[Whilst he kneels, Hermione and the Moor
look down from the window.
Moor. You may believe her, madam, she loves him; now you may revenge her, persuading you to leave Eugenio, by smiling on Ergasto; 'twill advance your cousin's ends too, if you do as I'll advise you, whilst we descend.
Ire. 'Tis festival to-day, my lords, and so I admit this mirth. But to-morrow, I will tell you, I am no more inclined to love than my cousin Hermione.
Erg. But you can suffer yourself to be beloved?
Ire. I think I can.
Phor. He'll ask no more, but leave the rest to his respects and services.
Ire. But you consider not whom you may offend in this mirth.
Erg. I'll ne'er consider whom I offend in loving you: I wish her beauty centupled, that my first obligation to you might be leaving her. By this fair hand, I'll never name any but you for mistress.
Ire. I may believe you when time and your actions shall tell it me as well as your words.
Phor. You wrong your beauty to expect an assurance from time. Ordinary faces require it to perfect the impressions they make; yours strikes like lightning in an instant. If he did not adore you till now, you must attribute it to some fascination; but, his judgment cleared, he will be forced to continue the adoration he has begun.