Isab. It is not Lorenzo, what shall I do? She steals in.
Enter Lorenzo and Page.
Lor. A Pox of all damn’d cowardly fear!
Now did I think I had drunk Nature up to Resolution:
I have heard of those that could have dar’d in their Drink;
But I find, drunk or sober, ’tis all one in me.
Alb. The Traitor’s here,
Whom I will kill whoe’er he be.
Lor. Boy, go see for Isabella.
[Pag.] I see a Man should not be a Coward and a Lover