_Isa._ Time, that devour'st all mortality, Run swiftly these few hours, And bring Gniaca on thy aged shoulders, That I may clip the rarest model of creation. Do this, gentle Time, And I will curl thine agèd silver lock, And dally with thee in delicious pleasure: Medea-like I will renew thy youth, But if thy frozen steps delay my love, I'll poison thee, with murder curse thy paths, 10 And make thee know a time of infamy.-- Anna, give watch, and bring me certain notice When Count Gniaca doth approach my house. _Anna._ Madam, I go.-- I am kept for pleasure, though I never taste it; For 'tis the usher's office still to cover His lady's private meetings with her lover. [_Exit._ _Isa._ Desire, thou quenchless flame that burn'st our souls, Cease to torment me; The dew of pleasure shall put out thy fire, 20 And quite consume thee with satiety. Lust shall be cool'd with lust, wherein I'll prove The life of love is only saved by love. _Enter_ ANNA. _Anna._ Madam, he's coming. _Isa._ Thou blessed Mercury, Prepare a banquet fit to please the gods; Let sphere-like[254] music breathe delicious tones Into our mortal ears; perfume the house With odoriferous scents, sweeter than myrrh, Or all the spices in Panchaia. His sight and touching we will recreate, 30 That his five senses shall be fivefold happy. His breath like roses casts out sweet perfume; Time now with pleasure shall itself consume. _Enter_ GNIACA _in his hunting weeds_. How like Adonis in his hunting weeds, Looks this same goddess-tempter! And art thou come? This kiss entrance thy[255] soul! Gods, I do not envy you; for, know this, Way's[256] here on earth complete, excels your bliss: I'll not change this night's pleasure with you all. _Gni._ Thou creature made by love, composed of pleasure, 40 That makest true use of thy creation, In thee both wit and beauty's resident; Delightful pleasure, unpeer'd excellence. This is the fate fix'd fast unto thy birth, That thou alone shouldst be man's heaven on earth. If I alone may but enjoy thy love, I'll not change earthly joy to be heaven's Jove: For though that women-haters now are common, They all shall know earth's joy consists in woman. _Isa._ My love was dotage till I lovèd thee, 50 For thy soul truly tastes our petulance; Condition's[257] lover, Cupid's Intelligencer, That makes man[258] understand what pleasure is: These are fit tributes unto thy knowledge; For women's beauty o'er men bear that rule, Our power commands the rich, the wise, the fool. Though scorn grows big in man, in growth and stature, Yet women are the rarest works of[259] nature.