Ang.
When I would pray and think, I think and pray
To sev'ral subjects: heav'n hath my empty words,
Whilst my intention hearing not my tongue,
Anchors on Isabel: heav'n's in my mouth,
As if I did but only chew its name,

And in my heart the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception: the state whereon I studied
Is like a good thing, being often read,
Grown fear'd and tedious; yea my gravity,
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride,
Could I with boot change for an idle plume
Which the air beats for vain. Oh place! oh form!
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming? blood, thou art but blood:
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn;
'Tis not the devil's crest. How now? who's there? Enter Servant.

Serv.
One Isabel a sister asks access to you.

Ang.
Teach her the way. Oh heav'ns!
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
Making both that unable for it self,
And dispossessing all my other parts
Of necessary fitness?
So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;
Come all to help him, and so stop the air
By which he should revive: and even so
The gen'ral subjects to a well-wisht King,
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence. How now, fair maid?

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