+Don A.+ Sir, with your leave and hers, I seal the vows Of my eternal faith unto you both. +Don C.+ But let's take heed, Antonio, lest, whilst we Are joying in our mutual happiness, Don Henrique's scarcely yet composed distemper Revive not, and disorder us afresh: I like not his grim posture. +Don A.+ 'Tis well thought on; let's approach him. [+Don Octavio+, _holding +Porcia+ by the hand, advances towards +Don Henrique+._ +Don O.+ Here with respect we wait your confirmation Of that which seems to be decreed above, Though travers'd by unlucky accidents. This lady, your incomparable sister, Can witness that I never did invade Your passion for Camilla; and Pedro's death Happen'd by your mistaken jealousy. The causes of your hate being once remov'd, 'Tis just. Don Henrique, the effects should cease. +Don H.+ I shall consult my honour---- +Don C.+ You cannot take a better councillor In this case than your own and sister's honour; What, to secure them both, could have been wish'd Beyond what fate has of itself produc'd? +Don H.+ How hard it is to act upon constraint! That which I could have wish'd, I now would fly, Since 'tis obtruded by necessity. 'Tis fit that I consent, but yet I must Still seem displeas'd, that m' anger may seem just [_Aside._ +Don A.+ Noble Don Henrique, you may reckon me To be as truly yours by this alliance, As if a brother's name subsisted still. +Don H.+ Well, I must yield, I see, or worse will follow. [_Aside._ He is a fool who thinks by force or skill To turn the current of a woman's will: Since fair Camilla is Antonio's lot, I Porcia yield to Don Antonio's friend. Our strength and wisdom must submit to fate: Stripp'd of my love, I will put off my hate. Here take her hand, and may she make you, sir, [_+Don Henrique+ takes +Porcia+ by the hand, and gives her to +Don Octavio+._ Happier than she has done me. _+Diego+ and +Flora+ advance._ +Flo.+ Had e'er disorders such a rare come-off? Methinks 'twould make a fine plot for a play. +Diego.+ Faith, Flora, I should have the worst of that; For, by the laws of comedy, 'twould be My lot to marry you. +Don O.+ Well thought on, Diego, tho' 'tis spoke in jest: We cannot do a better thing in earnest Than to join these who seem to have been made For one another. What say'st thou to it, Flora? +Flo.+ Troth, I have had so many frights this night, That I am e'en afraid to lie alone. [_+Diego+ takes her by the hand._ +Diego.+ Give me thy hand, sweet Flora, 'tis a bargain, I promise thee, dear spouse, I'll do my best To make thee first repent this earnest jest.