Car. O lady, this is but a branch of charity,
An ostentation, or a liberal pride:
Let me instruct your soul, for that, I fear,
Within the painted sepulchre of flesh,
Lies in a dead consumption. Good madam, read.
[Gives a book.
Isa. You put me to my book, my lord; will not that save me?[310]
Car. Yes, madam, in the everlasting world.
Sago. Amen, amen!
Isa. While thou wert my servant, thou hast ever said 100
Amen to all my wishes. Witness this spectacle.
Where’s my lord Medina?
Med. Here, Isabella. What would you?
Isa. May we not be reprieved?
Med. Mine honour’s past; you may not.
Isa. No, ’tis my honour past.