Cla. I would not have it so.
Isab. And now methinks,
Now I consider truly what becomes me,
I have been cozen'd, fearfully abus'd,
My reason blinded.
Cla. Nay, I did but jest with ye.
Isab. I'll take ye at your word, and thank ye for't Sir;
And now I see no sweetness in that person,
Nothing to stir me to abuse a Husband,
To ruine my fair fame.
Cla. Good Isabella.
Isab. No handsome man, nor any thing to doat on,
No face, no tongue to catch me, poor at all points,
And I an ass.
Cla. Why do ye wrong me Lady?
If I were thus, and had no youth upon me,
My service of so mean a way to win ye,
(Which you your self are conscious must deserve ye,
If you had thrice the beauty you possess, must reach ye)
If in my tongue your fame lay wrack'd, and ruin'd
With every cup I drink: if in opinion
I were a lost, defam'd man: but this is common
Where we love most, where most we stake our fortunes,
There least and basest we are rewarded: fare ye well,
Know now I hate you too as much, contemn ye,
And weigh my credit at as high a value.
Isab. May be I did but jest.
Cla. Ye are a woman,
And now I see your wants, and mine own follies,
And task my self with indiscretion,
For doating on a face so poor.
Isab. Say ye so Sir,
(I must not lose my end) I did but jest with you,
Only fool'd thus to try your faith: my Rugio,
Do you think I could forget?