Silv. Oh, ’tis impossible: Thou know’st I’ve tried all ways, made my Addresses To all the fairest Virgins in _Madrid_; Nay, and at last fell to the worst Debauchery, That of frequenting every common House: 232 But Souls that feed so high on Love as mine, Must nauseate coarser Diet. No, I must still love on, and tell her so, Or I must live no longer. Franc. That methinks you might do even in the Presence of _Marcel_. A Brother is allow’d to love a Sister. Silv. But I shall do’t in such a way, _Francisca_, Be so transported, and so passionate, I shall betray what he will ne’er indure. And since our other Sister, loose _Hippolyta_, was lost, He does so guard and watch the fair _Cleonte_— Franc. Why, quarrel with him, Sir: you know you are so much dearer to my Lord your Father than he is, that should he perceive a Difference between ye, he would soon dismiss him the House; and ’twere but Reason, Sir, for I am sure Don _Marcel_ loves you not. Silv. That I excuse, since he the lawful Heir to all my Father’s Fortunes, sees it every Day ready to be sacrific’d to me, who can pretend no Title to’t, but the unaccountable Love my Father bears me. Franc. Can you dissemble, Sir? Silv. The worst of any Man, but would endeavour it, If it could any ways advance my Love. Franc. Which I must find some way to ruin. [Aside. Then court his Mistress. Silv. The rich _Flavia?_ Franc. That would not incense him, for her he is to marry; But ’tis the fair _Clarinda_ has his Heart. Silv. To act a feigned Love, and hide a real one, Is what I have already try’d in vain. Even fair _Clarinda_ I have courted too, In hope that way to banish from my Soul The hopeless Flame _Cleonte_ kindled there; But ’twas a Shame to see how ill I did dissemble. Franc. Stay, Sir, here comes _Marcel_. I’ll leave you. [Exit _Francisca_. 233 Enter _Marcel_, with a Letter open in his Hand, which he kisses. Mar. Kind Messenger of Love! Thus, thus a thousand times I bid thee welcome from my fair _Clarinda_. Thus joyful Bridegrooms, after long Despairs, Possess the yielding Treasure in their Arms: Only thus much the happier Lover I, Who gather all the Sweets of this fair Maid Without the ceremonious Tie of Marriage; That tie that does but nauseate the Delight, Be far from happy Lovers; we’ll embrace And unconfin’d and free as whispering Air, That mingles wantonly with spreading Flowers. Silv. What’s all this? Mar. _Silvio,_ the Victory’s won. The Heart that nicely stood it out so long, Now yields upon Conditions. Silv. What Victory? or what Heart? Mar. I am all Rapture, cannot speak it out; My Senses have carous’d too much of Joy; And like young Drunkards, proud of their new try’d Strength, Have made my Pleasure less by the excess. Silv. This is wondrous. Impart some of your over-charge to me, The Burden lightned will be more supportable. Mar. Read here, and change thy Wonder, when thou knowst How happy Man can be. [Gives him a Letter. [_Silvio_ reads. _Marcel_,