Rog. A cross-point, my lord.
Mass. Cross-point, indeed.
Well, if you love me, let me hence unknown;
The silence yours, the disgrace mine own.
[Exeunt Claridiana and Rogero.[207]
Enter Isabella with a gilt goblet, and meets Massino.[208]
Isa. Sir, if wine were nectar, I’d[209] begin a health
To her that were most gracious in your eye: 190
Yet deign, as simply ’tis the gift of Bacchus,
To give her pledge that drinks. This god of wine
Cannot inflame me more to appetite,
Though he be co-supreme[210] with mighty Love,
Than thy fair shape.
Mass. Zounds! she comes to deride me.
Isa. That kiss shall serve
To be a pledge, although my lips should starve.—
[Aside.] No trick to get that vizor from his face?
Mass. I will steal hence, and so conceal disgrace.
Isa. Sir, have you left naught behind? 200
Mass. Yes, Lady,[211] but the fates will not permit