Julia. That every vein doth throb and burst,
And every breath comes thick and hard;
A crushing weight doth rest upon my heart;
Oh heavens, Celia!
Celia. Sweet lady!
Julia. Madness now seems to seize my beating brain!
Celia. What treachery's this? Would I had ne'er been born
To be the messenger of ill, sweet girl!
Julia. I would thou'dst brought it earlier. Oh, sweet sleep!
Tell my Roselo not my death to weep.
Celia. Alas! alas! dear lady, I!
Julia. Tell him I died his own true loving wife;
Tell him I wait him 'mid the starry host;
Tell him I died with woman's truth—
I could not live to be another's bride.
Tell him ne'er to forget his Julia—luckless maid!
Nor let her love e'er from his living memory fade.
Celia. What cruel agony!—what moisture rests,
Like swollen dew-drops, on her gentle brow.
Julia. My feet refuse their office—I cannot stand!
Celia. Come, come, rest upon thy conch and sleep;
'Twill soon pass o'er-let me lead thee in.
Julia. I know not! Oh, sad end to all my love!
And yet I die consoled—we'll meet above.
Celia, write tenderly to my husband when I'm dead;
And—and———
Celia. What says my Julia—mistress dear?
Julia. I know not what I spake. 'Tis sad to die
So young.
Celia. Come, sweet lady—come, rest upon thy couch.
