BEL. Sister? No! Thou art no brother, but an enemy, Else wouldst thou not have us'd thy sister so: First, to affright me with thy weapons drawn, And with extremes abuse my company; And then to hurry me like whirlwind's rage Amidst a crew of thy confederates, And clap me up where none might come at me, Nor I at any to reveal my wrongs. What madding fury did possess thy wits? Or wherein is't that I offended thee? LOR. Advise you better, Bel-imperia; For I have done you no disparagement,-- Unless, by more discretion then deserv'd, I sought to save your honour and mine own. BEL. Mine honour? Why, Lorenzo, wherein is't That I neglect my reputation so As you, or any, need to rescue it? LOR. His Highness and my father were resolv'd To come confer with old Hieronimo Concerning certain matters of estate That by the viceroy was determined. BEL. And wherein was mine honour touch'd in that? BAL. Have patience, Bel-imperia; hear the rest. LOR. Me, next in sight, as messenger they sent To give him notice that they were so nigh: Now, when I came, consorted with the prince, And unexpected in an arbor there Found Bel-imperia with Horatio-- BEL. How then? LOR. Why, then, rememb'ring that old disgrace Which you for Don Andrea had endur'd, And now were likely longer to sustain By being found so meanly accompanied, Thought rather, for I knew no readier mean, To thrust Horatio forth my father's way. BAL. And carry you obscurely somewhere else, Lest that his Highness should have found you there. BEL. Ev'n so, my lord? And you are witness That this is true which he entreateth of? You, gentle brother, forg'd this for my sake? And you, my lord, were made his instrument? A work of worth! worthy the noting too! But what's the cause that you conceal'd me since? LOR. Your melancholy, sister, since the news Of your first favorite Don Andrea's death My father's old wrath hath exasperate. BAL. And better was't for you, being in disgrace, To absent yourself and give his fury place. BEL. But why I had no notice of his ire? LOR. That were to add more fuel to your fire, Who burnt like Aetna for Andrea's loss. BEL. Hath not my father then enquir'd for me? LOR. Sister, he hath; and this excus'd I thee. He whispereth in her ear. But, Bel-imperia, see the gentle prince; Look on thy love; behold young Balthazar, Whose passions by thy presence are increas'd, And in whose melancholy thou may'st see Thy hate, his love, thy flight, his following thee. BEL. Brother, you are become an orator-- I know not, ay, by what experience-- Too politic for me, past all compare, Since I last saw you. But content yourself; The prince is meditating higher things.