Ism. No more, you’ve discompos’d my thoughts;
Be gone, and never let me see thy Face again.
Alb. Madam, I go, and will no more offend you,
—But I will look my last—farewel. Offers to go.
Isab. Pray, Madam, call him back, he may be desperate.
—My Lord, return—
Ism. Alberto, tell me what you’d have me do.
Alb. Ah, Madam, do not put me to my choice,
For Lovers are unreasonable;
If I might name it, I would have you love me.