Chapter XXVIII: Act V: Scene I

_Enter_ SOPHRONIA, LUCRETIA, LAURA, _and_ VIOLETTA.

_Soph._ By this, then, it appears you all are guilty; Only your ignorance of each others crimes Caused first that tumult, and this discovery. Good heavens, that I should live to see this day! Methinks these holy walls, the cells, the cloisters, Should all have struck a secret horror on you: And when, with unchaste thoughts, You trod these lonely walks, you should have looked, The venerable ghost of our first foundress Should, with spread arms, have met you in her shroud, And frighted you from sin.

_Luc._ Alas! you need not aggravate our crimes; We know them to be great beyond excuse, And have no hope, but only from your mercy.

_Lau._ Love is, indeed, no plea within these walls; But, since we brought it hither, and were forced, Not led by our own choice, to this strict life--

_Vio._ Too hard for our soft youth, and bands of love, Which we before had knit--

_Lau._ Pity your blood, Which runs within our veins; and since heav'n puts it In your sole power to ruin or to save, Protect us from the sordid avarice Of our domestic tyrant, who deserves not That we should call him uncle, or your brother.

_Soph._ If, as I might, with justice I should punish, No penance could be rigorous enough; But I am willing to be more indulgent. None of you are professed: And, since I see You are not fit for higher happiness, You may have what you think the world can give you.

_Luc._ Let us adore you, madam!

_Soph._ You, Lucretia, I shall advise within.

_Vio._ But for us, madam?

_Soph._ For you, dear nieces, I have long considered The injuries you suffer from my brother, And I rejoice it is in me to help you: I will endeavour, from this very hour, To put you both into your lovers' hands, Who, by your own confession, have deserved you; But so as (though 'tis done by my connivance) It shall not seem to be with my consent.

_Lau._ You do an act of noble charity, And may just heaven reward it!

_Enter_ HIPPOLITA, _and whispers_ LUCRETIA.

_Soph._ Oh, you're a faithful portress of a cloister! What is't you whisper to Lucretia? On your obedience tell me.

_Luc._ Since you must know, madam, I have received a courtship from the prince Of Mantua. The rest Hippolita may speak.

_Hip._ His page, Ascanio, is at the grate, To know, from him, how you had scaped this danger; And brings with him those habits--

_Soph._ I find that here has been a long commerce. What habits?

_Luc._ I blush to tell you, madam; they were masking habits, in which we went abroad.

_Soph._ O strange impiety! Well, I conclude You are no longer for religious clothing; You would infect our order.

_Luc._ [_Kneeling._] Madam, you promised us forgiveness.

_Soph._ I have done; for 'tis indeed too late to chide.

_Hip._ With Ascanio there are two gentlemen; Aurelian and Camillo, I think they call themselves, who came to me, recommended from the prince, and desired to speak with Laura and Violetta.

_Soph._ I think they are your lovers, nieces.

_Vio._ Madam, they are.

_Hip._ But, for fear of discovery from your uncle, Mario, whose house, you know, joins to the monastery, are both in masquerade.

_Soph._ This opportunity must not be lost. [_To_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA. You two shall take the masking habits instantly, And, in them, scape your jealous uncle's eyes. When you are happy, make me so, by hearing your success. [_Kisses them. Exeunt_ LAU. _and_ VIO.

_Luc._ A sudden thought is sprung within my mind, Which, by the same indulgence you have shown, May make me happy too. I have not time To tell you now, for fear I lose this opportunity. When I return from speaking with Ascanio, I shall declare the secrets of my love, And crave your farther help.

_Soph._ In all that virtue will permit, you shall not fail to find it.
[_Exit_ LUCRETIA.

_Hip._ Madam, the foolish fellow, whom we took, grows troublesome; what shall we do with him?

_Soph._ Send for the magistrate; he must be punished-- Yet, hold; that would betray the other secret. Let him be strait turned out, on this condition, That he presume not ever to disclose He was within these walls. I'll speak with him. Come, and attend me to him. [_Exit_ SOPHRONIA.

_Hip._ You fit to be an abbess! We, that live out of the world, should, at least, have the common sense of those that live far from town; if a pedlar comes by them once a year, they will not let him go, without providing themselves with what they want. [_Exit after_ SOPHRONIA.

SCENE II.--_The Street._

_Enter_ AURELIAN, CAMILLO, LAURA, VIOLETTA; _all in Masking-habits._

_Cam._ This generosity of the abbess is never to be forgot; and it is the more to be esteemed, because it was the less to be expected.

_Vio._ At length, my Camillo, I see myself safe within your arms; and yet, methinks, I can never be enough secure of you; for now, I have nothing else to fear, I am afraid of you; I fear your constancy. They say possession is so dangerous to lovers, that more of them die of surfeits than of fasting.

_Lau._ You'll be rambling too, Aurelian; I do not doubt it, if I would let you; but I'll take care to be as little a wife, and as much a mistress to you, as is possible: I'll be sure to be always pleasant, and never suffer you to be cloyed.

_Aur._ You are certainly in the right: Pleasantness of humour makes a wife last in the sweetmeat, when it will no longer in the fruit. But, pray, let's make haste to the next honest priest that can say grace to us, and take our appetites while they are coming.

_Cam._ That way leads to the Austin-Friars; there lives a father of my acquaintance.

_Lau._ I have heard of him; he has a mighty stroke at matrimonies, and mumbles them over as fast, as if he were teaching us to forget them all the while.

_Enter_ BENITO, _and overhears the last speech._

_Ben._ _Cappari_; that is the voice of madam Laura. Now, Benito, is the time to repair the lost honour of thy wit, and to blot out the last adventure of the nunnery.

_Vio._ That way I hear company; let us go about by this other street, and shun them.

_Ben._ That voice I know too; 'tis the younger sister's, Violetta's, Now have these two most treacherously conveyed themselves out of the nunnery, for my master and Camillo, and given up their persons to those lewd rascals in masquerade; but I'll prevent them. Help there! thieves and ravishers! villainous maskers! stop, robbers! stop, ravishers!

_Cam._ We are pursued that way, let's take this street.

_Lau._ Save yourselves, and leave us.

_Cam._ We'll rather die, than leave you.

_Enter, at several doors, Duke of_ MANTUA _and Guards, and Don_
MARIO _and Servants, with Torches._

_Aur._ So, now the way is shut up on both sides. We'll die merrily,
however:--have at the fairest.
[AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO _fall upon the Duke's
Guards, and are seized behind by_ MARIO'S
_Servants. At the drawing of Swords,_ BENITO
_runs off._

_Duke._ Are these insolencies usually committed in Rome by night? It has the fame of a well-governed city; and methinks, Don Mario, it does somewhat reflect on you to suffer these disorders.

_Mar._ They are not to be hindered in the Carnival: You see, sir, they have assumed the privilege of maskers.

_Lau._ [_To_ AUR.] If my uncle know us, we are ruined; therefore be sure you do not speak.

_Duke._ How then can we be satisfied this was not a device of masking, rather than a design of ravishing?

_Mar._ Their accuser is fled, I saw him run at the beginning of the scuffle; but I'll examine the ladies.

_Vio._ Now we are lost. [_Duke coming near_ LAURA, _takes notice
of her habit._

_Duke._ [_Aside._] 'Tis the same, 'tis the same; I know Lucretia by her habit: I'm sure I am not mistaken.--Now, sir, you may cease your examination, I know the ladies.

_Aur._ [_To_ CAM.] How the devil does he know them?

_Cam._ 'Tis alike to us; they are lost both ways.

_Duke._ [_Taking_ LAURA _aside._] Madam, you may confess yourself to me. Whatever your design was in leaving the nunnery, your reputation shall be safe. I'll not discover you, provided you grant me the happiness I last requested.

_Lau._ I know not, sir, how you could possibly come to know me, or of my design in quitting the nunnery; but this I know, that my sister and myself are both unfortunate, except your highness be pleased to protect us from our uncle; at least, not to discover us.

_Duke._ His holiness, your uncle, shall never be acquainted with your flight, on condition you will wholly renounce my son, and give yourself to me.

_Lau._ Alas, sir, for whom do you mistake me?

_Duke._ I mistake you not, madam: I know you for Lucretia. You forget that your disguise betrays you.

_Lau._ Then, sir, I perceive I must disabuse you: If you please to withdraw a little, that I may not be seen by others, I will pull off my mask, and discover to you, that Lucretia and I have no resemblance, but only in our misfortunes.

_Duke._ 'Tis in vain, madam, this dissembling: I protest, if you pull off your mask, I will hide my face, and not look upon you, to convince you that I know you.

_Enter_ BENITO.

_Ben._ So, now the fray is over, a man may appear again with safety.--Oh, the rogues are caught, I see, and the damsels delivered. This was the effect of my valour at the second hand.

_Aur._ Look, look, Camillo! it was my perpetual fool that caused all this; and now he stands yonder, laughing at his mischief, as the devil is pictured, grinning behind the witch upon the gallows.

_Ben._ [_To_ MARIO.] I see, sir, you have got your women, and I am glad on't: I took them just flying from the nunnery.

_Duke._ [_To_ LAU.] You see that fellow knows you too.

_Mar._ Were these women flying from a nunnery?

_Ben._ These women? heyday! then, it seems, you do not know they are your nieces.

_Duke._ His nieces, say you? Take heed, fellow, you shall he punished severely, if you mistake.

_Cam._ Speak to Benito in time, Aurelian.

_Aur._ The devil's in him; he's running down-hill full speed, and there's no stopping him.

_Mar._ My nieces?

_Ben._ Your nieces? Why, do you doubt it? I praise heaven I never met but with two half-wits in my life, and my master's one of them; I will not name the other at this time.

_Duke._ I say, they are not they.

_Ben._ I am sure they are Laura and Violetta; and that those two rogues were running away with them, and that, I believe, with their consent.

_Vio._ Sister, 'tis in vain to deny ourselves; you see our ill fortune pursues us unavoidably. [_Turning up her mask._] Yes, sir, we are Laura and Violetta, whom you have made unhappy by your tyranny.

_Lau._ [_Turning up her mask._] And these two gentlemen are no ravishers, but--

_Ben._ How, no ravishers? Yes, to my knowledge they are--[_As he speaks,_ AURELIAN _pulls off his mask._] No ravishers, as madam Laura was saying; but two as honest gentlemen as e'er broke bread. My own dear master, and so forth! [_Runs to_ AUR. _who thrusts him back._

_Enter_ VALERIO, _and whispers the Duke, giving him a paper; which
he reads, and seems pleased._

_Mar._ Aurelian and Camillo! I'll see you in safe custody; and, for these fugitives, go, carry them to my sister, and desire her to have a better care of her kinswomen.

_Vio._ We shall live yet to make you refund our portions. Farewell, Camillo; comfort yourself; remember there's but a wall betwixt us.

_Lau._ And I'll cut through that wall with vinegar, but I'll come to you, Aurelian.

_Aur._ I'll cut through the grates with aquafortis, but I'll meet you.
Think of these things, and despair, and die, old gentleman.
[AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO _are carried off on
one side, and_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA _on
the other._

_Ben._ All things go cross to men of sense: Would I had been born with the brains of a shop-keeper, that I might have thriven without knowing why I did so. Now, must I follow my master to the prison, and, like an ignorant customer that comes to buy, must offer him my backside, tell him I trust to his honesty, and desire him to please himself, and so be satisfied. [_Exit._

_Duke._ [_To_ VAL.] I am overjoyed; I'll see her immediately: Now my business with Don Mario is at an end, I need not desire his company to introduce me to the abbess; this assignation from Lucretia shows me a nearer way.--Noble Don Mario, it was my business, when this accident happened in the street, to have made you a visit; but now I am prevented by an occasion which calls me another way.

_Mar._ I receive the intention of that honour as the greatest happiness that could befal me: In the meantime, if my attendance--

_Duke._ By no means, sir, I must of necessity go in private; and therefore, if you please, you shall omit the ceremony.

_Mar._ A happy even to your highness.--Now will I go to my sister, the abbess, before I sleep, and desire her to take more care of her flock, or, for all our relation, I shall make complaint, and endeavour to ease her of her charge. [_Exit._

_Duke._ So, now we are alone, what said Lucretia?

_Val._ When first I pressed her to this assignation, She spoke like one in doubt what she should do; She demurred much upon the decency of it, And somewhat too she seemed to urge, of her Engagement to the prince: In short, sir, I perceived her wavering, and closed with the opportunity.

_Duke._ O, when women are once irresolute, betwixt the former love and the new one, they are sure to come over to the latter. The wind, their nearest likeness, seldom chops about to return into the old corner.

_Val._ In conclusion, she consented to the interview; and for the rest, I urged it not, for I suppose she will hear reason sooner from your mouth than mine.

_Duke._ Her letter is of the same tenor with her discourse, full of doubts and doubles; like a hunted hare when she is near tired. The garden, you say, is the place appointed?

_Val._ It is, sir; and the next half hour the time. But, sir, I fear the prince your son will never bear the loss of her with patience.

_Duke._ 'Tis no matter; let the young gallant storm to-night, to-morrow he departs from Rome.

_Val._ That, sir, will be severe.

_Duke._ He has already received my commands to travel into Germany. I know it stung him to the quick, but he's too dangerous a rival: the soldiers love him too; when he's absent they will respect me more. But I defer my happiness too long; dismiss my guards there. [_Exeunt Guards._

The pleasures of old age brook no delay;
Seldom they come, and soon they fly away. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter_ FREDERICK _and_ ASCANIO.

_Fred._ 'Tis true, he is my father; but when nature Is dead in him, why should it live in me? What have I done that I am banished Rome, The world's delight, and my soul's joy, Lucretia, And sent to reel with midnight beasts in Almain! I cannot, will not, bear it.

_Asca._ I'm sure you need not, sir; the army is all yours; they wish a youthful monarch, and will resent your injuries.

_Fred._ Heaven forbid it! and yet I cannot lose Lucretia. There's something I would do, and yet would shun The ill, that must attend it.

_Asca._ You must resolve, for the time presses. She told me, this hour, she had sent for your father: what she means I know not, for she seemed doubtful, and would not tell me her intention.

_Fred._ If she be false--yet, why should I suspect her? Yet why should I not? She's a woman; that includes ambition and inconstancy; then, she's tempted high: 'twere unreasonable to expect she should be faithful: Well, something I have resolved, and will about it instantly; and if my friends prove faithful, I shall prevent the worst.

_Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO, _guarded._

Aurelian and Camillo? How came you thus attended?

_Cam._ You may guess at the occasion, sir; pursuing the adventure which brought us to meet you in the garden, we were taken by Don Mario.

_Aur._ And, as the devil would have it, when both we and our mistresses were in expectation of a more pleasing lodging.

_Fred._ Faith, that's very hard, when a man has charged and primed, and taken aim, to be hindered of his shoot.--Soldiers, release these gentlemen, I'll answer it.

_Cap._ Sir, we dare not disobey our orders.

_Fred._ I'll stand betwixt you and danger. In the mean time take this, as an acknowledgment of the kindness you do me.

_Cap._ Ay, marry, there's rhetoric in gold: who can deny these arguments: Sir, you may dispose of our prisoners as you please; we'll use your name, if we are called in question.

_Fred._ Do so. Goodnight, good soldiers. [_Exeunt soldiers._] Now, gentlemen, no thanks; you'll find occasion instantly to reimburse me of my kindness.

_Cam._ Nothing but want of liberty could have hindered us from serving you.

_Fred._ Meet me within this half hour, at our monastery; and if, in the mean time, you can pick up a dozen of good fellows, who dare venture their lives bravely, bring them with you.

_Aur._ I hope the cause is bad too, otherwise we shall not deserve your thanks. May it be for demolishing that cursed monastery!

_Fred._ Come, Ascanio, follow me. [_Exeunt severally._

SCENE IV.--_The Nunnery Garden._

_Enter_ DUKE _and_ LUCRETIA.

_Luc._ In making this appointment, I go too far, for one of my profession; But I have a divining soul within me, Which tells me, trust reposed in noble natures Obliges them the more.

_Duke._ I come to be commanded, not to govern: Those few soft words, you sent me, have quite altered My rugged nature; if it still be violent, 'Tis only fierce and eager to obey you; Like some impetuous flood, which, mastered once, With double force bends backward. The place of treaty shows you strongest here; For still the vanquished sues for peace abroad, While the proud victor makes his terms at home.

_Luc._ That peace, I see, will not be hard to make, When either side shows confidence of noble dealing From the other.

_Duke._ And this, sure, is our case, since both are met alone.

_Luc._ 'Tis mine, sir, more than yours. To meet you single, shows I trust your virtue; But you appear distrustful of my love.

_Duke._ You wrong me much; I am not.

_Luc._ Excuse me, sir, you keep a curb upon me; You awe me with a letter, which you hold As hostage of my love; and hostages Are ne'er required but from suspected faith.

_Duke._ We are not yet in terms of perfect peace; Whene'er you please to seal the articles, Your pledge shall be restored.

_Luc._ That were the way to keep us still at distance; For what we fear, we cannot truly love.

_Duke._ But how can I be then secure, that, when Your fear is o'er, your love will still continue?

_Luc._ Make trial of my gratitude; you'll find I can acknowledge kindness.

_Duke._ But that were to forego the faster hold, To take a loose, and weaker. Would you not judge him mad, who held a lion In chains of steel, and changed them for a twine?

_Luc._ But love is soft, Not of the lion's nature, but the dove's; An iron chain would hang too heavy on a tender neck.

_Duke._ Since on one side there must be confidence, Why may not I expect, as well as you, To have it plac'd in me? Repose your trust Upon my royal word.

_Luc._ As 'tis the privilege of womankind, That men should court our love, And make the first advances; so it follows, That you should first oblige; for 'tis our weakness Gives us more cause of fear, and therefore you, Who are the stronger sex, should first secure it.

_Duke._ But, madam, as you talk of fear from me, I may as well suspect design from you.

_Luc._ Design! of giving you my love more freely; Of making you a title to my heart, Where you by force would reign.

_Duke._ O that I could believe you! But your words Are not enough disorder'd for true love; They are not plain, and hearty, as are mine; But full of art, and close insinuation: You promise all, but give me not one proof Of love before; not the least earnest of it.

_Luc._ And what is then this midnight conversation? These silent hours divided from my sleep? Nay, more, stolen from my prayers with sacrilege, And here transferred to you? This guilty hand, Which should be used in dropping holy beads, But now bequeathed to yours? This heaving heart, Which only should be throbbing for my sins, But which now beats uneven time for you? These are my arts! and these are my designs!

_Duke._ I love you more, Lucretia, than my soul; Nay, than yours too; for I would venture both, That I might now enjoy you; and if what You ask me, did not make me fear to lose you, Though it were even my life, you should not be denied it.

_Luc._ Then I will ask no more. Keep still my letter, to upbraid me with it: To say, when I am sullied with your lust, And fit to be forsaken,--Go, Lucretia, To your first love; for this, for this, I leave you.

_Duke._ Oh, madam, never think that day can come!

_Luc._ It must, it will; I read it in your looks; You will betray me, when I'm once engaged.

_Duke._ If not my faith, your beauty will secure you.

_Luc._ My beauty is a flower upon the stalk, Goodly to see; but, gathered for the scent, And once with eagerness pressed to your nostrils, The sweets drawn out, 'tis thrown with scorn away. But I am glad I find you out so soon; I simply loved, and meant (with shame I own it) To trust my virgin honour in your hands. I asked not wealth for hire; and, but by chance, (I wonder that I thought on't) begged one trial, And, but for form, to have pretence to yield, And that you have denied me. Farewell! I could Have loved you, and yet, perhaps, I--

_Duke._ O speak, speak out, and do not drown that word; It seemed as if it would have been a kind one; And yours are much too precious to be lost.

_Luc._ Perhaps--I cannot yet leave loving you. There 'twas. But I recalled it in my mind, And made it false before I gave it air. Once more, farewell--I wo'not,-- Now I can say I wo'not, wo'not love you. [_Going._

_Duke._ You shall; and this shall be the seal of my affection. [_Gives the letter._ There take it, my Lucretia: I give it with more joy, Than I with grief received it.

_Luc._ Good night; I'll thank you for't some other time.

_Duke._ You'll not abuse my love?

_Luc._ No; but secure my honour.

_Duke._ I'll force it from your hands. [LUCRETIA _runs._

_Luc._ Help, help, or I am ravished! help, for heaven's sake!

HIPPOLITA, LAURA, _and_ VIOLETTA, _within, at several places._

_Within._ Help, help Lucretia! they bear away Lucretia by force.

_Duke._ I think there's a devil in every corner.

_Enter_ VALERIO.

_Val._ Sir, the design was laid on purpose for you, and all the women placed to cry. Make haste away; avoid the shame, for heaven's sake.

_Duke._ [_going._] O, I could fire this monastery!

_Enter_ FREDERICK _and_ ASCANIO.

[FREDERICK, _entering, speaks as to some behind him._]

_Fred._ Pain of your lives, let none of you presume to enter but myself.

_Duke._ My son!--O, I could burst with spite, and die with shame, to be thus apprehended! this is the baseness and cowardice of guilt: an army now were not so dreadful to me as that son, o'er whom the right of nature gives me power.

_Fred._ Sir, I am come--

_Duke._ To laugh at first, and then to blaze abroad, The weakness and the follies of your father.

_Val._ Sir, he has men in arms attending him.

_Duke._ I know my doom then. You have taken a popular occasion; I am now a ravisher of chastity, fit to be made prisoner first, and then deposed.

_Fred._ You will not hear me, sir.

_Duke._ No, I confess I have deserved my fate; For, what had these grey hairs to do with love? Or, if the unseemly folly would possess me, Why should I chuse to make my son my rival?

_Fred._ Sir, you may add, you banished me from Rome, And, from the light of it, Lucretia's eyes.

_Duke._ Nay, if thou aggravat'st my crimes, thou giv'st Me right to justify them: thou doubly art my slave, Both son and subject. I can do thee no wrong, Nor hast thou right to arraign or punish me: But thou inquir'st into thy father's years; Thy swift ambition could not stay my death, But must ride post to empire. Lead me now; Thy crimes have made me guiltless to myself, And given me face to bear the public scorn. You have a guard without?

_Fred._ I have some friends.

_Duke._ Speak plainly your intent. I love not a sophisticated truth, With an allay of lie in't.

_Fred._ [_Kneeling._] This is not, sir, the posture of a rebel, But of a suppliant; if the name of son Be too much honour to me. What first I purpos'd, I scarce know myself. Love, anger, and revenge, then rolled within me, And yet, even then, I was not hurried farther Than to preserve my own.

_Duke._ Your own! What mean you?

_Fred._ My love, and my Lucretia, which I thought, In my then boiling passion, you pursued With some injustice, and much violence; This led me to repel that force by force. 'Twas easy to surprise you, when I knew Of your intended visit.

_Duke._ Thank my folly.

_Fred._ But reason now has reassumed its place, And makes me see how black a crime it is To use a force upon my prince and father.

_Duke._ You give me hope you will resign Lucretia.

_Fred._ Ah no; I never can resign her to you: But, sir, I can my life; which, on my knees, I tender, as the atoning sacrifice: Or if your hand (because you are a father) Be loth to take away that life you gave, I will redeem your crime, by making it My own: So you shall still be innocent, and I Die blessed, and unindebted for my being.

_Duke._ O Frederick, you are too much a son, [_Embracing him._ And I too little am a father: you, And you alone, have merited Lucretia; 'Tis now my only grief, I can do nothing to requite this virtue: For to restore her to you, Is not an act of generosity, But a scant, niggard justice; yet I love her So much, that even this little, which I do, Is like the bounty of an usurer; High to be priz'd from me, Because 'tis drawn from such a wretched mind.

_Fred._ You give me now a second, better life; [_Kissing his hand._ But,--that the gift may be more easy to you,-- Consider, sir, Lucretia did not love you,-- I fear to say, ne'er would.

_Duke._ You do well to help me to o'ercome that difficulty: I'll weigh that, too, hereafter. For a love, So violent as mine, will ask long time, And much of reason, to effect the cure. My present care shall be to make you happy; For that will make my wish impossible, And then the remedies will be more easy.

_Enter_ SOPHRONIA, LUCRETIA, VIOLETTA, LAURA, HIPPOLITA.

_Soph._ I have, with joy, o'erheard this happy change, And come with blessings to applaud your conquest Over the greatest of mankind, yourself.

_Duke._ I hope 'twill be a full and lasting one.

_Luc._ Thus, let me kneel, and pay my thanks and duty, [_Kneeling._ Both to my prince and father.

_Duke._ Rise, rise, too charming maid, for yet I cannot Call you my daughter: that first name, Lucretia, Hangs on my lips, and would be still pronounced. Look not too kindly on me; one sweet glance, Perhaps, would ruin both: therefore, I'll go And try to get new strength to bear your eyes. 'Till then, farewell. Be sure you love my Frederick, And do not hate his father. [_Exeunt Duke and_ VALERIO.

_Fred._ [_At the door._] Now, friends, you may appear.

_Enter_ AURELIAN, CAMILLO, BENITO.

Your pardon, madam, that we thus intrude On holy ground: yourself best know it could not Be avoided, and it shall be my care it be excused.

_Soph._ Though sovereign princes bear a privilege Of entering when they please within our walls, In others 'tis a crime past dispensation; And therefore, to avoid a public scandal, Be pleased, sir, to retire, and quit this garden.

_Aur._ We shall obey you, madam; but that we may do it with less regret, we hope you will give these ladies leave to accompany us.

_Soph._ They shall. And, nieces, for myself, I only ask you To justify my conduct to the world, That none may think I have betrayed a trust, But freed you from a tyranny.

_Lau._ Our duty binds us to acknowledge it.

_Cam._ And our gratitude to witness it.

_Vio._ With a holy and lasting remembrance of your favour.

_Fred._ And it shall be my care, either by reason to bend your uncle's will, or, by my father's interest, to force your dowry from his hands.

_Ben._ [_To_ AUR.] Pray, sir, let us make haste over these walls again; these gardens are unlucky to me; I have lost my reputation of music in one of them, and of wit in the other.

_Aur._ [_To_ LAU.] Now, Laura, you may take your choice betwixt the two Benito's, and consider whether you had rather he should serenade you in the garden, or I in bed to-night.

_Lau._ You may be sure I shall give sentence for Benito; for the effect of your serenading would be to make me pay the music nine months hence.

_Hip._ [_To_ ASCA.] You see, brother, here's a general gaol-delivery: there has been a great deal of bustle and disturbance in the cloister to-night; enough to distract a soul which is given up, like me, to contemplation: and therefore, if you think fit, I could even be content to retire, with you, into the world; and, by way of penance, to marry you; which, as husbands and wives go now, is a greater mortification than a nunnery.

_Asca._ No, sister; if you love me, keep to your monastery: I'll come now and then to the grate, and beg you a recreation. But I know myself so well, that if I had you one twelvemonth in the world, I should run myself into a cloister, to be rid of you.

_Soph._ Nieces, once more farewell. Adieu, Lucretia: My wishes and my prayers attend you all.

_Luc._ to _Fred._ I am so fearful, That, though I gladly run to your embraces, Yet, venturing in the world a second time, Methinks I put to sea in a rough storm, With shipwrecks round about me.

_Fred._ My dear, be kinder to yourself and me, And let not fear fright back our coming joys; For we, at length, stand reconciled to fate: And now to fear, when to such bliss we move, Were not to doubt our fortune, but our love. [_Exeunt._