Zen. What do you here then? 
I’th’ name of vertue why do you approach it? 
Will you confess the doubt and yet pursue it? 
Where have your eyes been wandring, my Arnoldo? 
What constancy, what faith do you call this?  Fie,
Aim at one wanton mark, and wound another? 
I do confess, the Lady fair, most beauteous,
And able to betray a strong mans liberty,
                 [Leopold places himself unseen below.
But you that have a love, a wife—­you do well
To deal thus wisely with me:  yet Arnoldo,
Since you are pleas’d to study a new beauty,
And think this old and ill, beaten with misery,
Study a nobler way for shame to love me,
Wrong not her honesty.

Arn. You have confirm’d me.

Zen. Who though she be your wife, will never hinder you,
So much I rest a servant to your wishes,
And love your Loves, though they be my destructions,
No man shall know me, nor the share I have in thee,
No eye suspect I am able to prevent you,
For since I am a slave to this great Lady,
Whom I perceive you follow,

Arn. Be not blinded.

Zen. Fortune shall make me useful to your service, I will speak for you.

Arn. Speak for me? you wrong me.

Zen. I will endeavour all the wayes I am able To make her think well of you; will that please?  To make her dote upon you, dote to madness, So far against my self I will obey you.  But when that’s done, and I have shewed this duty, This great obedience, few will buy it at my price, Thus will I shake hands with you, wish you well, But never see you more, nor receive comfort From any thing, Arnoldo.

Arn. You are too tender;
I neither doubt you, nor desire longer
To be a man, and live, than I am honest
And only yours; our infinite affections
Abus’d us both.

Zab. Where are your favours now?  The courtesies you shew’d this stranger, Madam?

Hip. Have I now found the cause?

Zab. Attend it further.

Zen. Did she invite you, do you say?

Arn. Most cunningly, And with a preparation of that state I was brought in and welcom’d.

Zen. Seem’d to love you?

Arn. Most infinitely, at first sight, most dotingly.

Zen. She is a goodly Lady.

Arn. Wondrous handsom: 
At first view, being taken unprepar’d,
Your memory not present then to assist me,
She seem’d so glorious sweet, and so far stir’d me,
Nay be not jealous, there’s no harm done.

Zen. Prethee—­didst thou not kiss, Arnoldo?

Arn. Yes faith did I.

Zen. And then—­

Arn. I durst not, did not—­

Zen. I forgive you, Come tell the truth.

Arn. May be I lay with her.