ROMIERO: A TRAGEDY.
39
All, Hope! who makest the lover still thy fool!
Do I not know that she would give her presence
To no man living at an hour like this,
In such a spot as this, yet twice already
Some birch's shiny stem or blossom'd shrub
Have been to me her very form and semblance.
She may despise my billet—tear it—burn it,
Yet my heart beats as though—Ha! here comes Jerome.
Enter Jerome.
JEROME.
MAURICE.
But that thou art such an unseemly hound.
How look'd she? Was she angry? Was she pleased?
Will she vouchsafe to hear me plead my suit?
JEROME.
She will.
MAURICE.
JEROME.
Now unfrequented. I will be on watch
That no intruder break upon your meeting.
