Ars.

     All things are ready.

     Mil.

     Then we shall have a merry Scene, ne’re fear it.

[Exeunt.

     SCENA III.

     Enter Amaranta, with a note, and Moor.

     Amar.

     Is thy Master gone out?

     Moor.

     Even now, the Curate fetch’d him,
     About a serious business as it seem’d,
     For he snatch’d up his Cloak, and brush’d his Hat straight,
     Set his Band handsomely, and out he gallop’d.

     Amar.

     ’Tis well, ’tis very well, he went out, Egla,
     As luckily, as one would say, go Husband,
     He was call’d by providence:  fling this short Paper
     Into Leandro’s Cell, and waken him,
     He is monstrous vexed, and musty, at my Chess-play;
     But this shall supple him, when he has read it: 
     Take your own Recreation for two hours,
     And hinder nothing.

     Moor.

     If I do, I’ll hang for’t.

[Exeunt.

     SCENA IV.

     Enter Octavio, Jacintha.

     Octa.

     If that you lov’d Ascanio for himself,
     And not your private ends, you rather should
     Bless the fair opportunity, that restores him
     To his Birth-right, and the Honours he was born to,
     Than grieve at his good Fortune.

     Jac.

     Grieve, Octavio? 
     I would resign my Essence, that he were
     As happy as my love could fashion him,
     Though every blessing that should fall on him,
     Might prove a curse to me:  my sorrow springs
     Out of my fear and doubt he is not safe. 
     I am acquainted with Don Henrique’s nature,
     And I have heard too much the fiery temper
     Of Madam Violante:  can you think
     That she, that almost is at war with Heaven
     For being barren, will with equal eyes
     Behold a Son of mine?

     Octa.

     His Father’s care,
     That for the want of Issue, took him home,
     (Though with the forfeiture of his own fame)
     Will look unto his safety.

     Jac.

     Step-mothers
     Have many eyes, to find a way to mischief,
     Though blind to goodness.

     Enter Jamie and Ascanio.

     Octa.

     Here comes Don Jamie,
     And with him our Ascanio.

     Jam.

     Good youth leave me,
     I know thou art forbid my company,
     And only to be seen with me, will call on
     Thy Fathers anger.

     [Asc.]

     Sir, if that to serve you
     Could lose me any thing (as indeed it cannot)
     I still would follow you.  Alas I was born
     To do you hurt, but not to help my self,
     I was, for some particular end, took home,
     But am cast off again.