Mass. Lock’d against me—my saucy malapert?
Ann. Be patient, good my lord; she’ll give you answer.
Mass. Isabella! life of love, speak, ’tis I that calls.
[Isabella at her window.[262]
Isa. I must desire your lordship pardon me.
Mass. Lordship? what’s this? Isabella, art thou blind?
Isa. My lord,
My lust was blind, but now my soul’s clear-sighted,
And sees the spots that did corrupt my flesh:
Those tokens sent from hell, brought by desire, 130
The messenger of everlasting death!
Ann. My lady’s in her pulpit, now she’ll preach.
Mass. Is not thy lady mad? In verity I always
Took her for a puritan, and now she shows it.
Isa. Mock not repentance. Profanation
Brings mortals laughing to damnation.
Believe it, lord, Isabella’s ill-pass’d life,
Like gold refined, shall make a perfect wife.
I stand on firm ground now, before on ice;
We know not virtue till we taste of vice. 140