Don F. You both might well accuse me of a failure,
Did not th' occasion of my coming hither
Bring with it an excuse, alas! too just,
As you will quickly find.
Don J. Nay, then you raise disquiet; ease me quickly,
By telling me what 'tis. Of this be sure:
Heart, hand and fortune are entirely yours
At all essays.
Don. F. [After pausing awhile.] It is not new t' ye that I was a lover,
Engaged in all the passion that e'er beauty,
In height of its perfection, could produce;
And that confirm'd by reason from her wit,
Her quality and most unblemish'd conduct;
Nor was there more to justify my love,
Than to persuade my happiness in her
Just correspondence to it, by all the ways
Of honourable admission, that might serve
To make esteem transcend the pitch of love.
Don J. Of all this I have not only had knowledge,
But great participation in your joys:
Than which I thought nothing more permanent,
Since founded on such virtue as Elvira's.
Don F. Ah, Julio! how fond a creature is the man
That founds his bliss upon a woman's firmness!
Even that Elvira, when I thought myself
Securest in my happiness, nothing wanting
To make her mine, but those exterior forms,
Without which men of honour, that pretend
In way of marriage, would be loth to find
Greater concession, where the love is greatest;
As I was sitting with her, late at night,
By usual admittance to her chamber,
As two whose hearts in wedlock-bands were join'd,
And seem'd above all other care, but how
Best to disguise things to a wayward father,
Till time and art might compass his consent;
A sudden noise was heard in th' inner room,
Belonging to her chamber: she starts up
In manifest disorder, and runs in,
Desiring me to stay till she had seen
What caus'd it. I, impatient, follow,
As fearing for her, had it been her father:
My head no sooner was within the room,
But straight I spied, behind a curtain shrinking,
A goodly gallant, but not known to me.
Don J. Heavens, what can this be?
Don F. You will not think that there, and at that hour,
I stay'd to ask his name. He ready as I
To make his sword th' expresser of his mind,
We soon determin'd what we sought: I hurt
But slightly in the arm; he fell as slain,
Run through the body: what Elvira did,
My rage allow'd me not to mark: but straight
I got away, more wounded to the heart
Than he I left for dead.
Don J. Prodigious accident! where can it end?
Don F. I got safe home where, carefully conceal'd,
I sought by Fabio's diligence to learn
Who my slain rival was, and what became
Of my unhappy mistress, and what course
Don Pedro de Mendoça took to right
The honour of his house.
Don J. You long'd not more
To know it then, than I do now.