Flor. And I’ll reward thee for’t—prithee no more. [Exit. Steph.
Enter Don Pedro in his [Masquing Habit].
Pedro. Antonio’s late to day, the place will fill, and we may be prevented. [Walk about.
Flor. Antonio! sure I heard amiss. [Aside.
Pedro. But who would not excuse a happy Lover.
When soft fair Arms confine the yielding Neck;
And the kind Whisper languishingly breathes,
Must you be gone so soon?
Sure I had dwelt for ever on her Bosom.
—But stay, he’s here.