Ce of ill my bliss were pure.

DIEGO. Thy happiness is but delayed; enjoy The concord of thy sons. ISABELLA. The sight was rapture Supreme,
when, locked in one another's
arms, They glo wed with brothers' love. DIEGO. And in the heart It burns; for ne'er their princely souls have stooped To mean disguise. ISABELLA. Now, too, their bosoms wake To gentler thoughts, and own their softening sway
Of love. No more their hot, impetuous youth Revels in liberty untamed, and spurns Restraint of law, attempered passion's self, With modest, chaste reserve. To thee, Diego, I will unfold my secret heart; this hour Of feeling's opening bloom, expected long, Wakes
boding fears: thou know'st

to sudden rage Love stirs tumultuous
breasts; and if this flame With jealousy
should rouse the slumbering fires Of ancient hate--I shudder at the thought! If these discordant souls perchance have thrilled In fatal unison! Enough; the clouds That black with thundering menace o'er me hung Are past; some angel sped them tranquil by, And my enfranchised spirit breathes again. DIEGO. Rejoice, my mistress;

for thy gentle sense And soft, prevailing art more weal have wrought Than all thy hus