Isab. And are you, Sir, in earnest? can it be?
Wit. That question was severe, what means my Love?
What pretty Art is this to blow my Flame?
Are you not mine? did we not meet t’enjoy?
I came not with more vigorous eager Haste,
When our first Sacrifice to Love we paid,
Than to perform that Ceremony now.
Come do not let the Sacred Fire burn out,
Which only was prepar’d for Love’s rich Altar,
And this is the divine, dark, silent Minute— Goes to lead her off.