+Don C.+ He knows not Porcia. Who was i' the right, Don Henrique, you or I? +Don H.+ He not know Porcia! why, 'tis not an hour Since I saw him entertaining her at home, Sure w' are enchanted, and all we see's illusion. +Cam.+ Allow me, Henrique, to unspell these charms. Who is't, Octavio, you pretend to? speak. +Don O.+ You might have spar'd that question, madam: none Knows so well as you, 'tis Porcia I adore. +Don A.+ Porcia's my wife! disloyal man, thou diest. [_Offers to make at +Don Octavio+._ +Cam.+ Hold, sir! which is the Porcia you lay claim to? +Don A.+ Can you doubt of that? why, sure, you know too well The conquest that you made so long ago[70] Of my poor heart in Flanders. +Don C.+ Conquest! poor heart! Flanders! what can this mean? +Don H.+ New riddles every moment do arise, And mysteries are born of mysteries. +Don C.+ Sure, 'tis the pastime of the destinies To mock us for pretending to be wise. +Cam.+ Thanks be to heaven, our work draws near an end. Cousin, it belongs to you to finish it. +Por.+ To free you from that labyrinth, Antonio, In which a slight mistake, not rectifi'd, Involv'd us all, know the suppos'd Porcia, Whom you have lov'd, is the true Camilla. +Cam.+ And you, Don Henrique, know that Don Octavio Has always been your sister's faithful lover, And only feign'd a gallantry to me To hide his real passion for my cousin From your discerning eyes. +Don A.+ Generous Octavio! +Don O.+ Brave Antonio! how happy are we both. [_They embrace._ Both in our loves and friendships! +Don A.+ Ah, how the memory of our crosses pass'd Heightens our joys when we succeed at last! +Don O.+ Our pleasures in this world are always mix'd: 'Tis in the next where all our joys are fix'd. [_+Camilla+ takes +Don Antonio+ by the hand, and leads him to +Don Carlos+._ +Cam.+ This, my dear brother, is that brave commander To whom you owe your life and liberty; And I much more--the safety of my honour. +Don C.+ Is this that gallant leader who redeem'd us With so much valour from the enemy? +Cam.+ The very same. +Don C.+ Why did you not acquaint me with it sooner? 'Twas ill done, Camilla. +Cam.+ Alas! my dearest brother, gratitude, [_Drawing +Don Carlos+ aside._ Conspiring with the graces of his person, So soon possess'd him of my heart, that I, Asham'd of such a visionary love, Durst never trust my tongue with my own thoughts. +Don C.+ 'Tis enough. Here, sir, take from me her hand, [_Addressing to +Don Antonio+._ Whose heart your merit has long since made yours. [_+Don Antonio+ takes +Camilla's+ hand and kisses it._