Fri. Are you then resolv’d to go?
Bon. I am as fixt in my Resolve as is the Libertin in vice,
Which Death alone can part.
Fri. Yet stay, and think what it is you undertake,
Recall this Rash and suddain Resolution,
Least you repent, alas when it is too late.
Bon. This were enough to shake a weaker Soul,
But mine it moves not; like to a Mighty Oake,
I’m plac’d above the Storms of Fear or Doubt.
Enter Arabella.
Fri. Sir, no more, the Bride,
Ara. Oh, Heavens defend me!
Bon. What ailes my Dearest Life?
Ara. I’ve lost the Key of this Chain I wear about my Neck
And of these Bracelets, Oh! Unhappy Omen!
Bon. No, no, my Love; I found it as it lay at Random in your Chamber, and fearing it might be forgot, or lost, have laid it by; ’Tis safe my Love.