Dor. Madam, you must know, my Lady _Octavia_, for that’s her name, was in her Youth the very Flower of Beauty and Vertue: Oh such a Face and Shape! had you but seen her—And tho I say it, Madam, I thought my self too somebody then. Clar. Thou art tedious: Madam, ’tis true my Mother had the Reputation of both those Attractions, which gain’d her many Lovers: amongst the rest, Don _Manuel_, and Don _Alonzo_, were most worthy her Esteem. Dor. Ay, Madam, Don _Alonzo_, there was a Man for you, so obliging and so bountiful—Well, I’ll give you 309 Argument of both to me: for you must know I was a Beauty then, and worth obliging. [Puts herself between. And he was the Man my Lady lov’d, tho Don _Manuel_ were the richer: but to my own Story— Cleo. Forward, _Clarinda_. Clar. But as it most times happens, We marry where our Parents like, not we; My Mother was dispos’d of to Don _Manuel_. Dor. Ay, Madam; but had you seen Don _Alonzo’s_ Rage, and how my Lady took this Disappointment—But I who was very young, and very pretty, as I told you before— Clar. Forbear, Madam; ’tis true, _Alonzo_ was so far transported, That oft he did attempt to kill my Father; But bravely tho, and still he was prevented: But when at the Intreaties of my Mother, The King confin’d my Father, _Alonzo_ then study’d a new Revenge; And thinking that my Father’s Life depended Upon a Son he had, scarce a Year old, He did design to steal him; and one Evening, When with the Nurse and Maid he took the Air, This desperate Lover seiz’d the smiling Prize, Which never since was heard of. Cleo. I guess the Grief the Parents must sustain. Dor. It almost caus’d their Deaths; nor did kind Heaven Supply them with another till long after, Unhappy this was born: Which just her Father liv’d to see, and dy’d. [Weeps. Then she was Daughter, Son and Husband too, To her afflicted Mother: But as I told you, Madam, I was then in my Prime— Clar. Now, Madam, judge what her Despair must be, Who is depriv’d of all her Joys in me. [Weeps. Cleo. _Francisca_, see who it is that knocks so hastily. [One knocks. 310 Franc. Oh, Madam, ’tis Don _Marcel_ leading a wounded Man. Cleo. Oh my Fears, ’tis _Silvio!_ Franc. ’Tis not Don _Silvio_. Enter _Marcel_, leading _Hippolyta_ wounded, followed by _Alonzo_ and _Pedro_. Cleo. Alas, what Youth is this you lead all bleeding? Mar. One that deserves your Care; where’s my Father? Cleo. Not yet return’d. Mar. ’Tis well; and you, Sir, I must confine till I know how to satisfy my Honour, and that of my wrong’d Sister. [To _Antonio_. Ant. The holy Man will soon decide our Difference: Pray send for one, and reconcile us all. Hip. I fear, _Antonio_, still thou dost dissemble. Ant. So let me find Forgiveness when I die, If any fear of Death have wrought this change, But a pure Sense of all my Wrongs to thee, Knowing thy constant Love, and Virtue to me.