Isa. Fear in this kind, my lord, doth sweeten love.
Mass. To think fear joy, dear, I cannot conjecture.
Isa. Fear’s sire to fervency, 10
Which makes love’s sweet prove nectar;
Trembling desire, fear, hope, and doubtful leisure,
Distil from love the quintessence of pleasure.
Mass. Madam, I yield to you; fear keeps with love,
My oratory is too weak against you:
You have the ground of knowledge, wise experience,
Which makes your argument invincible.
Isa. You are Time’s scholar, and can flatter weakness.
Mass. Custom allows it, and we plainly see
Princes and women maintain flattery. 20
Isa. Anna, go see my jewels and my trunks
Be aptly placèd in their several rooms.
[Exit Anna.
Enter Gniaca Count of Gaza, with Attendants.
My lord,
Know you this gallant? Tis a complete gentleman.