_Isa._ Good my Lord Cardinal, do not thunder thus; I sent to-day to my physician, And, as he says, he finds no sign of death. _Car._ Good madam, do not jest away your soul. _Isa._ O servant, how hast thou betray'd my life! [_To_ SAGO. Thou art my dearest lover now, I see; Thou wilt not leave me till my very death. Bless'd be thy hand! I sacrifice a kiss To it and vengeance. Worthily thou didst; He died deservedly. Not content to enjoy 80 My youth and beauty, riches and my fortune, But like a chronicler of his own vice, In epigrams and songs he tuned my name, Renown'd me for a strumpet in the courts Of the French King and the great Emperor. Did'st thou not kill him drunk?[308] _Med._ O shameless woman! _Isa._ Thou should'st, or in the embraces of his lust; It might have been a woman's vengeance.[309] Yet I thank thee, Sago, and would not wish him living Were my life instant ransom. _Car._ Madam, in your soul 90 Have charity. _Isa._ There's money for the poor. [_Gives him money._ _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. _Med._ Thine honour's past, indeed. _Isa._ Then there's no hope of absolute remission? _Med._ For that your holy confessor will tell you; Be dead to this world, for I swear you die, 110 Were you my father's daughter. _Isa._ Can you do nothing, my Lord Cardinal? _Car._ More than the world, sweet lady; help to save What hand of man wants power to destroy. _Isa._ You're all for this world, then why not I? Were you in health and youth, like me, my lord, Although you merited the crown of life, And stood in state of grace assured of it, Yet in this fearful separation, Old as you are, e'en till your latest gasp, 120 You'd crave the help of the physician, And wish your days lengthen'd one summer longer. Though all be grief, labour, and misery, Yet none will part with it, that I can see. _Med._ Up to the scaffold with her, 'tis late.