Lew. I see her not.
Rod. Nor I.
Phil. I say not so:
The garments that she weares mine eye should know.
What Lady's this that hides her heavenly face?
Here are no Basilisks with killing eyes:
You need not hide your beauty: sweet, look up,
Me thinks I have an interest in these lookes.
What's here? a Leper amongst Noble men?
What creatures thys? why stayes she in this place?
Oh, tis no marvell though she hide her face,
For tis infectious: let her leave the presence,
Or Leprosie will cleave unto us all.
Bel. O let me leave the presence, gentle father, When Philip bids his Bellamira goe.
Phil. My Bellamira!
Lew. How? my sonnes belov'd!
Phil. Is this my love? was this your beauteous child?
Nav. My child.
Ferd. My sister.
Pem. Beauteous Bellamira.