_Isa._ What, dost thou think thy lady is so fond? Give me the letter; thyself shall see it. Yet I should tear it in the breaking ope, And make him lay a wrongful charge on thee, 20 And say thou brokest it open by the way, And saw what heinous things I charge him with. But 'tis all one, the letter is not of love; Therefore deliver it unto himself, And tell him he's deceived--I do not love him. But if he think so, bid him come to me, And I'll confute him straight: I'll show him reasons-- I'll show him plainly why I cannot love him. And if he hap to read it in thy hearing, Or chance to tell thee that the words were sweet, 30 Do not thou then disclose my lewd intent Under those siren words, and how I mean To use him when I have him at my will; For then thou wilt destroy the plot[225] that's laid, And make him fear to yield when I do wish Only to have him yield; for when I have him, None but myself shall know how I will use him. Begone! why stayest thou?--yet return again. _Page._ Ay, madam. 39 _Isa._ Why dost thou come again? I bade thee go. If I say go, never return again. [_Exit_ Page. My blood, like to a troubled ocean, Cuff'd with the winds, incertain where to rest, Butts at the utmost shore[226] of every limb! My husband's not the man I would have had. O my new thoughts to this brave sprightly lord Was fix'd to [by?] that hid fire lovers feel! Where was my mind before--that refined judgment That represents rare objects to our passions? Or did my lust beguile me of my sense, 50 Making me feast upon such dangerous cates, For present want, that needs must breed a surfeit? How was I shipwrack'd? Yet, Isabella, think; Thy husband is a noble gentleman, Young, wise, and rich; think what fate follows thee, And naught but lust doth blind thy worthy love. I will desist. O no, it may not be. Even as a headstrong courser bears away His rider, vainly striving him to stay; Or as a sudden gale thrusts into sea 60 The haven-touching bark, now near the lea, So wavering Cupid brings me back amain,[227] And purple Love resumes his darts again: Here of themselves, thy shafts come as if shot, Better than I thy quiver knows 'em not. _Enter_ Count MASSINO[228] _and the_ Page. _Page._ Madam, the count. _Mass._[229] So fell the Trojan wanderer on the Greek, And bore away his ravish'd prize to Troy. For such a beauty, brighter than his Danae,[230] Jove should (methinks) now come himself again. 70 Lovely Isabella, I confess me mortal-- Not worthy to serve thee in thought, I swear; Yet shall not this same overflow of favour Diminish my vow'd duty to your beauty.