No more; go, go, complain to the great duke.
Isab. No, my dear lord; you shall have present witness
How I 'll work peace between you. I will make
Myself the author of your cursed vow;
I have some cause to do it, you have none.
Conceal it, I beseech you, for the weal
Of both your dukedoms, that you wrought the means
Of such a separation: let the fault
Remain with my supposed jealousy,
And think with what a piteous and rent heart
I shall perform this sad ensuing part.
Enter Francisco, Flamineo, Monticelso, and Camillo
Brach. Well, take your course.--My honourable brother!
Fran. Sister!--This is not well, my lord.--Why, sister!--She merits not
this welcome.
Brach. Welcome, say!
She hath given a sharp welcome.
Fran. Are you foolish?
Come, dry your tears: is this a modest course
To better what is naught, to rail and weep?
Grow to a reconcilement, or, by heaven,
I 'll ne'er more deal between you.
Isab. Sir, you shall not;
No, though Vittoria, upon that condition,
Would become honest.
Fran. Was your husband loud
Since we departed?
Isab.
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