Isab. What means this nicety? forbear I say.— Puts Betty from her.
Bet. You cannot be too fine upon your Wedding-day.
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.