Julia. These tokens are most certain; still
In my first letter what wrote I?
Marin. More questions in this murky, musty place!
Roselo. To the husband of my soul!
Marin. Oh, handsome Doña Nuña, say
Whether she be dead or nay,
For 'mid the dead I'm often told,
Dwell neutrals, neither young nor old,
Who neither flesh nor bone doth hold.
Roselo. Leave us, Marin.
Marin. What presses now my noble lord?
Julia. Approach, dear husband of my soul!
Roselo. Thy voice within my heart doth fading hope revive.
Marin. All is accomplish'd; now let grief
Again resume her sway, for as I'm dead as thief,
'Tis somewhat late to speak.
Roselo. Out, blockhead! Thinkest thou that I
Am quite as brainless as thyself?
Marin. Come, let us away, lest morning's dawn
Doth change to murky night.
Roselo. Go whither? Say, sweet wife.
Julia. It will be wise we still go well disguised;
So long as these sad ills pursue,
At the farm which my dear father owns,
Two labourers' dresses will be good masquerade.
Roselo. Thy beauty will peep out, and give the lie
To that coarse dress which may enshroud thy charms.
Julia. What, when all do think me dead?
Roselo. Let us forth, sweet Julia.
Marin. Wait!
Roselo. For what?
Marin. I care not to go last—I'll lead the file.
