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.