_Sleep betrayed th’ unhappy Lover, While Tears were streaming from his Eyes; His heedless Tongue without disguise, The Secret did discover: The Language of his Heart declare, That +Agnes’+ Image triumphs there._ _Elvira_ regarded neither Exactness nor Grace in these Lines: And if they had but the effect she design’d, she wished no more. Her Impatience could not wait till the next day to expose them: she therefore went immediately to the Lodgings of the Princess, who was then walking in the Garden of the Palace; and passing without resistance, even to her Cabinet, she put the Paper into a Book, in which the Princess used to read, and went out again unseen, and satisfy’d with her good Fortune. As soon as _Constantia_ was return’d, she enter’d into her Cabinet, and saw the Book open, and the Verses lying in it, which were to cost her so dear: She soon knew the Hand of the Prince which was so familiar to her; and besides the Information of what she had always fear’d, she understood it was _Agnes de Castro_ (whose Friendship alone was able to comfort her in her Misfortunes) who was the fatal Cause of it: she read over the Paper an hundred times, desiring to give her Eyes and Reason the Lye; but finding but too plainly she was not deceiv’d, she found her Soul possest with more Grief than Anger: when she consider’d, as much in love as the Prince was, he had kept his Torment secret. After having made her moan, without condemning him, the Tenderness she had for him, made her shed a Torrent of Tears, and inspir’d her with a Resolution of concealing her Resentment. She would certainly have done it by a Virtue extraordinary, if the Prince, who missing his Verses when he waked, and fearing they might fall into indiscreet Hands, had not enter’d the Palace, all troubled with his Loss; and hastily going into _Constantia’s_ Apartment, saw her fair Eyes all wet with Tears, and at the same instant cast his own on the unhappy Verses that had escaped from his Soul, and now lay before the Princess. He immediately turned pale at this sight, and appear’d so mov’d, that the generous Princess felt more Pain than he did: ‘Madam, _said he_, (infinitely alarm’d) from whom had you that Paper? It cannot come but from the Hand of some Person, _answer’d_ Constantia, who is an Enemy both to your Repose and mine. It is the Work, Sir, of your own Hand; and doubtless the Sentiment of your Heart. But be not surprized, and do not fear; for if my Tenderness should make it pass for a Crime in you, the same Tenderness which nothing is able to alter, shall hinder me from complaining.’