+Por.+ I have observ'd the signs of smother'd grief: I've often seen those lovely eyes much swoll'n. Those are true tears, Camilla, which are stol'n. But what said you was his name, Camilla? +Cam.+ Antonio de Mendoza. +Por.+ O heavens! Antonio de Mendoza! _Enter +Don Henrique+._ +Don H.+ I'm pleased to find you speaking of your husband. +Cam.+ What's that I hear? her husband! [_Aside._ +Don H.+ Have you the letter ready I desir'd you To write to him? I'll send a servant with it To meet him on the way; 'twill show respect. +Por.+ You know my obedience, brother. +Don H.+ 'Tis well, sister. _Enter +Silvio+._ +Sil.+ Sir, here's a servant of Don Antonio Newly alighted at the gate: he's come Post from his master, charg'd with letters for you. +Don H.+ I could not have receiv'd more welcome news. Go, bring him in. Sister, you may withdraw. [_Exeunt +Porcia+ and +Camilla+._ _Enter +Ernesto+ and +Silvio+._ +Ern.+ Sir, Don Antonio kisses your hands, And sends me to present this letter to you. [_He gives a letter to +Don Henrique+. +Don Henrique+ opens it, and, having read it to himself, says_-- +Don H.+ I'm glad to find by's letter he's in health; Yet methinks, friend, he writes but doubtfully Of's being here this night, as I expected. +Ern.+ His letter, I suppose, sir, speaks his purpose. +Don H.+ I'll answer't, and despatch you presently: In the meanwhile, go: make him welcome, Silvio. [_Exeunt +Silvio+ and +Ernesto+._ I would to heaven he were arriv'd; I grow Each minute more impatient. As bodies Near the centre move with more violence, So when we approach the ends of our designs, Our expectations are the more intense, And our fears greater of all cross-events. [_Exit +Don Henrique+._ _Enter +Silvio+, +Ernesto+, +Geraldo+, +Pedro+, +Bernardino+, +Jago+, with some cups of chocolate._ +Sil.+ Methinks, camerade, a sup of chocolate Is not amiss after a tedious journey-- Your master's health, sir. [_He drinks._ +Ern.+ I'll do you reason, sir.[47] +Sil.+ Pray, how long is't, brother, since you left Spain? +Ern.+ 'Tis now five years and upwards since I went From Seville with my master into Flanders, The king's fencing-school, where all his subjects Given to fighting are taught the use of arms, And notably kept in breath. +Sil.+ Your master, I am sure, has got the fame To be a per'lous man in that rough trade. +Ern.+ He's a brave soldier, envy must confess it. +Ped.+ It seems so, faith, since merely by the force Of his great reputation he can take Our bright young mistress in without a siege.