Isab. How! surely you’re not in earnest?—Do you love me?
Wit. Love thee! by thy dear self, all that my Soul adores,
I’m all impatient Flame! all over Love!
—You do not use to doubt, but since you do,
Come, and I’ll satisfy thy obliging Fears,
And give thee Proofs how much my Soul is thine,
I’ll breathe it all anew into thy Bosom.—
Oh, thou art fit for the transporting Play,
All loose and wanton, like the Queen of Love
When she descends to meet the Youth in Shades.