_Ant._ Name it no more, it was an idle Fault, Which I do so repent me, That if you find I should relapse again, Kill me, and let me perish with my Weakness: And were that true you tell me of your Passion, Sure I should wish to die, to make you happy.
_Alb._ That's kindly said, and I submit to you, And am content to be out-done in Amity.
_Ant._ Yes, I'll resign my Claims, and leave the World; _Alberto_, 'tis unkind to think I would be happy By ways must ruin you: But sure you tell me this, but only to afflict me.
_Alb._ 'Tis truth, _Antonio_, I do love _Clarina;_ And, what is yet far worse for thy repose, Believe my self so bless'd to be belov'd.
_Ant._ How, to be belov'd by her!
--Oh dire effects of Jealousy!
_Alb._ All that you saw to day was only feign'd, To let you see, that even your Eyes and Ears Might be impos'd upon.
_Ant._ Can it be possible!
_Alb._ And now she thinks she is enough reveng'd; And lets you know, in her feign'd Scorn to me, That all your Sleights and Cunnings are but vain: She has deceiv'd them all, and by that Art, Gives you a Confidence, and me a Heart.
_Ant._ I must confess, it is but just in her To punish thus the Errors of my Fear; I do forgive her, from my Soul I do.
--But, Sir, what satisfaction's this to you?
_Alb._ _Clarina_ happy, I'll from Court retire, And by that Absence quench my Hopeless Fire: War I will make my Mistress, who may be, Perhaps, more kind than she has been to me; Where though I cannot conquer, 'twill allow That I may die; that's more than this will do.
_Ant._--Why did you, Sir, betray my Weakness to her?
Though 'twas but what I did deserve from you.
_Alb._ By all that's good, she knew the Plot before, From _Isabella_, who it seems o'erheard us, When you once press'd me to't: And had we wanted Virtue, thoud'st been lost.
_Ant._ I own the Crime; And first I beg thy Pardon, And after that will get it from _Clarina_; Which done, I'll wait upon thee to the Camp, And suffer one year's Penance for this Sin, Unless I could divert this Resolution, By a Proposal _Clarina_ bid me make you.
_Alb._ What was it, Sir?
_Ant._ I have a Sister, Friend, a handsome Virgin, Rich, witty, and I think she's virtuous too; Return'd last Week from St. _Teresia's_ Monastery.
_Alb._ Sure any thing that is to thee ally'd, Must find a more than bare Respect from me; But certain 'tis I ne'er shall love again, And have resolv'd never to marry any, Where Interest, and not Love, must join our hands.
_Ant._ You cannot tell what Power there lies in Beauty; Come, you shall see her, and if after that, You find you cannot love her, We'll both to _Candia_, where we both will prove Rivals in Honour, as we're now in Love.
--But I'ad forgot to tell thee what I came for; I must this Evening beg your Company, Nay, and perhaps your Sword: come along with me, And by the way I'll tell you the Adventure.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. The Lodgings of _Curtius_.
Enter _Curtius_ and _Pietro_, disguis'd as before.
_Cur._ I wonder we hear no news yet of the Prince, I hope he'll come; _Pietro_, be the Bravoes ready, And the Curtezans?
_Piet._ My Lord, they'll be here immediately, all well dress'd too.
_Cur._ They be those Bravoes that belong to me?
_Piet._ Yes, Sir, the same; But _Antonio_ is their Patron.
_Cur._ They be stout and secret; 'tis well, Is the Music and all things ready?
For I'll not be seen till my Part is to be play'd.
What Arms have they?
_Piet._ Pistols, Sir, would you have other?
_Cur._ No, I have not yet consider'd how to kill him, Nor scarce resolv'd to do so any way.
What makes this strange Irresolution in me?
--Sure 'tis the force of sacred Amity, Which but too strictly was observ'd by me.
--My Prince, and Friend, my Wife, and Sister too; Shall not those last, the powerful first out-do?
My Honour, and my Love, are there ingag'd, And here, by ties of Duty, I'm oblig'd: I satisfy but these, if he must bleed; But ruin the whole Dukedom in the Deed, The hopeful Heir of all their noble Spoils, And Joy and Recompence of all their Toils.
--Why, so was _Cloris_, _Laura_ too, to me, Which both were ravish'd from me, Prince, by thee. [Knocks within.
_Piet._ Sir, they be the Bravoes and Curtezans. [_Pietro_ goes out.
_Cur._ 'Tis well, I need not talk with them, They understand their work.
_Piet._ They do, my Lord, and shall be ready at your stamp; They are all _Neapolitans_, you know, Sir.
_Cur._ Are they the better for that?
_Piet._ Much, Sir, a _Venetian_ will turn to your Enemy, If he will give him but a Souse more than you have done; And your _Millanoise_ are fit for nothing but to Rob the Post or Carrier; a _Genovese_ too Will sooner kill by Usury than Sword or Pistol; A _Roman_ fit for nothing but a Spy.
_Cur._ Well, Sir, you are pleasant with my Countrymen.
_Piet._ I'll be so with my own too, Sir; and tell you, That a _Maltan_, who pretends to so much Honour And Gravity, are fit only to rob their Neighbours With pretence of Piety, --And a _Cicilian_ so taken up with Plots, How to kill his Vice-Roy, that it keeps them From being Rogues to a less degree.
But I have done, Sir, and beg your pardon.
_Cur._ Didst leave the Letter, I commanded thee, For _Laura_?
_Piet._ I did, my Lord.
Enter _Lorenzo_.
_Lor._ Well, here's the Prince just coming.
_Cor._ Pray, Sir, conduct him in, I'm ready for him.
[Ex. _Cur._ and _Piet._
Enter the Prince, conducted by two Women in Masquerade, with Lights, he endeavouring to take off their Masks.
[Ex. two Women.
[He walks about while this Song is singing.
_What is the recompence of War, But soft and wanton Peace?
What the best Balsam to our Scars, But that which _Venus_ gave to _Mars_, When he was circled in a kind Embrace?_