+Por.+ Now I begin to hope my sighs and tears Have in some measure with just heaven prevail'd At length to free me. But what do I see! [_Looking about her, she starts._ Am I awake, or is it an illusion? Bless me, is not this my brother's house? this, The quarter joining to my own apartment? There is no room for doubt; and my misfortunes Are always certain and without redress. Unerring powers, arbiters of fate, Teach me my crimes, and how to expiate Your wrath! Alas! I know not what I have done To merit this continued persecution! But how came I here I brought by Octavio's friend, One on whose virtue I did so rely, That I my brother's malice durst defy. Can he betray me? sure, I'm in a dream. But if Octavio--O vile suspicion! Octavio false?--No, truth and he are one. 'Tis possible his friend may guilty be, But to what end so base a treachery? And if perfidious, how could he be his friend? I am confounded with the various forms Of my misfortunes, heighten'd still the more, The less I can their hidden cause explore. This only's evident, that I must fly Immediately this fatal place. But why Struggle I thus with fate, since, go or stay, Death seems alike to wait me every way. [_She weeps._ _Enter +Don Antonio+ and +Camilla+._ +Cam.+ I wonder much what lady this can be Antonio mentions. [_Aside._ +Don A.+ Pardon, I beseech you, madam, the liberty Which I so early take; but I presume Such is your generous tenderness to those Whose spiteful fortunes, not their fault, has brought Into distress, that you will think yourself Oblig'd to him who gives you the occasion T' exercise those virtues, which only visit Others, but reside with you. This fair lady-- But she will best relate her own sad story, Whilst I seek out Don Henrique, and engage him T' employ his power and int'rest for her service. [_Exit +Don Antonio+. Upon +Camilla's+ approach +Porcia+ takes the handkerchief from her eyes._ +Cam.+ Ha! what is that I see? Stay, stay, Antonio, [_She runs after Antonio._ It is not fit Don Henrique--but he's gone, And we are lost for ever! +Por.+ O heavens! is this Antonio, the same man, To whom I am betroth'd? then my destruction Is inevitable. +Cam.+ Are you an apparition, or are you Porcia herself? speak; that when y' have said it thrice, I may not yet believe you. +Por.+ You well may doubt even what you see, Camilla, Since my disasters are so new and strange, They sever truth from credibility. +Cam.+ How is it possible you should be here?