+Don A.+ Porcia's my wife! disloyal man, thou diest. [_Offers to make at +Don Octavio+._
+Cam.+ Hold, sir! which is the Porcia you lay claim to?
+Don A.+ Can you doubt of that? why, sure, you know too well The conquest that you made so long ago[70] Of my poor heart in Flanders.
+Don C.+ Conquest! poor heart! Flanders! what can this mean?
+Don H.+ New riddles every moment do arise, And mysteries are born of mysteries.
+Don C.+ Sure, 'tis the pastime of the destinies To mock us for pretending to be wise.
+Cam.+ Thanks be to heaven, our work draws near an end. Cousin, it belongs to you to finish it.
+Por.+ To free you from that labyrinth, Antonio, In which a slight mistake, not rectifi'd, Involv'd us all, know the suppos'd Porcia, Whom you have lov'd, is the true Camilla.
+Cam.+ And you, Don Henrique, know that Don Octavio Has always been your sister's faithful lover, And only feign'd a gallantry to me To hide his real passion for my cousin From your discerning eyes.
+Don O.+ Brave Antonio! how happy are we both. [_They embrace._ Both in our loves and friendships!
+Don A.+ Ah, how the memory of our crosses pass'd Heightens our joys when we succeed at last!
+Don O.+ Our pleasures in this world are always mix'd: 'Tis in the next where all our joys are fix'd.
[_+Camilla+ takes +Don Antonio+ by the hand, and leads him to +Don Carlos+._
+Cam.+ This, my dear brother, is that brave commander To whom you owe your life and liberty; And I much more--the safety of my honour.
+Don C.+ Is this that gallant leader who redeem'd us With so much valour from the enemy?
+Don C.+ Why did you not acquaint me with it sooner? 'Twas ill done, Camilla.
+Cam.+ Alas! my dearest brother, gratitude, [_Drawing +Don Carlos+ aside._ Conspiring with the graces of his person, So soon possess'd him of my heart, that I, Asham'd of such a visionary love, Durst never trust my tongue with my own thoughts.
+Don C.+ 'Tis enough. Here, sir, take from me her hand, [_Addressing to +Don Antonio+._ Whose heart your merit has long since made yours. [_+Don Antonio+ takes +Camilla's+ hand and kisses it._
+Don A.+ Sir, with your leave and hers, I seal the vows Of my eternal faith unto you both.
+Don C.+ But let's take heed, Antonio, lest, whilst we Are joying in our mutual happiness, Don Henrique's scarcely yet composed distemper Revive not, and disorder us afresh: I like not his grim posture.