ht me to a wild distracted Lover.

_Ant._ Explain your self.

_Alb._ Thou'st taught me, Friend, to love _Clarina_;
Not, as I promis'd thee, to feign, but so,
That I, unless I do possess that Object,
I think must die; at best be miserable.

_Ant._ How, Sir, have I done this?

_Alb._ Yes, Antonio, thou hast done this.

_Ant._ My dear _Alberto_, said you that you lov'd her?

_Alb._ Yes, _Antonio_, against my will I do;
As much against my will, as when I told her so;
Urg'd by thy needless Stratagem.

_Ant._ Name it no more, it was an idle Fault,
Which I do so repent me,
That if you find I should relapse again,
Kill me, and let me perish with my Weakness:
And were that true you tell me of your Passion,
Sure I should wish to die, to make you happy.

_Alb._ That's kindly said, and I submit to you,
And am content to be out-done in Amity.

_Ant._ Yes, I'll resign my Claims, and leave the World;
_Alberto_, 'tis unkind to think I would be happy
By ways must ruin you:
But sure you tell me this, but only to afflict me.

_Alb._ 'Tis truth, _Antonio_, I do love _Clarina;_
And, what is yet far worse for thy repose,
Believe my self so bless'd to be belov'd.

_Ant._ How, to be belov'd by her!
--Oh dire effects of Jealousy!

_Alb._ All that you saw to day was only feign'd,
To let you see, that even your Eyes and Ears
Might be impos'd upon.

_Ant._ Can it be possible!

_Alb._ And now she thinks she is enough reveng'd;
And lets you know, in her feign'd Scorn to me,
That all your Sleights and Cunnings are but vain:
She has deceiv'd them all, and by that Art,
Gives you a Confidence, and me a Heart.

_Ant._ I must confess, it is but just in her
To punish thus the Errors of my Fear;
I do forgive her, from my Soul I do.
--But, Sir, what satisfaction's this to you?

_Alb._ _Clarina_ happy, I'll from Court retire,
And by that Absence quench my Hopeless Fire:
War I will make my Mistress, who may be,
Perhaps, more kind than she has been to me;
Where though I cannot conquer, 'twill allow
That I may die; that's more than this will do.

_Ant._--Why did you, Sir, betray my Weakness to her?
Though 'twas but what I did deserve from you.

_Alb._ By all that's good, she knew the Plot before,
From _Isabella_, who it seems o'erheard us,
When you once press'd me to't:
And had we wanted Virtue, thoud'st been lost.

_Ant