to you.

Isab. O, my loved lord,
  I do not come to chide: my jealousy!
  I am to learn what that Italian means.
  You are as welcome to these longing arms,
  As I to you a virgin.

Brach. Oh, your breath!
  Out upon sweetmeats and continued physic,
  The plague is in them!

Isab. You have oft, for these two lips,
  Neglected cassia, or the natural sweets
  Of the spring-violet: they are not yet much wither'd.
  My lord, I should be merry: these your frowns
  Show in a helmet lovely; but on me,
  In such a peaceful interview, methinks
  They are too roughly knit.

Brach. O dissemblance!
  Do you bandy factions 'gainst me? have you learnt
  The trick of impudent baseness to complain
  Unto your kindred?

Isab. Never, my dear lord.

Brach. Must I be hunted out? or was 't your trick
  To meet some amorous gallant here in Rome,
  That must supply our discontinuance?

Isab. Pray, sir, burst my heart; and in my death
  Turn to your ancient pity, though not love.

Brach. Because your brother is the corpulent duke,
  That is, the great duke, 'sdeath, I shall not shortly
  Racket away five hundred crowns at tennis,
  But it shall rest 'pon record! I scorn him
  Like a shav'd Polack: all his reverend wit
  Lies in his wardrobe; he 's a discreet fellow,
  When he 's made up in his robes of state.
  Your brother, the great duke, because h' 'as galleys,
  And now and then ransacks a Turkish fly-boat,
  (Now all the hellish furies take his soul!)
  First made this match: accursed be the priest
  That sang the wedding-mass, and even my issue!

Isab. Oh, too, too far you have curs'd!

Brach. Your hand I 'll kiss;
  This is the latest ceremony of my love.
  Henceforth I 'll never lie with thee; by this,
  This wedding-ring, I 'll ne'er more lie with thee!
  And this divorce shall be as truly kept,
  As if the judge had doomed it. Fare you well:
  Our sleeps are sever'd.

Isab. Forbid it the sweet union
  Of all things blessed! why, the saints in heaven
  Will knit their brows at that.

Brach. Let not thy love
  Make thee an unbeliever; this my vow
  Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied
  With my repentance: let thy brother rage
  Beyond a horrid tempest, or sea-fight,
  My vow is fixed.

Isab. O, my winding-sheet!
  Now shall I need thee shortly. Dear my lord,
  Let me hear once more, what I would not hear:
  Never?

Brach. Never.

Isab. Oh, my unkind lord! may your sins find mercy,
  As I upon a woeful widow'd 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 cursed vow;
  I have some cause to do it, 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 supposed jealousy,
  And think with what a piteous and rent heart
  I shall perform this sad ensuing part.

Enter Francisco, Flamineo, Monticelso, and Camillo

Brach. Well, take your course.—My honourable brother!

Fran. Sister!—This is not well, my lord.—Why, sister!—She merits not
  this welcome.

Brach. Welcome, say!
  She hath given a sharp welcome.

Fran. 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. 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. Do you hear?
  Look upon other women, with what patience
  They suffer these slight wrongs, and 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. What! turn'd fury!

Isab. To dig that 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. How, ne'er more lie with him!

Isab. And this divorce shall be as truly kept
  As if in thronged 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 alta mente repostum.

Fran. Now, by my birth, you are a foolish, mad,
  And jealous woman.

Brach. You see 'tis not my seeking.

Fran. Was this your circle of pure unicorn's horn,
  You said should charm your lord! now horns upon thee,
  For jealousy deserves them! Keep your vow
  And take your chamber.

Isab. No, sir, I 'll presently to Padua;
  I will not stay a minute.

Mont. Oh, good madam!

Brach. 'Twere best to let her have her humour;
  Some half-day's journey will bring down her stomach,
  And then