Act III

SCENE I.--A great room in DON MANUEL'S house.

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HIPPOLITO solus.

My master bid me speak for him to Julia:
Hard fate, that I am made a confident
Against myself!
Yet, though unwillingly I took the office,
I would perform it well: But how can I
Prove lucky to his love, who to my own
Am so unfortunate? he trusts his passion
Like him, that ventures all his stock at once
On an unlucky hand.

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Enter AMIDEO.

Amid: Where is the lady Julia?

Hip: What new treason
Against my master's love have you contrived
With her?

Amid: I shall not render you account.

Enter JULIA.

Jul: I sent for him; yet if he comes, there's danger;
Yet if he does not, I for ever lose him.
What can I wish? and yet I wish him here,
Only to take the care of me from me.
Weary with sitting out a losing hand,
Twill be some ease to see another play it.
Yesterday I refused to marry him,
To-day I run into his arms unasked;
Like a mild prince encroached upon by rebels,
Love yielded much, till honour asked for all.
How now, where's Roderick? [Sees AMIDEO.
I mean Gonsalvo. [Sees HIPPOLITO.

Hip: You would do well to meet him--

Amid: Meet him! you shall not do't: I'll throw myself,
Like a young fawning spaniel, in your way
So often, you shall never move a step,
But you shall tread on me.

Jul: You need not beg me:
I would as soon meet a syren, as see him.

Hip: His sweetness for those frowns no subject finds:
Seas are the field of combat for the winds:
But when they sweep along some flowery coast,
Their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.

Jul: 'Tis that which makes me more unfortunate;
Because his sweetness must upbraid my hate.
The wounds of fortune touch me not so near;
I can my fate, but not his virtue, bear.
For my disdain with my esteem is raised;
He most is hated when he most is praised:
Such an esteem, as like a storm appears,
Which rises but to shipwreck what it bears.

Hip: Infection dwells upon my kindness, sure,
Since it destroys even those whom it would cure.

[Cries, and exit.

Amid: Still weep, Hippolito; to me thy tears
Are sovereign, as those drops the balm-tree sweats.--
But, madam, are you sure you shall not love him?
I still fear.--

Jul: Thy fear will never let thee be a man.

Amid: Indeed I think it won't.

Jul: We are now
Alone; what news from Roderick?

Amid: Madam, he begs you not to fear; he has
A way, which, when you think all desperate,
Will set you free.

Jul: If not, I will not live
A moment after it.

Amid: Why? there's some comfort.

Jul: I strongly wish, for what I