The artful _Elvira_ was incessantly agitated in searching out the Knowledge of this Secret. Chance wrought for her; and, as she was walking, full of Indignation and Anger, in the Garden of the Palace of _Coimbra_, she found the Prince of _Portugal_ sleeping in an obscure Grotto. Her Fury could not contain it self at the sight of this loved Object, she roll’d her Eyes upon him, and perceived in spite of Sleep, that some Tears escaped his Eyes; the Flame which burnt yet in her Heart, soon grew soft and tender there: But oh! she heard him sigh, and after that utter these words, _Yes, Divine +Agnes+, I will sooner die than let you know it: +Constantia+ shall have nothing to reproach me with._ _Elvira_ was enraged at this Discourse, which represented to her immediately, the same moment, _Agnes de Castro_ with all her Charms; and not at all doubting, but it was she who possest the Heart of _Don Pedro_, she found in her Soul more Hatred for this fair Rival, than Tenderness for him. The Grotto was not a fit Place to make Reflections in, or to form Designs. Perhaps her first Transports would have made her waken him, if she had not perceived a Paper lying under his Hand, which she softly seiz’d on; and that she might not be surprized in the reading it, she went out of the Garden with as much haste as confusion. When she was retired to her Apartment, she open’d the Paper, trembling, and found in it these Verses, writ by the Hand of _Don Pedro_; and which, in appearance, he had newly then compos’d. _In vain, Oh! Sacred Honour, you debate The mighty Business in my Heart: Love! Charming Love! rules all my Fate; Interest and Glory claim no part. The God, sure of his Victory, triumphs there, And will have nothing in his Empire share._ _In vain, Oh! Sacred Duty, you oppose; In vain, your Nuptial Tye you plead: Those forc’d Devoirs LOVE overthrows, And breaks the Vows he never made. Fixing his fatal Arrows every where, I burn and languish in a soft Despair._ _Fair Princess, you to whom my Faith is due; Pardon the Destiny that drags me on: ’Tis not my fault my Heart’s untrue, I am compell’d to be undone. My Life is yours, I gave it with my Hand, But my Fidelity I can’t command._ _Elvira_ did not only know the Writing of _Don Pedro_, but she knew also that he could write Verses. And seeing the sad Part which _Constantia_ had in these which were now fallen into her hands, she made no scruple of resolving to let the Princess see ’em: but that she might not be suspected, she took care not to appear in this Business her self; and since it was not enough for _Constantia_ to know that the Prince did not love her, but that she must know also that he was a Slave to _Agnes de Castro_, _Elvira_ caused these few Verses to be written in an unknown Hand, under those writ by the Prince.