_Man_. I wish, sir, it may prove so;
I never had so strong an inclination
To believe any man as you--But yet--
_Gons_. All things shall be so clear, there shall be left
No room for any scruple. I was born
In Seville, of the best house in that city;
My name Gonsalvo de Peralta: Being
A younger brother, 'twas my uncle's care
To take me with him in a voyage to
The Indies, where since dying, he has left me
A fortune not contemptible; returning
From thence with all my wealth in the plate fleet,
A furious storm almost within the port
Of Seville took us, scattered all the navy.
My ship, by the unruly tempest borne
Quite through the Streights, as far as Barcelona,
There first cast anchor; there I stept ashore:
Three days I staid, in which small time I made
A little love, which vanished as it came.
_Man_. But were you not engaged to her you
courted?
_Gons_. Upon my honour, no; what might have been
I cannot tell: But ere I could repair
My beaten ship, or take fresh water in,
One night, when there by chance I lay aboard,
A wind tore up my anchor from the bottom,
And with that violence it brought me thither,
Has thrown me in this port.
_Mon_. But yet our meeting in the wood was
strange.
_Gons_. For that I'll satisfy you as we walk.
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