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MAURICE.

No, not for long, sweet maid: beneath thy window

I'll hold my midnight watch; and when thy casement
Moves slowly on its hinges, I'll look up,
And see thy beauty, by the moon's pale light,
Sending sweet smiles to bless me.—
When thou walk'st forth, I'll in some thicket lurk,
To see thee pass—perhaps to touch thy robe.
Wilt thou not give me, dear, before we part,
Some token of thy love?

BEATRICE.

Yes, gentle Maurice, thou shalt have a token,

Which every hour thou'lt look upon, and think
How dear, how true——

GUZMAN.

I'll leave you for a while

To settle all this nonsense as you will;
That done, we'll meet again in yonder alley,
And I'll conduct the lady to the castle.
[Exeunt severally.