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As a false faith. I have believed true love
Of such a noble, high, confiding nature,
That neither scandal's breath, nor seeming show
Of fitful change, could shake its gen'rous trust.
'T were agony for me to think thee false;
But till thou front me with a rival—yea,
Till thine own words have own'd that thou art faithless—
I will believe thee true.

ROMIERO.

Believe, believe it! and on these dear hands,

A thousand times caress'd, let me be vow'd
Ne'er to offend again thy noble nature
With ev'n the slightest movement of suspicion.
Dost thou relent, Zorada? Dost thou love me?

ZORADA.

Indeed I do; have I not often said it?

And yet, it seems, thou did'st mistrust my words.

ROMIERO.

Fy on that gibe! let me have perfect pardon.

ZORADA (embracing him).

Thou art forgiven. Now; art thou satisfied?

ROMIERO.

I were a Tartar else, or sullen Turk.

Sweet partner, lovely mate, my gentle wife!
O the soft touch of this dear hand thrills through me,
So dear! as dear as when thou first wert mine.