Cam. The servant's error has misled the master,
He takes me too for Porcia. Bless'd mistake!
Assist me now, artful dissimulation. [Aside.
But how can that consist with so much passion?
'Tis possible, the sense of my distress'd
Condition might dispose a noble heart
To take impressions then, which afterwards
Time and your second thoughts may have defac'd;
But can a constant passion be produc'd
From those ideas pity introduc'd?
Let your tongue speak your heart; for, should y' abuse me,
I shall in time discover the deceit:
You may paint fire, Antonio, but not heat.
Don A. Madam!
Cam. Hold. Be not too scrupulous, Antonio;
Let me believe it, though it be not true;
For the chief happiness poor maids receive
Is when themselves they happily deceive.
Don A. If, since those conquering eyes I first beheld,
You have not reign'd unrivall'd in my heart,
May you despise me now you are my own;
Which is to me all curses summ'd in one.
But may your servant, madam, take the boldness
To ask if you have ever thought of him?
Cam. A love, so founded in a grateful heart,
Has need of no remembrancer, Antonio;
You know yourself too well: those of your trade
Have skill to hold as well as to invade.
Don A. Fortune has lifted me to such a height
Of happiness, that it may turn my brain
When I look down upon the world.
What have I now to wish but moderation
To temper and to fix my joys?
Cam. I yield as little t' you, noble Antonio,
In happiness as affection; but still
Porcia must do as may become your bride,
And sister to Don Henrique, in whose absence
A longer conference must be excused:
Therefore I take the freedom to withdraw.
Should I have stay'd until Don Henrique came,
His presence would have marr'd my whole design.
[Aside. Exit Camilla.
Don A. Where beauty, virtue, and discretion join,
'Tis heaven, methinks, to find that treasure mine!
Enter Don Henrique.