These private Shades are ours, no jealous Eye
Can interrupt our Heaven of Joy.
Cleo. What mean you? do you know I am your Sister?
Silv. Oh that accursed Name!—why should it check me? [He pauses.
Wouldst thou had rather been some mis-begotten Monster,
That might have startled Nature at thy Birth:
Or if the Powers above would have thee fair,
Why wert thou born my Sister?
Oh, if thou shouldst preserve thy Soul, and mine,
Fly from this Place and me; make haste away,