Don O. My dearest Porcia, how is't possible
To find you in this place, my friend Antonio
Having so generously undertaken
Your protection?
Por. Did he not yours so too? and yet I find
Octavio here, where he is more expos'd
Than I to certain ruin. I am loth
To say 'tis he who has betray'd us both.
Don O. Antonio false? It is impossible.
Diego. 'Tis but too evident.
Don O. Peace, slave! he is my noble friend, of noble blood,
Whose fame's above the level of those tongues
That bark by custom at the brightest virtues,
As dogs do at the moon.
Por. How hard it is for virtue to suspect!
Ah, Octavio! we have been both deceiv'd.
This vile Antonio is the very man
To whom my brother without my consent
Or knowledge has contracted me in Flanders.
Don O. Antonio the man to whom you are contracted?
Porcia the bride whom he is come to marry?
Por. The very same.
Don O. Why did you not acquaint me with it sooner?
Por. Alas! I have not seen you since I knew it;
But those few hours such wonders have produc'd
As exceed all belief, and ask more time
Than your unsafe condition in this place
Will allow me to make you comprehend it.