Eug. Cricca, commend my service to my mistress.
Cri. Commend it to her yourself. Mark'd you not, while
We talk'd, how through the window she attended,
And fed her eyes on you? there she is.
Eug. 'Tis true:
And, as from nights of storms the glorious sun
Breaks from the east, and chaseth thence the clouds
That chok'd the air with horror, so her beauty
Dispels sad darkness from my troubled thoughts,
And clears my heart.
Fla. Life of my soul, well met.
Eug. How is't, my dearest Flavia?
Fla. Eugenio,
As best becomes a woman most unfortunate—That,
having lov'd so long, and been persuaded
Her chaste affection was by yours requited,
Have by delays been famish'd. Had I conceal'd
Those flames your virtue kindled, then y' had sued,
Entreated, sworn, and vow'd, and, long ere this,
Wrought all means possible to effect our marriage.
But now——
Eug. Sweet soul, despair not; weep not thus,
Unless you wish my heart should lifeblood drop,
Fast as your eyes do tears. What is't you fear?
Fla. First, that you love me not.
Eug. Not love my Flavia!
Wrong not your judgment: rip up this amorous breast,
And in that temple see a heart that burns
I' th' vestal sacrifice of chastest love
Before your beauty's deity.
Fla. If so,
Whence grows this coldness in soliciting
My brother to the match?