not think my name remembered there.

HYPOLITO.-More than remembered; it is idolized. PADRE CURA. Of what professor speak you?

HYPOLITO.

Timoneda. PADRE CURA.-I don't remember any Timoneda. HYPOLITO. A grave and sombre man, whose beetling brow

O'erhangs the rushing current of his speech As rocks o'er rivers hang. Have you forgotten?

PADRE CURA.-Indeed I have.

pleasant days,

O those were

Those college days! I ne'er shall see the like!
I had not buried then so many hopes!

I had not buried then so many friends!
I've turned my back on what was then before
me;

And the bright faces of my young companions
Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more.
Do you remember Cueva?

HYPOLITO.

Cueva? Cueva? PADRE CURA.-Fool that I am! He was before your time.

You're a mere boy, and I am an old man. HYPOLITO.-I should not like to try my strength

with you.

PADRE CURA.-Well, well.

must be hungry.

But I forget; you

Martina ho! Martina! "Tis my niece.

(Enter MARTINA.)

HYPOLITO. You may be proud of such a niece as

that.

I wish I had a niece. Emollit mores.
He was a very great man, was Cicero !
Your servant, fair Martina.

MARTINA.

Servant, sir.

(Aside.)