And do not dally as you did to day,
And fright your Pleasure with the Name of Sister—
Mar. Oh cursed Witch! [Aside.
Franc. What say you, Sir?
Silv. That Name has check’d my Joy—
And makes it strangely silent and imperfect. [Walks away.
Franc. Why do you go, before you answer me? [Follows him into the Garden.
Mar. I’ll follow him, and kill them. [Comes out with a Dagger.
Oh, who would be allied unto a Woman,
Nature’s loose Handy-Work? the slight Imploys