Mass. What sport affords this climate for delight?
Gni. We’ll hawk and hunt to-day; as for to-morrow,
Variety shall feed variety. 60
Isa. Dissimulation women’s armour is,
Aid love, belief, and female constancy.—
O I am sick, my lord! Kind Massino,[247] help me!
Mass. Forfend it, Heaven! Madam, sit; how fare you?
My life’s best comfort, speak—O speak, sweet saint!
Isa. Fetch art to keep life; run, my love, I faint;
My vital breath runs coldly through my veins;
I see lean death, with eyes imaginary,
Stand fearfully before me; here my end,
A wife unconstant, yet thy loving friend! 70
Mass. As swift as thought fly I to wish thee aid.
[Exit.
Isa. Thus innocence by craft is soon betray’d.—
My Lord Gniaca, ’tis your art must heal me;
I am love-sick for your love; love, love, for loving!
I blush for speaking truth; fair sir, believe me,
Beneath the moon nought but your frown can grieve me.
Gni. Lady, by Heaven, methinks this fit is strange.
Isa. Count not my love light for this sudden change:
By Cupid’s bow I swear, and will avow,
I never knew true perfect love till now. 80