Count. Here we shall stand unseen, and near enough.
Gond. Madam, Oriana.
Oria. Who's that? oh! my Lord?
Gond. Shall I come up?
Oria. Oh you are merry, shall I come down?
Gond. It is better there.
Oria. What is the confession of the lye you made to the Duke, which I scarce believe, yet you had impudence enough to do? did it not gain you so much faith with me, as that I was willing to be at your Lordships bestowing, till you had recover'd my credit, and confest your self a lyar, as you pretended to do? I confess I began to fear you, and desir'd to be out of your house, but your own followers forc'd me hither.
Gond. 'Tis well suspected, dissemble still, for there are some may hear us.
Oria. More tricks yet, my Lord? what house this is I know not, I only know my self: it were a great conquest, if you could fasten a scandal upon me: 'faith my Lord, give me leave to write to my brother?
Duke. Come down.