Actus Primus. Scena Prima.
Enter Alphonso, Curio, and Seberto.
Curio Signior Alphonso, ye are too rugged to her,
Believe too full of harshness.
Alph. Yes, it seems so.
Seb. A Father of so sweet a child, so happy,
Fye, Sir, so excellent in all endowments,
In blessedness of beauty, such a mirror.
Alph. She is a fool, away.
Seb. Can ye be angry?
Can any wind blow rough, upon a blossom
So fair, and tender? Can a Fathers nature,
A noble Fathers too?
Alp. All this is but prating:
Let her be rul'd; let her observe my humour,
With my eyes let her see; with my ears listen;
I am her Father: I begot her, bred her,
And I will make her—
Cur. No doubt ye may compel her,
But what a mischievous, unhappy fortune
May wait upon this will of yours, as commonly
Such forcings ever end in hates and ruines.