Cleo. I will obey you, Sir. [Goes into the Garden.
Silv. She’s gone—and now [Walks, and talks in stopping.] my hot Fit abates—she is my Sister—that is, my Father’s Daughter—but—what if his Wife deceiv’d him—or perhaps—(which is the likelier thing) my Mother play’d the false one—for ’twas her Trade to do so—and I’m not Son to Ambrosio—Oh, that she were in being to confess this Truth, for sure ’tis Truth; then I might love, and might enjoy Cleonte—enjoy Cleonte! [In transport.] Oh that Thought! what Fire it kindles in my Veins, and now my cold Fit’s gone— [Offers to go, but starts and returns.
—No, let me pause a while—
For in this Ague of my Love and Fear,
Both the Extremes are mortal— [Goes into the Garden.
Enter Ambrosio and Marcel.
Amb. I’m reconcil’d to you, since your Brother Silvio would have it so.
Mar. My Blood flows to my Face, to hear him named.
Amb. Let there be no more Differences between you: But Silvio has of late been discontented, keeps home, and shuns the Conversation which Youth delights in; goes not to Court as he was wont. Prithee, Marcel, learn thou the cause of it.
Mar. I do believe I shall, my Lord—too soon. [Aside.