Isab. I recover strength: rise, and begone; Alas, thou can'st not go; then at awful distance, cold as Ice, not dare to let thy hot Breath agen offend my chaste Ears! If thou hast, a Dagger rams thy Passion down thy Throat.
Mar. Won't this be a Surprize, my Lord, to see her have such an Icy Fit?
L. Whiff. When I thought she was just going to melt.
Amor. See, you are obey'd; shivering your er'e-while raging Lover stands; your Words and Looks, like Frost on Flowers, have nipt my Hopes and fierce Desires!
Mr. Prais. Alas, poor Amorous! (A Noise without.
Mar. Do you hear, my Lord? do's not your Heart ake for the poor Lovers?
L. Whif. I am ready to swoon, Madam.
Mr. Prais. Wou'd I had some Cordial-water.
Mr. Awd. Art thou Marsilia? wilt thou confess it? so weak to believe these Coxcombs?
Mar. I always choose to believe what pleases me best. If a School-Boy had been told so often of a Fault, as you have been, of Interruption, he had certainly left it. Make a Noise agen without.