_Isab._ O my unkind lord! may your sins find mercy, As I upon a woful widowed bed Shall pray for you, if not to turn your eyes Upon your wretched wife and hopeful son, Yet that in time you'll fix them upon Heaven! _Brach._ No more: go, go complain to the great duke. _Isab._ No, my dear lord; you shall have present witness How I'll work peace between you. I will make Myself the author of your cursèd vow; I have some cause to do, you have none. Conceal it, I beseech you, for the weal Of both your dukedoms, that you wrought the means Of such a separation: let the fault Remain with my supposèd jealousy; And think with what a piteous and rent heart I shall perform this sad ensuing part. _Re-enter_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS _and_ MONTICELSO. _Brach._ Well, take your course.--My honourable brother! _Fran. de Med._ Sister!--This is not well, my lord.--Why, sister!-- She merits not this welcome. _Brach._ Welcome, say! She hath given a sharp welcome. _Fran. de Med._ Are you foolish? Come, dry your tears: is this a modest course, To better what is naught, to rail and weep? Grow to a reconcilement, or, by Heaven, I'll ne'er more deal between you. _Isab._ Sir, you shall not; No, though Vittoria, upon that condition, Would become honest. _Fran. de Med._ Was your husband loud Since we departed? _Isab._ By my life, sir, no; I swear by that I do not care to lose. Are all these ruins of my former beauty Laid out for a whore's triumph? _Fran. de Med._ Do you hear? Look upon other women, with what patience They suffer these slight wrongs, with what justice They study to requite them: take that course. _Isab._ O, that I were a man, or that I had power To execute my apprehended wishes! I would whip some with scorpions. _Fran. de Med._ What! turned Fury! _Isab._ To dig the strumpet's eyes out; let her lie Some twenty months a dying; to cut off Her nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth; Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophies Of my just anger! Hell to my affliction Is mere snow-water. By your favour, sir;-- Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal;-- Sir, let me borrow of you but one kiss: Henceforth I'll never lie with you, by this, This wedding-ring. _Fran. de Med._ How, ne'er more lie with him! _Isab._ And this divorce shall be as truly kept As if in throngèd court a thousand ears Had heard it, and a thousand lawyers' hands Sealed to the separation. _Brach._ Ne'er lie with me! _Isab._ Let not my former dotage Make thee an unbeliever: this my vow Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied With my repentance; _manet alia mente repostum_.[37] _Fran. de Med._ Now, by my birth, you are a foolish, mad, And jealous woman. _Brach._ You see 'tis not my seeking.