Roselo. 'Tis love that blinds me, bids me hope and fear;
And yet 'tis love that makes me bold while here.
Julia. Ah, fond youth, were I that happy maid
Whose only life and hope might be
To bask in sunshine from those tender eyes!
Dorotea. He comes; and, I am sure, intends
To seat himself beside me, yet I fear.
Julia. I would he cared to rest beside me here.
Roselo sits on one side of Julia, Otavio on the other, Anselmo sits by Dorotea on another bench.
Otavio to Julia. It must have been most fit to love,
That I should know what joy it is to love,
And so a rival moth-like braves the flame;
But all his tender looks are vain, she's mine.
The garden may be trimm'd and fresh,
But not for him this flower; he seeks but shall not find,
While I must be alert, though Cupid may be blind.
Roselo to Julia. Lady, it seems great boldness of my part
To seat me here beside Verona's Queen—
Yet may you well forgive the deed,
For all the fascinating fault's thine own.
So, sweetest lady, blame me not, I pray,
But rather that rare beauty which enchants
And bids me thus be venturesome and rude;
For the bright pure light which laughs
Within those heavenly eyes and curls around thy lip
Hath lured me, like the moth, to flaming fire.
Enchanted thus I die, fluttering i' th' flame;
Yet am I bold like Phaethon, daring suns
Which lighten on to drifting death.
Sweet lady, daring thus I'd die,
