Por. My sense of this misfortune equals yours;
But yet I must conjure you to submit
To the decrees of those who rule above:
Such resignation may incline their justice
Th' impending mischief to divert; besides,
In human things there's such vicissitude,
Where hope should end we hardly can conclude.
Don O. Weak hope the parent is of anxious care,
And more tormenting far than fix'd despair:
This makes us turn to new expedients,
That languish 'twixt desire and diffidence.
Por. Fortune will blush for shame when she shall find
Her best-aim'd darts can never touch your mind.
Don O. Ah, Porcia! though my mind be far above
The reach of fate, 'tis level unto love.
Urge it no more: I'll die a thousand deaths,
Ere I'll consent to part with you. [Strikes his breast.
Por. I shall be always yours; for though we're forc'd
To separate, yet we are not divorc'd.
Don O. Whilst our souls act by organs of the sense,
'Twixt death and parting there's no difference.
Por. Consult your reason, then you will comply,
Making a virtue of necessity.
Don O. Ah, lovely maid! 'twas not allowed to Jove
To hold at once his reason and his love.
Enter Diego.
Diego. The chair is come, sir, just as I expected.