Leon. Sir, I beseech you.

Poly. Do not urge my patience. Leon. I'll not deny, But what your spies informed you of is true: I love the fair Palmyra; but I loved her Before I knew your title to my blood. Enter Palmyra guarded. See, here she comes, and looks, amidst her guards, Like a weak dove under the falcon's gripe. O heaven, I cannot bear it. Poly. Maid, come hither. Have you presumed so far, as to receive My son's affections? Palm. Alas, what shall I answer? To confess it Will raise a blush upon a virgin's face; Yet I was ever taught 'twas base to lie. Poly. You've been too bold, and you must love no more. Palm. Indeed I must; I cannot help my love; I was so tender when I took the bent, That now I grow that way. Poly. He is a prince, and you are meanly born. Leon. Love either finds