Zab. ’Tis not unlike; for the first time he saw her
His looks exprest so much, and for more proof
Since he came to my Ladys house, though yet
He never knew her, he hath practis’d with me
To help him to a conference, without
The knowledge of Hippolyta; which I promis’d.

Leop. And by all means perform it for their meeting,
But work it so, that my disdainful Mistris
(Whom, notwithstanding all her injuries,
’Tis my hard fate to love) may see and hear them.

Zab. To what end Sir?

Leop. This Zabulon:  when she sees
Who is her rival, and her Lovers baseness
To leave a Princess for her bondwoman,
The sight will make her scorn, what now she dotes on,
I’le double thy reward.

Zab. You are like to speed then: 
For I confess what you will soon believe,
We serve them best that are most apt to give,
For you, I’le place you where you shall see all, and yet be unobserv’d.

Leop. That I desire too. [Exeunt.

Enter Arnoldo.

Arn. I cannot see her yet, how it afflicts me The poyson of this place should mix it self With her pure thoughts?  ’Twas she that was commanded, Or my eyes failed me grosly; that youth, that face And all that noble sweetness.  May she not live here, And yet be honest still?

Enter Zenocia.

Zen. It is Arnoldo,
From all his dangers free; fortune I bless thee. 
My noble husband! how my joy swells in me,
But why in this place? what business hath he here? 
He cannot hear of me, I am not known here. 
I left him vertuous; how I shake to think now! 
And how that joy I had, cools, and forsakes me!

Enter above Hippolyta and Zabulon.

This Lady is but fair, I have been thought so
Without compare admired; She has bewitched him
And he forgot—­

Arn. ’Tis she again, the same—­the same Zenocia.

Zab. There they are together.—­Now you may mark.

Hip. Peace, let ’em parly.

Arn. That you are well Zenocia, and once more Bless my despairing eyes, with your wisht presence, I thank the gods; but that I meet you here—­

Hip. They are acquainted.

Zab. I found that secret Madam, When you co[m]manded her go home:  pray hear ’em.

Zen. That you meet me here, ne’re blush at that Arnoldo. 
Your coming comes too late:  I am a woman,
And one woman with another may be trusted;
Do you fear the house?

Arn. More than a fear, I know it, Know it not good, not honest.