_Hip._ I fear, _Antonio_, still thou dost dissemble.
_Ant._ So let me find Forgiveness when I die, If any fear of Death have wrought this change, But a pure Sense of all my Wrongs to thee, Knowing thy constant Love, and Virtue to me.
_Mar._ I will secure your fear-- _Francisca_, send for Father _Joseph_ to me, and conduct these Gentlemen to the Lodgings next the Garden.
[Exeunt _Francisca_, _Antonio_ and _Hippolyta_.
_Alon._ Prithee, _Marcel_, are thee and I awake, or do we dream? thou, that thou art in thy Father's House; and I, that I see those two fair Women there? Pray, lovely Fugitive, how came you hither?
[To _Clarinda_.
_Mar._ I thought thou wert mistaken; 'Twas _Silvio_ brought her hither, that false Man.
But how came you to know her?
_Alon._ Know her! 'slife, I question my Sense.
Pray, Lady, are you Flesh and Blood? [To _Cleonte_.
_Cleo._ Yes surely, Sir; for 'twere pity you should have bestow'd your Heart on a Shadow, and I well remember you gave it one of us last Night.
_Alon._ A Dream, a Dream! but are you indeed the same fair Person, and is this the same House too?
_Cleo._ I am afraid your Heart's not worth the keeping, since you took no better notice where you dispos'd of it.
_Alon._ Faith, Madam, your wrong a poor Lover, who has languish'd in search of it all this live-long day.
_Cleo._ Brother, I beseech you, receive the innocent _Clarinda_, who, I fear, will have the greatest Cause of Complaint against you.
[To _Marcel._ Gives him to _Clarinda_.
_Alon._ But pray, fair one, let you and I talk a little about that same Heart you put me in mind of just now.
[To _Cleonte_, with whom he seems to talk.
_Ped._ Surely that's my old Mistress, _Dormida_; twenty years has not made so great an Alteration in that ill-favour'd Face of hers, but I can find a Lover there.
[Goes to her, they seem to talk earnestly, and sometimes pleasantly, pointing to _Clarinda_.
_Mar._ Enough, _Clarinda_: I'm too well convinc'd, Would thou hadst still remain'd a Criminal.
Now how can I reward thy Faith and Love?
_Clar._ I know, _Marcel_, it is not in thy Power, Thy faithless Story I'm acquainted with.
_Mar._ Do not reproach me with my Shame, _Clarinda_.
'Tis true, to gain thee to consent to my Desires, I made an honourable Pretence of loving.
Pardon a Lover all the ways he takes To gain a Mistress so belov'd and fair.
But I have since repented of that Sin, And came last Night for thy Forgiveness too.
_Ped._ This is News indeed; 'tis fit I keep this Secret no longer from my Master. Don _Manuel_ being dead, my Vow's expir'd. [Aside.]
[_Pedro_ goes to _Alonzo_.
_Clar._ And do you mean no more to love me then?
_Mar._ In spite of me, above my Sense or Being.
_Clar._ And yet you'll marry _Flavia_.
_Mar._ Against my Will I must, or lose a Father.
_Clar._ Then I must die, _Marcel_.
_Mar._ Do not unman my Soul, it is too weak To bear the Weight of fair _Clarinda's_ Tears.
[Weeps.
_Alon._ Why was this Secret kept from me so long?
_Ped._ I was oblig'd by Vow, Sir, to Don _Alonzo_, my dead Master, not to restore you till Don _Manuel's_ Death; believing it a Happiness too great for his Rival, for so he was upon your Mother's score.
_Alon._ Have I a Mother living?
_Ped._ Here in Madrid, Sir, and that fair Maid's your Sister.
[Pointing to _Clarinda_.
_Alon._ I scarce can credit thee, but that I know thee honest.
_Ped._ To confirm that belief, Sir, here are the Writings of twelve thousand Crowns a Year, left you by your Foster-Father the brave _Alonzo_, whose Name he gave you too.
[Gives him Papers, he reads.
_Alon._ I am convinc'd-- How now, _Marcel_, what all in Tears? why, who the Devil would love in earnest?
Come, come, make me Judge between you.
_Mar._ You'll soon decide it then, my Heart's _Clarinda's_; But my forc'd Vows are given to another.
_Alon._ Vows! dost think the Gods regard the Vows of Lovers? they are things made in necessity, and ought not to be kept, nor punish'd when broken; if they were-- Heaven have mercy on me poor Sinner.
Enter _Ambrosio_.
_Mar._ My Father return'd!
[Bows, and goes to him, and then leads _Alonzo_ to him.
Sir, this is the gallant Man that was design'd to be your Son-in-Law.
_Amb._ And that you were not so, Sir, was my misfortune only.
_Alon._ I am glad to find it no slight to my Person, Or unknown Quality that depriv'd me of that Honour.
_Mar._ To convince you of that, _Alonzo_, I know my Father will bestow this other Sister on you; more fair and young, and equally as rich.
[_Ambrosio_ calls _Marcel_ aside.
_Alon._ How, his Sister! Fool that I was, I could not guess at this; and now have I been lying and swearing all this while how much I lov'd her.
Well, take one time with another, a Man falls into more Danger by this amorous Humour, than he gets good turns by it.
_Mar._ Pardon me, Sir, I knew not you had design'd her elsewhere-- Dear _Alonzo_, my Father--
_Alon._ Ay, Sir, I am much oblig'd to him. Oh Pox, would I were well with _Euphemia_.