ay.

_Isab._ Thou art mistaken, leave me,--whatever he says here to satisfy
my Jealousy, I am confirm'd that he was false: yet this assurance to
free me from this intended Marriage, makes me resolve to pardon him,
however guilty.--

Enter _Wittmore_.

How now! what means this Insolence? How dare you, having so lately made
your guilty approaches, venture again into my presence?

_Wit._ Why? Is there any danger, but what's so visible in those fair
Eyes?

_Isab._ And there may lie enough, Sir, when they're angry. By what
Authority do you make this saucy Visit?

_Wit._ That of a Husband, Madam; I come to congratulate the mighty Joy
this Day will bring you.

_Isab._ Thou darst not marry me, there will be danger in't.

_Wit._ Why, sure you do not carry Death in your Embraces, I find no
Terror in that lovely Shape, no Daggers in that pretty scornful Look;
that Breath that utters so much Anger now, last night was sweet as
new-blown Roses are,--and spoke such Words, so tender and so kind.

_Isab._ And canst thou think they were address'd to thee?

_Wit._ No, nor cou'd the Shade of Night hide the Confusion which
disorder'd you, at the discovery that I was not he, the blessed he you
look'd for.

_Isab._ Leave me, thou hated Object of my Soul.

_Wit._ This will not serve your turn, for I must marry you.

_Isab._ Then thou art a Fool, and drawest thy Ruin on; why, I will hate
thee,--hate thee most extremely.

_Wit._ That will not anger me.

_Isab._ Why, I will never let thee touch me, nor kiss my Hand, nor come
into my sight.

_Wit._ Are there no other Women kind, fair, and to be purchas'd? he
cannot starve for Beauty in this Age, that has a stock to buy.

_Isab._ Why, I will cuckold thee, look to't, I will most damnably.

_Wit._ So wou'd you, had you lov'd me, in a year or two; therefore like
a kind civil Husband, I've made provision for you, a Friend, and one I
dare trust my Honour with,--'tis Mr. _Knowell_, Madam.

_Isab._ _Lodwick!_ What Devil brought that Name to his knowledge?--Canst
thou know him, and yet dare hope to marry me?

_Wit._ We have agreed it, and on these conditions.

_Isab._ Thou basely injurest him, he cannot do a Deed he ought to blush
for: _Lodwick_ do this! Oh, do not credit it,--prithee be just and kind
for thy own Honour's sake; be quickly so, the hasty minutes fly, and
will anon make up the fatal Hour that will undo me.

_Wit._ 'Tis true, within an hour you must submit to _H