Volume I Part 70 (1/2)

_Franc._ What, still with folded Arms and down-cast looks?

_Silv._ Oh _Francisca_!

My Brother's Presence now afflicts me more Than all my Fears of Cruelty from _Cleonte_; She is the best, the sweetest, kindest Sister--

_Franc._ Ay, Sir, but she will never make the kindest Mistress.

_Silv._ At least she should permit me to adore her, Were but _Marcel_ away.

Hast thou no Stratagem to get him absent?

For I can think of nothing but my Sister. [Sighs.

_Franc._ I know of one, nor other Remedy for you than loving less.

_Silv._ Oh, 'tis impossible: Thou know'st I've tried all ways, made my Addresses To all the fairest Virgins in _Madrid_; Nay, and at last fell to the worst Debauchery, That of frequenting every common House: But Souls that feed so high on Love as mine, Must nauseate coa.r.s.er Diet.

No, I must still love on, and tell her so, Or I must live no longer.

_Franc._ That methinks you might do even in the Presence of _Marcel_.

A Brother is allow'd to love a Sister.

_Silv._ But I shall do't in such a way, _Francisca_, Be so transported, and so pa.s.sionate, I shall betray what he will ne'er indure.

And since our other Sister, loose _Hippolyta_, was lost, He does so guard and watch the fair _Cleonte_--

_Franc._ Why, quarrel with him, Sir: you know you are so much dearer to my Lord your Father than he is, that should he perceive a Difference between ye, he would soon dismiss him the House; and 'twere but Reason, Sir, for I am sure Don _Marcel_ loves you not.

_Silv._ That I excuse, since he the lawful Heir to all my Father's Fortunes, sees it every Day ready to be sacrific'd to me, who can pretend no t.i.tle to't, but the unaccountable Love my Father bears me.

_Franc._ Can you dissemble, Sir?

_Silv._ The worst of any Man, but would endeavour it, If it could any ways advance my Love.

_Franc._ Which I must find some way to ruin. [Aside.

Then court his Mistress.

_Silv._ The rich _Flavia_?

_Franc._ That would not incense him, for her he is to marry; But 'tis the fair _Clarinda_ has his Heart.

_Silv._ To act a feigned Love, and hide a real one, Is what I have already try'd in vain.

Even fair _Clarinda_ I have courted too, In hope that way to banish from my Soul The hopeless Flame _Cleonte_ kindled there; But 'twas a Shame to see how ill I did dissemble.

_Franc._ Stay, Sir, here comes _Marcel_. I'll leave you.

[Exit _Francisca_.

Enter _Marcel_, with a Letter open in his Hand, which he kisses.

_Mar._ Kind Messenger of Love! Thus, thus a thousand times I bid thee welcome from my fair _Clarinda_.

Thus joyful Bridegrooms, after long Despairs, Possess the yielding Treasure in their Arms: Only thus much the happier Lover I, Who gather all the Sweets of this fair Maid Without the ceremonious Tie of Marriage; That tie that does but nauseate the Delight, Be far from happy Lovers; we'll embrace And unconfin'd and free as whispering Air, That mingles wantonly with spreading Flowers.

_Silv._ What's all this?

_Mar._ _Silvio,_ the Victory's won.