[Draws sword and exit.
Flora (to Leon.). All of your work. A murrain on your head,
Making this pother.
Leon. Minx! what is said, is said.
[Exeunt severally.
Scene II.—The garden of Don Luis’ palace at Naples; a window with a balcony on one side, or in front:—night.
Enter the Prince and Celio muffled up.
Celio. Still sighing? pardon me, your Highness, but
This melancholy is a riddle to me.