Isa. Oh, Heavens! must I lose you then? no, I’ll die first.
Guil. Die, die, then; for your Betters must be served before you.
Isa. Oh! I shall rave; false and lovely as you are, did you not swear to marry me, and make me a Viscountess.
Guil. Ay, that was once when I was a Lover; but, now you are a Queen, you’re too high i’th’ mouth for me.
Isa. Ah! name it not; will you be still hard-hearted?
Guil. As a Flint, by Jove.
Isa. Have you forgot your Love?
Guil. I’ve a bad memory.
Isa. And will you let me die?
Guil. I know nothing of the matter.