1828.] 
The White Devil ; or, Vittoria Corombona . 125 
Enter ISABELLA. 
Brach. You have charm’d me. 
You are in health we see. 
Isa. And above health, 
To see my lord so well. 
Brach. So! I much wonder 
What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome ? 
Isa. Devotion, my lord. 
Brach. Devotion ! 
Is your soul charged with any grievous sin? 
Isa. ’Tis burthen’d with too many ; and, I think, 
The oftener that we cast our reckonings up, 
Our sleeps will be the sounder. 
Brach. Take your chamber. 
Isa. Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you angry : 
Doth not my absence from you, now two months, 
Merit one kiss? 
Brach. 1 do not use to kiss: 
If that will dispossess your jealousy, 
Tl swear it to you. 
Isa. Oh, 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. O, your breath ! 
Out upon sweetmeats and continued physics ; 
The plague is in them ! 
Isa. You have oft, for these two lips, 
Neglected cassia, or the natural sweets 
Of the spring violet. They are not much withered. 
My lord, I should be merry: these your frowns 
Shew in a helmet lovely ; but on me, 
In such a peaceful interview, methinks 
They are too roughly knit. 
Brach. O, dissemblance ! 
Do you bandy fashions with me? have you learn’d 
The trick of impudent baseness, to complain 
Unto your kindred ? 
Isa. 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 ? 
Isa. \ pray, Sir, burst my heart ; and in my death 
Turn to your ancient pity, if not love. 
* # * * 
Brach. 
Now all the hellish furies rack his soul 
First made this match! Accursed be the priest 
That sang the wedding-mass !—and even my issue 
Isa. O'! too, too far you've curst ! 
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 never more lie with thee. 
And this divorce shall be as truly kept, 
As if the judge had doom'd it. Fare you well! 
Our sleeps are severed. 
Isa. Forbid it the sweet union 
