And safe enough I thought; but even here
His cursèd letters reach you through the hands
Of that fine rascal I have just pack’d off.
There; I have told my story; take ’t to heart;
Dismiss your man at once, or, by the Lord,
If you and he persist, I’ll fire his house,
And save the Inquisition that much trouble.
Isab. Your anger makes you blind—accusing me
Of things I never did.
Gil. You never did!