+Cam.+ What to our sex and blooming age can prove An anguish worthy of our sighs but love? +Por.+ 'Tis true, Camilla, were your fate like mine, Hopeless to hold, unable to resign. +Cam.+ Let's tell our stories, then we soon shall see Which of us two excels in misery. +Por.+ Cousin, agreed. +Cam.+ Do you begin then. +Por.+ You know, Camilla, best how generously, How long, and how discreetly, Don Octavio Has serv'd me; and what trials of his faith And fervour I did make, ere I allow'd him The least hope to sustain his noble love. Cousin, all this you know: 'twas in your house We had our interviews, where you were pleas'd To suffer feign'd addresses to yourself, To cover from my watchful brother's eyes The passion which Octavio had for me. +Cam.+ My memory in this needs no refreshing. +Por.+ And how one evening (O that fatal hour!) My brother, passing by Don Carlos' house With his great friend and confidant, Don Pedro, Did chance to see th' unfortunate Octavio In your balcony entertaining me: Whom not believing there he took for you; My back being towards him, and both dress'd alike. Enraged with jealousy, this cruel man (To whom all moderation is unknown) Resolves to stamp all your neglects of him In's suppos'd rival, poor Octavio's, heart. They take their stand i' th' corner of our street; And after some little time Octavio, Free from suspicion as design of ill, Retires: they assault him, and in's own defence He kills Don Pedro, and is forc'd to fly. My brother cruelly pursues him still With such insatiate thirst after revenge, That nothing but Octavio's blood can quench: Covering his ill-nature and suspicion With the resentment of Don Pedro's death. +Cam.+ Is this the sum of your sad story, Porcia? Is this all? +Por.+ No, no, Camilla, 'tis the prologue only: The tragedy will follow. This brother, To whose impetuous will my deceas'd parents (May their souls rest in peace!) having condemn'd Me and my fortune, treats me like a slave: So far from suffering me to make my choice, That he denounces death if I refuse; And now, to frustrate all my hopes at once, Has very lately made me sign a contract To one in Flanders whom I never saw,[44] And is this night (they say) expected here. +Cam.+ Is such a rigour possible, dear Porcia?