Isa. Damnation! vanish from me.
Ele. Coy!
Were you as hard as flint, O, you should yield
Like soften'd wax; were you as pure as fire,
I'd touch you; yes, I'll taint you: see you this?
I'll bring you to this lure.
Isa. If I want hands
To kill myself, before thou dost it, do.
Ele. I'll cut away your hands. Well, my desire
Is raging as the sea, and mad as fire.
Will you?
Isa. Torment me not, good devil.
Ele. Will you.
Isa. I'll tear mine eyes out, if they tempt thy lust.
Ele. Do.
Isa. Touch me not; these knives——
Ele. Ha, ha! kill yourself,
Because I jest with you! I wrong Hortenzo.
Settle your thoughts, 'twas but a trick to try
That which few women have, true constancy.