Mar. Do not unman my Soul, it is too weak To bear the Weight of fair Clarinda’s Tears. [[Weeps.]
Alon. Why was this Secret kept from me so long?
Ped. I was oblig’d by Vow, Sir, to Don Alonzo, my dead Master, not to restore you till Don Manuel’s Death; believing it a Happiness too great for his Rival, for so he was upon your Mother’s score.
Alon. Have I a Mother living?
Ped. Here in Madrid, Sir, and that fair Maid’s your Sister. [Pointing to Clarinda.
Alon. I scarce can credit thee, but that I know thee honest.
Ped. To confirm that belief, Sir, here are the Writings of twelve thousand Crowns a Year, left you by your Foster-Father the brave Alonzo, whose Name he gave you too. [Gives him Papers, he reads.
Alon. I am convinc’d—How now, Marcel, what all in Tears? why, who the Devil would love in earnest?
Come, come, make me Judge between you.
Mar. You’ll soon decide it then, my Heart’s Clarinda’s; But my forc’d Vows are given to another.
Alon. Vows! dost think the Gods regard the Vows of Lovers? they are things made in necessity, and ought not to be kept, nor punish’d when broken; if they were—Heaven have mercy on me poor Sinner.