+Don H.+ Don Carlos, let us quit this argument: I am now going to our noble friend And kinsman, the corregidor, to see If he'll oblige us with his company At my sister's wedding. Will you come along?
+Don C.+ Most willingly, as soon as I have brought My sister hither, who has given this evening To her cousin Porcia.
+Don H.+ I have business, cousin, by the way; I'll go before, and wait you i' th' Piazza. Your servant, sir. [_+Don Henrique+ waits on him to the door. Exit +Don Carlos+._
+Don H.+ This kinsman is my bosom friend; and yet, Of all men living, I must hide from him My deep resentments of his sister's scorn. That cruel maid, to wound me to the heart, Then close her ears against my just complaints! But though as yet I cannot heal my wound, I may by my revenge upon my rival Divert the pain; and I will drive it home. There's in revenge a balm which will appease The present grief, till[42] time cure the disease. [_Exit +Don Henrique+._
+Por.+ My heart is so oppress'd with fear and grief, That it must break, unless it finds relief; The man I love is forc'd to fly my sight, And like a Parthian[43] kills me in his flight: One, whom I never saw, I must embrace, Or else destroy the honour of my race. A brother's care, more cruel than his hate: O, how perplex'd are the intrigues of fate!
+Don C.+ Cousin, I thought my sister's company Would not displease you, whilst I wait upon Your brother in a visit.
+Por.+ Sir, you oblige me with a welcome favour. I rather should have styl'd it charity To bring a friend to her, whose cruel fate Has robb'd her of herself. [_Aside._
+Cam.+ Methinks, 'tis pity that a wall should make The houses two of friends so entirely one As you and I, and our two brothers, are.
+Por.+ If it be true that lovers live much more There where they love than where they breathe, I'm sure No walls can sever us: we're still together.
+Don C.+ Were I not much engag'd, I would not quit So sweet a conversation; but, sister, At my return I'll wait upon you home.
+Por.+ For this night, cousin, pray let her be mine, I beg it of you both.
+Don C.+ You may command; we are both yours. [_Exit +Don Carlos+._ [_+Porcia+ throws herself on +Camilla's+ neck._ Where, freely breathing out my grief, I might Some mitigation from thy pity find! But since there's no true pity without pain, Why should I ease by thy affliction gain?
