[Porcia throws herself on Camilla's neck.
Where, freely breathing out my grief, I might
Some mitigation from thy pity find!
But since there's no true pity without pain,
Why should I ease by thy affliction gain?
Cam. Ah, Porcia! if compassion suffering be,
And to condole be pain, my destiny
Will full revenge in the same kind afford,
Should I but my unequall'd griefs relate,
And you but equally participate.
Por. If yours, as mine, from love-disasters rise,
Our fates are more allied than families.
Cam. What to our sex and blooming age can prove
An anguish worthy of our sighs but love?
Por. 'Tis true, Camilla, were your fate like mine,
Hopeless to hold, unable to resign.
Cam. Let's tell our stories, then we soon shall see
Which of us two excels in misery.
Por. Cousin, agreed.
Cam. Do you begin then.
Por. You know, Camilla, best how generously,
How long, and how discreetly, Don Octavio
Has serv'd me; and what trials of his faith
And fervour I did make, ere I allow'd him
The least hope to sustain his noble love.
Cousin, all this you know: 'twas in your house
We had our interviews, where you were pleas'd
To suffer feign'd addresses to yourself,
To cover from my watchful brother's eyes
The passion which Octavio had for me.