w, has Don _Carlo_ married the Lady Octavia?

_Alon._ No, Sir, but a worse matter than that, I am to marry his
Daughter.

_Amb._ Oh, Sir, _Euphemia_ has too much Beauty and Virtue to make you
doubt your Happiness.

_Alon._ Well, Sir, I must venture that. But your Company I'll expect,
the Ladies may clap on their Vizards, and make a masquerading Night
on't: tho such Freedoms are not very usual in _Spain_, we that have seen
the World, may absolve one another.

_Amb._ My Garden joins to that of Don _Carlo_, and that way we will wait
on you, as soon as I have dispatcht a small Affair.

_Alon._ Your humble servant, Sir.
[Goes out; _Ambrosio_ the other way.

_Mar._ Sister, go you and prepare my Father to receive _Hippolyta_,
whilst I go see them married.

[Exeunt _Cleonte_ and _Clarinda_.

[_Marcel_ passing over the Garden, sees _Silvio_ enter in Passion,
followed by _Francisca_.

_Silv._ Do not, _Francisca_-- do not blow my Flame,
The Cure thou bring'st is much the greater Hell.
[Offers to go, but stops.

_Mar._ Hah, _Silvio_! unseen I'll hear the Business.
[Goes aside.

_Silv._ I would fain shun thee, but this impious Weight
Of Love upon my Soul hinders my flight:
I'm fixt-- like conscious Guilt it keeps me here,
And I am now insensible of Fear.
Speak on, thou Messenger of sacred Love-- speak on.

_Franc._ The fair _Cleonte_, Sir, whose Soul's inflam'd
No less than yours; tho with a virgin Modesty
She would conceal it, pitying now your Pain,
Has thro my Intercession--

_Silv._ Oh quickly speak! What Happiness design'd me?

_Franc._ To admit you, Sir, this Night into her Chamber.

_Mar._ Death to my Soul! What's this? [Aside.

_Silv._ Her Chamber? is that all? will that allay this Fever
In my Blood?-- No, no, _Francisca_,
'Tis grown too high for amorous Parleys only;
Her Arms, her charming Bosom, and her Bed,
Must now receive me; or I die, _Francisca_.

_Franc._ I mean no other, Sir; why, can you think
A Maid in love as much as you can be,
Assisted with the silence of the Night,
(Which veils her Blushes too) can say-- I dare not?
Or if she do, she'll speak it faintly o'er,
And even whilst she so denies will yield.
Go, go prepare your self for this Encounter,
And do not dally as you did to day,
And fright your Pleasure with the Name of Sister--

_Mar._ Oh cursed Witch! [Aside.

_Franc._ What say you, Sir?

_Silv._ That Name