'Tis well, 'tis very well, he went out, _Egla_, As luckily, as one would say, go Husband, He was call'd by providence: fling this short Paper Into _Leandro's_ Cell, and waken him, He is monstrous vexed, and musty, at my Chess-play; But this shall supple him, when he has read it: Take your own Recreation for two hours, And hinder nothing. _Moor_. If I do, I'll hang for't. [_Exeunt_. SCENA IV. _Enter_ Octavio, Jacintha. _Octa_. If that you lov'd _Ascanio_ for himself, And not your private ends, you rather should Bless the fair opportunity, that restores him To his Birth-right, and the Honours he was born to, Than grieve at his good Fortune. _Jac_. Grieve, _Octavio_? I would resign my Essence, that he were As happy as my love could fashion him, Though every blessing that should fall on him, Might prove a curse to me: my sorrow springs Out of my fear and doubt he is not safe. I am acquainted with _Don Henrique_'s nature, And I have heard too much the fiery temper Of Madam _Violante_: can you think That she, that almost is at war with Heaven For being barren, will with equal eyes Behold a Son of mine? _Octa_. His Father's care, That for the want of Issue, took him home, (Though with the forfeiture of his own fame) Will look unto his safety. _Jac_. Step-mothers Have many eyes, to find a way to mischief, Though blind to goodness. _Enter_ Jamie _and_ Ascanio. _Octa_. Here comes _Don Jamie_, And with him our _Ascanio_. _Jam_. Good youth leave me, I know thou art forbid my company, And only to be seen with me, will call on Thy Fathers anger. [_Asc_.] Sir, if that to serve you Could lose me any thing (as indeed it cannot) I still would follow you. Alas I was born To do you hurt, but not to help my self, I was, for some particular end, took home, But am cast off again. _Jam_. Is't possible? _Asc_. The Lady, whom my Father calls his Wife, Abhors my sight, is sick of me, and forc'd him To turn me out of doors. _Jac_. By my best hopes I thank her cruelty, for it comes near A saving Charity. _Asc_. I am only happy That yet I can relieve you, 'pray you share: My Father's wondrous kind, and promises That I should be supplied: but sure the Lady Is a malicious Woman, and I fear Means me no good. _Enter_ Servant. _Jam_. I am turn'd a stone with wonder, And know not what to think. _Ser_. From my Lady, Your private ear, and this-- _Jam_. New Miracles? _Ser_.