Rod.  I’ll find a time to tell you, you are one.

Man.  ’Tis well. 
Ladies, you wonder at our private whispers, [To the company. 
But more will wonder when you know the cause;
The beauteous Angelina is fallen ill;
And, since she cannot with her presence grace
This day’s solemnity, the noble Roderick
Thinks fit it be deferred, ’till she recover;
Then, we both hope to have your companies.

Lad.  Wishing her health, we take our leaves. [Exeunt company. Rod.  Your sister yet will marry me.

Man.  She will not:  Come hither, Julia.

Jul.  What strange afflicting news is this you tell us?

Man.  ’Twas all this false man’s plot, that when he had Possest you, he might cheat me of his sister.

Jul.  Is this true, Roderick?—­Alas, his silence
Does but too much confess it:  How I blush
To own that love, I cannot yet take from thee! 
Yet for my sake be friends.

Man.  ’Tis now too late:  I am by honour hindered.

Rod.  I by hate.

Jul.  What shall I do?

Man.  Leave him, and come away; Thy virtue bids thee.

Jul.  But love bids me stay.

Man.  Her love’s so like my own, that I should blame
The brother’s passion in the sister’s flame. 
Rodorick, we shall meet.—­He little thinks
I am as sure this night of Angelina,
As he of Julia. [Aside.  Exit MANUEL.

Rod.  Madam, to what an ecstasy of joy
Your goodness raises me! this was an act
Of kindness, which no service e’er can pay.

Jul.  Yes, Rodorick, ’tis in your power to quit The debt you owe me.

Rod.  Do but name the way.

Jul.  Then briefly thus; ’tis to be just to me, As I have been to you.

Rod.  You cannot doubt it.

Jul.  You know I have adventured, for your sake,
A brother’s anger, and the world’s opinion: 
I value neither; for a settled virtue
Makes itself judge, and, satisfied within,
Smiles at that common enemy, the world. 
I am no more afraid of flying censures,
Than heaven of being fired with mounting sparkles.

Rod.  But wherein must my gratitude consist?

Jul.  Answer yourself, by thinking what is fit For me to do.

Rod.  By marriage, to confirm Our mutual love.

Jul.  Ungrateful Rodorick!  Canst thou name marriage, while thou entertain’st A hatred so unjust against my brother?

Rod.  But, unkind Julia, you know the causes Of love and hate are hid deep in our stars, And none but heaven can give account of both.

Jul.  Too well I know it:  for my love to thee
Is born by inclination, not by judgment;
And makes my virtue shrink within my heart,
As loth to leave it, and as loth to mingle.