Isab. Hold, Ravisher, and know this saucy Passion
Has render’d back your Interest. Now I hate ye,
And my Obedience to my Father’s Will
Shall marry me to Fainlove, and I’ll despise ye. Flings from him.
Wit. Hah! Isabella! Death, I have made sweet work,—stay, gentle Maid,—she’ll ruin all if she go:—stay—she knew me, and cunningly drew me to this Discovery; I’ll after her and undeceive her.
Runs after her.
A confused Noise of the Serenade, the
[ Scene VI] draws off to Lady Fancy’s Anti-chamber.
Enter Isabella groping as in the dark.
Isab. Pray Heaven I get undiscover’d to my Chamber, where I’ll make Vows against this perjured Man; hah, sure he follows still; no Wood-Nymph ever fled before a Satyr, with half that trembling haste I flew from Lodwick.—Oh, he has lost his Virtue, and undone me.
Goes out groping, and the noise of Serenade again.