Mar. Believ't she frowns.
Ant. Let it come, she cannot frown me off on't:
How prettily it wooes me to come nearer?
How do you do (Lady) since yesterdays pains?
Were you not weary? of my faith.
Ism. I think you were.
Ant. What Lady?
Ism. Weary of your faith; 'tis a burthen
That men faint under, though they bear little of it.
Mar. So, this is to the purpose.
Ant. You came home
In a fair hour I hope?
Enter Aminta.
Ism. From whence Sir?
Am. Sir, there's a Gentlewoman without desires to speak with you.