+Cam.+ The servant's error has misled the master, He takes me too for Porcia. Bless'd mistake! Assist me now, artful dissimulation. [_Aside._ But how can that consist with so much passion? 'Tis possible, the sense of my distress'd Condition might dispose a noble heart To take impressions then, which afterwards Time and your second thoughts may have defac'd; But can a constant passion be produc'd From those ideas pity introduc'd? Let your tongue speak your heart; for, should y' abuse me, I shall in time discover the deceit: You may paint fire, Antonio, but not heat. +Don A.+ Madam! +Cam.+ Hold. Be not too scrupulous, Antonio; Let me believe it, though it be not true; For the chief happiness poor maids receive Is when themselves they happily deceive. +Don A.+ If, since those conquering eyes I first beheld, You have not reign'd unrivall'd in my heart, May you despise me now you are my own; Which is to me all curses summ'd in one. But may your servant, madam, take the boldness To ask if you have ever thought of him? +Cam.+ A love, so founded in a grateful heart, Has need of no remembrancer, Antonio; You know yourself too well: those of your trade Have skill to hold as well as to invade. +Don A.+ Fortune has lifted me to such a height Of happiness, that it may turn my brain When I look down upon the world. What have I now to wish but moderation To temper and to fix my joys? +Cam.+ I yield as little t' you, noble Antonio, In happiness as affection; but still Porcia must do as may become your bride, And sister to Don Henrique, in whose absence A longer conference must be excused: Therefore I take the freedom to withdraw. Should I have stay'd until Don Henrique came, His presence would have marr'd my whole design. [_Aside. Exit +Camilla+._ +Don A.+ Where beauty, virtue, and discretion join, 'Tis heaven, methinks, to find that treasure mine! _Enter +Don Henrique+._ +Don H.+ Sure, Don Antonio, having long ere this Found out th' infamous flight of my vile sister, Will be retir'd to meditate revenge Upon us both. Ah, curse! he is there still. [_He sees him._ I'll slip away. But it is now too late; He has perceiv'd me. +Don A.+ How, Don Henrique! avoid your friend that's come So long a journey t' embrace you, and cast Himself at the feet of your fair sister? +Don H.+ Noble Antonio, you may well imagine The trouble I am in, that you should find My house in such disorder, so unfit To receive th' honour of so brave a guest. +Don A.+ 'Tis true, Don Henrique, I am much surpris'd With what I find: I little did expect Your sister Porcia should have been----