The night did see the vestures of brocade
And gold in hottest haste prepared.
The torches lighted, Paris by her side attends,
When Julia swoons as one with mortal sickness struck,
And falls as dead.
Roselo. What! my own sweet Julia dead?
Anselmo. Hush! I did due caution hold, and said
That thou shouldst listen. She fell as dead.
Roselo. How can I listen if my love lies dead?
Anselmo. Thy Julia lives.
Roselo. Doth she but live, Anselmo, then
I live, and love, and hope.
Anselmo. Throughout the night her kin and friends
Did mourn and weep her sudden death;
The city, on the morrow, blank with grief did see,
Both young and old move sadly through the streets.
Roselo. Go on. I long for daybreak and the light.
The morning sun to slay that bitter night.
Anselmo. Slowly the day did break while Julia
As cold marble lieth on her couch.
Roselo, What words are these? The daybreak comes not.
If my Julia still be dead
'Tis blackest night for ever.
Anselmo, The next day pass'd, and, believing in her death.—
Roselo. Oh! Anselmo, if this day pass not quickly
I, too, shall woo the icy chill of death.—
Anselmo. At even-tide, 'mid bitter tears,
They bore her to the tomb.
Roselo. What hope for me, Anselmo, if
My Julia lies entomb'd among the dead?
Anselmo. Such weeping crowds were never seen before
M
