Enter Alberto.
Alb. Your pleasure, Madam?
—Oh that she would be brief,
And send me quickly from her,
For her Eyes will overthrow my purpose. Aside.
Ism. Alberto, do you love me?
Alb. No.
Ism. No! have you deceiv’d me then?
Alb. Neither, Clarina; when I told you so,
By Heaven, ’twas perfect Truth.