University of Virginia Library

ACT. IV.

SCENE. I.

Enter Ismena and Isabel.
Isa.
Madam turn your back to that side,
For there Antonio is hid; he must not see your
Face: now raise your voice that he may hear what 'tis you say.

Ism.
I'l warrant you. Isabella,
was ever wretched Womans fate like mine,
Forc'd to obey the rigid Laws of Parents,
And marry with a Man I did not Love?

Ant.
Oh theres my cause of fear.

[Ant. peeps.
Ism.
Though since I had him thou knowst I have indeavour'd
To make his will my Law;
Till by degrees and Custom, which makes things natural,
I found this heart, which ne're had been ingag'd
To any other, grow more soft to him;
And still the more he lov'd, the more I was oblig'd,
And made returns still kinder; till I became
Not only to allow, but to repay his tenderness.

Isa.
She Counterfeits rarely.
[Aside.
Madam indeed I have observ'd this truth.

Ism.
See who 'tis knocks.

[One knocks.
Ant.
What will this come to?

[Aside.
Isa.
Madam 'tis Alberto.

Enter Alberto.
[Bows.
Ism.
My Lord, you've often told me that you Lov'd me,
Which I with Womens usual Pride believ'd;
And now encourag'd by my hopeful promises,
You look for some returns; Sir, is it so?

Alb.
What means she?
Pray Heaven I answer right;
Aside.
—Madam, if I have err'd in that belief,
To know I do so, is sufficient punishment.
—Lovers, Madam, though they have no returns.
Like sinking men, still catch at all they meet with;
And whilst they live, though in the mid'st of storms,
Because they wish, they also hope for calms.

Ism.
And did you Sir, consider who I was?

Alb.
Yes, Madam, Wife unto my Friend Antonio,
The only man that has an interest here:
—But, Madam, that must still submit to Love.

Ism.
Canst thou at once be true to him and me?

Alb.
Madam, I know not that,
But since I must loose one,
My Friendship I can better lay aside.

Ism.
Hast thou forgot how dear thou art to him?

Alb.
No, I do believe I am, and that his life
Were but a worthless trifle, if I needed it;
Yet, Madam, you are dearer to him still,
Then his Alberto; and 'tis so with me:
—Him I esteem, but you I do adore;
And he whose Soul's incensible of love,
Can never grateful to his Friendship prove.

Ism.
By your example, Sir, I'le still retain
My love for him; and what I had for you,
Which was but Friendship, I'le abandon too.

Ant.
Happy Antonio.—

[Aside.
Ism.
Pray what have you Antonio cannot own?
Has he not equal beauty, if not, exceeding thine?
Has he not equal vigour, wit, and valour?
And all that even raises Men to Gods,
Wer't not for poor Mortality?
—Vain man, could'st thou believe
That I would quit my duty to this Husband,
And sacrifice his right to thee?
—Could'st thou believe me yesterday?
When from thy importunity and impudence,
To send thee from me;
I promis'd thee to love thee;
—Nay rather, Treacherous man,
Could'st thou believe I did not hate thee then,
Who basely would betray thy friend and me?

Alb.
Sure this is earnest.

[Aside.
Ant.
Oh brave Clarina!

[Aside.
Ism.
Speak Traytor to my Fame and Honour;
Was there no woman, but Antonio's Wife,
With whom thou could'st commit so foul a crime?
And none but he, too bring to publick shame?
A man who trusted thee, and lov'd thee too?
—Speak—and if yet thou hast a sense of Vertue,
Call to the Saints for pardon, or thou dy'st.

[She draws a Poniard, and runs at him, he steps back to avoid it.
Alb.
Hold Clarina!—I am amaz'd.

Ism.
But stay,
Thou say'st my Beauty forc'd thee to this wickedness,
And that's the cause you have abus'd Antonio;
—Nor is it all the power I have with him,
Can make him credit what I tell him of thee;
And should I live, I still must be pursu'd by thee,
And unbeliev'd by him:
—Alberto, thou shalt ne're be guilty more,
Whilst this—and this may meet.

[Offering to wound her self, is stay'd by Alb. and Isab. they set Ism. in a Chair, Alb. kneels weeping.
Alb.
Hold my Divine Clarina.—

Ant.
Shall I discover my self, or steal away?
[Aside.
And all asham'd of life after this Action;
Go where the Sun or day may ever find me:
Oh what Vertue I've abus'd—
Curse on my little Faith;
And all the Curses madness can invent,
Light on my groundless jealousie.
Ex. Antonio.

Alb.
Clarina, why so cruel to my heart?
'Tis true, I love you, but with as chaste an ardour,
As Souls departing pay the Deities;
When with incessant sighs they haste a way,
And leave humanity behind; oh! so did I
Abandon all the lesser joy of life,
For that of being permitted but t'adore ye;
Alas, if 'twere displeasing to you,
Why did your self encourage it?
I might have languish'd as I did before,
And hid those crimes which make you hate me now:
—Oh I am lost! Antonio, thou'st undone me;
[He rises in rage.
—Here me ungrate; I swear by all that's good,
I'le wash away my mischief with thy blood.

Isab.
Antonio hears you not Sir, for he's departed.

Ism.
Is Antonio gone?

[She looks peartly up, who before lay half dead.
Alb.
How's this, has she but feign'd?

Ism.
No, it was but feign'd; I hope this proof
Of what I've promis'd you, does not displease you.

Alb.
Am I thus fortunate, thus strangely happy?

Ism.
Time will confirm it to you—go, do not
Now thank me for't, but seek Antonio out;
Perhaps, he may have too great a sence of the
Mischiefs his jealousies had like to have caus'd;
But conjure him to take no notice of what's past to me;
This easie slight of mine secures our fears,
And serves to make Antonio confident:
Who now will unbelieve his eyes and ears?
And since before, when I was innocent,
He could suspect my love and duty too;
I'le try what my dissembling it will do:
—Go haste.

Alb.
Madam, I go surpriz'd with love and wonder.
[Ex. Alb.

Ism.
You'l be more surpriz'd, when you know
[Aside.
That you are cheated too as well as Antonio.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Curtius disguis'd in a Black Perruque and Beard, with Pietro disguised also.
Curt.
Well, what hast thou learn'd?

Piet.
News enough Sir, but none good;
That the Princes wounds are small,
So that he intends to take the Air this evening;
That he solicites Laura hard;
And, Sir, that you are proclaim'd Traytor.

Curt.
So, what says the Messenger you sent to Cloris?

Piet.
Sir, he brings sad tydings back.

Curt.
What tydings? is she dead
That would revive my Soul,
And fortifie my easie nature with some wicked notions,
As deep as those this flattering Prince made use of,
When he betray'd my Sister; Prety Cloris:
—Come, speak it boldly, for nothing else
Will make me do her justice.

Piet.
No Sir, she is not dead,
But fled, and none knows whether;
Only Guilliam attends her.

Curt.
Worse and worse; but what of Laura?

Piet.
She, Sir, is kept a Prisoner by her Father.
And speaks with none but those that come from Frederick.

Curt.
Laura confin'd too; 'tis time to hasten then,
With my, till now, almost disarm'd revenge:
—Thus I may pass unknown the streets of Florence,
And find an opportunity to reach this Princes heart.
—Oh vengeance! luxurious vengeance,
Thy Pleasures turn a Rival to my love,
And make the mightier Conquest o're my heart.
—Cloris—I will revenge thy tears and sufferings;
And to secure the doom of him that wrong'd thee,
I'le call on injur'd Laura too.
—Here take these Pictures—and where thou see'st
[Gives him Boxes.
A knot of Gallants, open one or two, as if by stealth,
To gaze upon the Beauties, and then straight close them—
But stay, here comes the only man
I could have wish'd for, he'le proclaim my business
Better then a Picture or a Trumpet.

They stand by.
[Curtius takes back the Pictures.
Enter Lorenzo and Guilliam drest in fineish Cloaths, but the same high-crown'd Hat.
Lor.
Did, ha, ha, ha, did ha, ha,; did ever any
Mortal man behold such a Figure as thou art now?
Well, I see 'tis a damnable thing not to
Be born a Gentleman; the Devil himself
Can never make thee truly jantee now:
—Come, come, come forward; these Cloaths become
Thee, as a Saddle does a Sow; why com'st thou not?
—Why—ha, ha, I hope thou hast not
[He advances sowerly looking.
Hansell'd thy new Breeches,
Thou look'st so filthily on't.

Gill.
No, Sir, I hope, I have more manners then so;
But if I should, 'tis not my fault;
For the necessary houses are hard
To be met withal here at Court.

Lor.
Very well Sirrah; you begin already to be
Witty with the Court; but I can tell you, it has as
Many necessary places in't, as any Court in Christendom—
But what a Hat thou hast?

Gill.
Why Sir, though I say't, this is accounted of
In our Village; but I had another but now,
Which blew off in a high wind; and I never mist it,
Till I had an occasion to pluck it off to a young
Squire, they call a Lacque; and Fegs
I had none at all; and because I would not lose
My Leg for want of a Hat, I fetch'd this;
And I can tell you, Sir, it has a fashionable brim.

Lor.
A fools head of your own, has it not;
The boys will hoot at us as we pass—hah,
Who be these, who be these—

[Goes towards Curt. and Piet.
Curt.
Here—this to Don Alonso—this to the
English Count; and this you may show to the
Young German Prince—and this—
[Gives Piet. Pictures.
I will reserve for higher Prices.

Piet.
Will you show none to the Courtiers, Sir?

Curt.
Away you fool, I deal in no such trash.

Lor.
How Sir, how was that? pray how came we to
Gain your dis-favour?

Curt.
I cry you mercy Sir, pray what are you?

Lor.
A Courtier, Sir, I can assure you,
And one of the best rank too;
I have the Princes ear, Sir—
—What have you there—hah—Pictures, let me see—
What, are they to be bought?

Curt.
Sir, they are Copies of most fair Originals,
Not to be bought, but hired.

Lor.
Say you so Friend; the price, the price.

Curt.
Five thousand Crowns a month, Sir.

Lor.
The price is somewhat saucy.

Curt.
Sir, they be curious Pieces, were never blown upon,
Have never been in Courts, nor hardly Cities.

Lor.
Upon my word that's considerable;
Friend, pray where do you live?

Curt.
In the Piazzo, near the Palace.

Lor.
Well, put up your ware, show not a face of them
Till I return; for I will bring you
The best Chapman in all Florence,
Except the Duke himself.

Curt.
You must be speedy then,
For I to morrow shall be going towards Rome.

Lor.
A subtle Rascal this, thou think'st, I warrant,
To make a better Market amongst the Cardinals;
—But take my word, ne're a Cardinal of them all
Comes near this man, I mean, to bring you in
Matters of Beauty—so, this will infalliably make
[Aside.
My peace again; look ye friend—
Be ready, for 'tis the Prince, the noble generous Frederick,
That I design your Merchant.

[Goes out.
Curt.
Your Servant Sir—that is Guilliam,
I cannot be mistaken in him, go call him back,
[Pietro fetches him back, who puts on a surly Face.
—Friend what art thou?

Guil.
What am I, why what am I; do'st thou not see
What I am; a Courtier Friend.

Curt.
But what's thy name?

Guil.
My name, I have not yet consider'd.

Curt.
What was thy name?

Guil.
What was my name?

Curt.
Yes friend, thou had'st one.

Guil.
Yes friend thou had'st one.

Curt.
Dog, do'st eccho me? do'st thou repeat;
[Shakes him.
I say again, what is thy name?

Guil.
Oh horrible—why, Sir, it was Guilliam
When I was a silly Swain.

Curt.
Guilliam—the same;
Didst thou not know a Maid whose name was Cloris?

Guil.
Yes, there was such a Maid,
But now she's none.

Curt.
Was such a Maid; but now she's none:
—The slave upbraids my griefs.

[Aside.
Guil.
Yes, Sir, so I said.

Cur.
So you said.

Guil.
Why, yes Sir, what do you repeat?

Curt.
What mean you Sirrah? have you a mind to
Have your Throat cut? tell me where she is.

Guil.
I dare as well be hang'd;
Now must I devise a lie, or never look Cloris
[Aside.
In the face more.

Curt.
Here's Gold for thee; I will be secret too.

Guil.
Oh, Sir, the poor Maid you speak of is dead!

Curt.
Dead! where dy'd she? and how?

Guil.
Now am I put to my wits; this 'tis to begin
[Aside.
In sin, as our Curate said; I must go on:
—Why Sir, she came into the Wood,—and hard by a
River side—she sigh'd, and she wept full fore;
And cry'd two or three times out upon Curtius,
—And—then—

[Howls.
Curt.
Poor Cloris, thy fate was too severe.

Guil.
And then as I was saying, Sir,
She leapt into the River, and swam up the Stream.

[Curt. weeps.
Piet.
And why up the Stream friend?

Guil.
Because she was a Woman—and that's all.

Curt.
Farewel, and thank thee.
[Ex. Guil.
—Poor Cloris dead, and banish'd too from Laura;
Was ever wretched Lovers fate like mine!
—And he who injures me, has power to do so;
—But why, where lies this power about this man?
Is it his charms of Beauty, or of Wit?
Or that great name he has acquir'd in War?
Is it the Majesty, that Holy something,
That guards the person of this Demi-god?
This aws not me, there must be something more,
For ever when I call upon my wrongs;
Something within me pleads so kindly for him,
As would perswade me that he could not erre.
—Ah, what is this? where lies this power divine,
That can so easily make a slave of mine?

[Exeunt.

SCENE. III.

Enter Frederick and Cloris finely drest.
Fred.
'Tis much methinks, a Boy of so dejected,
Humble birth, should have so much of sense,
And soul about him.

Clor.
I know not that; but if I have a thought
Above that humble Birth or Education,
It was inspir'd by Love.

Fred.
Still you raise my wonder greater;
—Thou a Lover?

Clor.
Yes, my Lord, though I am young,
I've felt the power of Beauty;
And should you look upon the object, Sir,
Your wonders soon would cease,
Each look does even Animate Insensibles,
And strikes a reverend awe upon the Soul;
Nothing is found so lovely.

Fred.
Thou speak'st prettily, I think love
Indeed has inspir'd thee.

Clor.
These were the flatteries, Sir, she us'd to me,
Of her it was I learn'd to speak, and sigh,
And look, as oft you say, I do on you.

Fred.
Why then, it seems she made returns?

Clor.
Ah! Sir, 'twas I that first was blest,
I first the happy object was belov'd,
For 'twas a person, Sir, so much above me;
It had been sin to've rais'd my eyes to her;
Or by a glance, or sigh, betray my pain:
But oh! when with a thousand soft expressions,
She did incourage me to speak of Love!
—My god, how soon extravagant I grew,
And told so oft the story of my passion;
That she grew weary of the repeated tale,
And punish'd my presumption with a strange neglect.

[Weeps.
Fred.
How my good Phillibert?

Clor.
Would suffer me to see her face no more.

Fred.
That was pity; without a fault?

Clor.
Alas, Sir, I was guilty of no crime,
But that of having told her how I lov'd her;
For all I had sacrific'd to her;
—Poor worthless treasures, to any but a Lover;
And such you know accept the meanest things:
Love and a true Devotion, do present;
When she was present, I found a thousand ways
To let her know how much I was her slave;
And absent still invented new ones,
And quite neglected all my little business;
Counting the tedious moments of the day
By sighs and tears; thought it an age to night,
Whose darkness might secure our happy meeting:
But we shall meet no more on these kind terms.

[Sighs.
Fred.
Come, do not weep, sweet youth, thou art too young
To have thy blooming cheeks blasted with sorrow;
Thou wilt out-grow this childish inclination,
And shalt see beauties here, whose every glance
Kindles new fires, and quite expel the old.

Clor.
Oh never Sir.

Fred.
When I was first in Love, I thought so too,
But now with equal ardour,
I doat upon each new and beauteous object.

Clor.
And quite forget the old?

Fred.
Not so, but when I see them o're again,
I find I love them as I did before.

Clor.
Oh God forbid, I should be so inconsistant;
No, Sir, though she be false she has my heart,
And I can dye, but not redeem the victim.

Fred.
Away you little Fool, you make me sad
By this resolve, but I'le instruct you better.

Clor.
I would not make you sad for all the world:
Sir, I will Sing, or Dance, do any thing
That may divert you.

Fred.
I thank thee Phillibert, and will accept
Thy bounty; perhaps it may allay thy griefs a while too.

Clor.
I'le call the Musick, Sir.

[She goes out.
Fred.
This Boy has strange agreements in him.
Enter Cloris with Musick, She bids them Play, and Dances a Jig.
This was wondrous kind my prety Phillibert.

Enter Page.
Page.
Lorenzo, my Lord, begs admittance.

Fred.
He may come in:
Enter Lorenzo.
—Well Lorenzo, whats the news with thee?
—How goes the price of Beauty, hah?

Lor.
My Lord, that question is a propo to
What I have to say; this paper will answer your
Question Sir—
[Gives him a Paper, he reads.
—Hah, I vow to gad a lovely youth;
Lor. gazes on Phill.
But what makes he here with Frederick?
This stripling may chance to mar my market of women now—
'Tis a fine lad, how plump and white he is;
[Aside.
Would I could meet him some where i'th dark,
I'de have a fling at him, and try whether I
Were right Florentine.

Fred.
Well, Sir, where be these beauties.

Lor.
I'le conduct you to them.

Fred.
What's the fellow that brings them?

Lor.
A Grecian, I think, or something.

Fred.
Beauties from Greece, man!

Lor.
Why, let them be from the Devil,
So they be new, and fine, what need we care;
—But you must go to night.

Fred.
I am not in a very good condition
To make visits of that kind.

Lor.
However see them, and if you like them,
You may oblige the fellow to a longer stay,
For I know they are handsome.

Fred.
That's the only thing thou art judge of;
—Well go you and prepare them,
And Phillibert thou shalt along with me;
I'le have thy judgment too.

Clor.
Good Heaven, how false he is!

[Aside.
Lor.
What time will your Highness come?

Fred.
Two hours hence.
[Ex. Fred.

Lor.
So then I shall have time to have a bout
With this gilting huswife Isabella,
[Aside.
For my fingers itch to be at her.
[Ex. Lorenzo.

Clor.
Not know me yet; cannot this face inform him,
My sighs, nor eyes, my accent, nor my tale;
Had he one thought of me, he must have found me out;
—Yes, yes, 'tis certain I am miserable;
He's going now to see some fresher beauties,
And I, he says, must be a witness of it;
This gives me wounds, painful as those of Love:
Some women now would find a thousand Plots
From so much grief as I have, but I'm dull;
Yet I'le to Laura, and advise with her,
Where I will tell her such a heavy a tale,
As shall oblige her to a kind concern:
—This may do; I'le tell her of this thought,
This is the first of Art I ever thought on;
And if this prove a fruitless remedy,
The next, I need not study, how to dye.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Enter Lorenzo, meets Guilliam, who passes by him, and takes no notice of him.
Lor.
How now Manners a few?

Guil.
I cry you heartily, Sir, I did not see you.

Lor.
Well, Sirrah, the news.

Guil.
Sir, the Gentlewoman whom you sent me to says,
That's he'le meet you here.

Lor.
That's well, thou may'st come to be a States-man
In time, thou art a fellow of so quick dispatch:
But harky, Sirrah, there are a few lessons I must learn you,
Concerning offices of this nature;
But another time for that: but—

[Whispers.
Enter Isabella and Vallet.
Isab.
Here he is, and prethee when thou seest him in
My chamber, go and tell my Lord,
Under pretence of the care you have of the honour of his House.

Val.
I warrant you, let me alone for a tale,
And a lye at the end on't; which shall not over much
Incense him, nor yet make him neglect coming.
[Ex. Val.

Lor.
Oh are you there Mistress; what have you now
To say for your last nights roguery?
Are not you a baggage? confess.

Isab.
You have a mind to loose your opportunity again,
As you did last night, have ye not?
Pray God your own shadow scare you not,
As it did then; and you will possibly believe
No body meant you harm then, nor now.

Lor.
Art thou in earnest?

Isab.
Are you in earnest?

Lor.
Yes that I am, and that Clarina shall find
If I once come to her.

Isab.
Come, leave your frippery jests and come in.

Lor.
Guilliam, be sure you attend me here,
And who ever you see, say nothing; the best on't is,
Thou art not much known.

[Isab. and Lor. go in.
Guil.
Well, I see there is nothing but soutering
I'th this Town; wo'd our Lucia were here too for me,
For all the Maids I meet with are so giglish
And scornful, that a man, as I am,
Gets nothing but flouts and flings from them:
Oh for the little kind Lass that lives
Under the Hill, of whom the Song was made;
Which because I have nothing else to do,
I will sing over now; hum, hum,
[To some Tune like him.
The Song for Guilliam.
'Tis something cold, I'le go take a Niperkin of Wine.

[Goes out.
Enter Isab. and Lor. above, as frighted into the Balcone.
Lor.
This was some trick of thine, I will be hang'd else.

Isab.
Oh, I'le be sworn you wrong me;
Alas, I'm undone by't.

[Ant. at the door knocks.
Ant.
Open the door thou naughty woman.

Lor.
Oh oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?

Ant.
Open the door I say.

Lor.
Oh 'tis a damnable leap out at this Balcone.

Isab.
And yet you are a dead man if you see him.

Ant.
Impudence, will you open the door?

Isab.
I will, Sir, immediately.

Lor.
Devise some way to let me down,
Or I will throw thee out; no lader of Ropes, no device?
—If a man would not forswear whoring for the future,
That is in my condition, I am not true Gentleman.

Ant.
Open, or I will break the door.

Isab.
Hold the door, and swear lustily that you
Are my Husband, and I will in the mean time
Provide for your safety,
[He holds the door.
Though I can think of none but the sheets from the bed.

Lor.
Any thing to save my life;
—Sir you may believe me upon my honour,
I am lawful husband to Isabella;
And have no designs upon your house or honour.

Isab. this while fastens the sheets, which are to be supposed from the bed, to the Balcone.
Ant.
Thou art some Villain.

Lor.
No, Sir, I am an honest man, and married lawfully.

Ant.
Who art thou?

Lor.
Hast thou done?

Isab.
Yes, but you must venture hard.

Isab.
'Tis Lorenzo, Sir.

Lor.
A Pox on her, now am I asham'd to all eternity.

Isab.
Sir, let me beg you'l take his word and oath to night,
And to morrow I will satisfie you.

[Lor. gets down by the sheets.
Ant.
Look you make this good,
Or you shall both dearly pay for't.

Lor.
I am alive, yes, yes, all's whole and sound,
Which is a mercy, I can tell you;
This is whoring now: may I turn Franciscan,
If I could not find in my heart to do penance
In Camphire Posset, this month for this:
—Well, I must to this Merchant of Love,
And I would gladly be there before the Prince:
For since I have mist here,
I shall be Amorous enough,
And then I'le provide for Frederick;
For 'tis but just, although he be my Master,
That I in these Ragousts should be his taster.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Enter Ismena with a veil.
Ism.
Alberto is not come yet; sure he loves me;
But 'tis not tears, and knees, that can confirm me;
No, I must be convinc'd by better argument,
—Deceit, if ever thou a guide wer't made
To Amorous hearts, assist a Love-sick Maid.

Enter Alberto.
Alb.
Your pleasure, Madam?
—Oh that she would be brief,
And send me quickly from her,
[Aside.
For her eyes will overthrow my purpose.

Ism.
Alberto, do you love me?

Alb.
No.

Ism.
No, have you deceiv'd me then?

Alb.
Neither Clarina; when I told you so,
By Heaven 'twas perfect truth.

Ism.
And what have I done since should
Merit your dis-esteem?

Alb.
Nothing but what has rais'd it.

Ism.
To raise your esteem, then it seems, is
To lessen your love; or as most gallants are;
You're but pleas'd with what you have not;
And love a Mistriss with great passion, till you find
Your self belov'd again, and then you hate her.

Alb.
You wrong my Soul extremely,
'Tis not of that ungrateful nature;
To love me, is to me a greater charm
Then that of Wit or Beauty.

Ism.
I'me glad on't Sir, then I have pleasant news for you,
I know a Lady, and a Virgin too,
That loves you with such passion,
As has oblig'd me to become her Advocate.

Alb.
I am very much oblig'd to her,
If there be any such.

Ism.
Upon my life there is; I am in earnest,
The Lady is my Sister too.

Alb.
How, Clarina, this from you?

Ism.
Nay, I have promis'd her, that you shall love her too,
Since both her birth and beauty merits you.

Alb.
Away false woman: I love your Sister!
No, I will hate ye both.

Ism.
Why so angry?
Alas, it is against my will I do it.

Alb.
Did you betray my faith, when 'twas so easie
To give a credit to your tale of Love?
—Oh woman, faithless woman!

Ism.
Alberto, with a world of shame I own
That I then lov'd you, and must do so still;
But since that Love must be accounted criminal,
And that a world of danger do's attend it;
I am resolv'd, though I can never quit it,
To change it into kind esteem for you;
And would Ally you, Sir, as near to me,
As our unkind Stars will permit me.

Alb.
I thank you, Madam, oh what a shame it is
To be out-done in Vertue, as in Love!

Ism.
Another favour I must beg of you,
That you will tell Antonio what is past.

Alb.
How mean you Madam?

Ism.
Why, that I Love you Sir,
And how I have deceiv'd him into confidence.

Alb.
This is strange; you cannot mean it sure.

Ism.
When I intend to be extremely good,
I would not have a secret sin within,
Though old, and yet repented too; no Sir,
Confession always goes with Penitence.

Alb.
Do you repent you that you lov'd me then?

Ism.
Not so; but that I did abuse Antonio.

Alb.
And can you think that this will cure his jealousie?

Ism.
Doubtless it will, when he knows how needless 'tis,
For when they're most secure, they're most betray'd;
Besides, I did but act the part he made,
And ills he forces sure, he'le not upbraid. Go seek out Antonio.

Alb.
You have o'recome me, Madam, every way.
And this your last command I can obey;
Your Sister too I'le see, and will esteem,
But you've my heart, which I can ne're redeem.

[Ex. severally.