"If thou lov'st me, get him away quickly Before my brother come, and give him this. [_She gives +Flora+ a letter_." --_Collier._ [There does not appear to be any obscurity here. In a subsequent scene, Ernesto delivers the letter handed to him by Flora from Camilla, whom he mistakes for Porcia.] [53] [_Of himself_ seems to be used here in the sense of by himself, _per se_, standing alone.] [54] The song, and its introduction, were new in the copy of 1671.--_Collier._ ACT II. +Scene.+--_The city of Seville._ _Enter +Don Antonio+ and +Sancho+, in riding-clothes._ +San.+ Sir, we are arriv'd in very good time. +Don A.+ I did not think it would have been so soon By an hour at least; but lovers ride apace. Why smile you, Sancho? +San.+ Faith, at the novelty of your amours, To fall in love with one you hardly saw, And marry one you never saw: 'tis pretty; But we poor mortals have another method. +Don A.+ Y' are very pleasant, friend; but is not this The market-place, behind the Jacobins? +San.+ Yes, sir. +Don A.+ 'Tis here I charg'd Ernesto to expect me. +San.+ Since you are here, sir, earlier than you thought, Why might you not go shift you at the post-house, And be return'd before Ernesto come? Howe'er, 'tis better that he wait for you, Than you for him, in the open street. +Don A.+ 'Tis well thought on; come, let's go then. [_Exeunt._ _Enter +Don Octavio+ and +Diego+._ +Don O.+ Come, Diego, 'tis now time to quit our dens, And to begin our chase. +Diego.+ Of what, sir? bats or owls, now the sun's set? Call you this making of love? why, methinks, 'Tis more like making of war: marching all night In arms, as if we design'd to beat up The enemy's quarters. +Don O.+ Why, would not you venture as much for Flora? +Diego.+ No, in good faith, sir; I shall venture enough, If e'er I marry her: I'll run no hazard By my good-will beforehand. +Don O.+ That's from your fear, not prudence, Diego. +Diego.+ Sir, you may call it what you please; but I Dare boldly say, there lives not in the world A more valiant man than I, whilst danger Keeps its distance; but when saucily It presses on, then, I confess, 'tis true, I have a certain tenderness for life, Which checks my ardour, and inclines my prudence Timely to withdraw. +Don O.+ Your style is wondrous civil to yourself; How you soften that harsh word call'd cowardice. But the danger is not always evident, When you are pleas'd, my friend, to run away. +Diego.+ It may be so, sir--not to vulgar eyes; But I have such a piercing sight, that I Discover perils out of others' ken; Which they, not seeing soon enough to shun, Are forc'd t' encounter; and then their struggling Is by th' unwary world taken for courage.