Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/151

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Like the imperishable sun, my love
Burns with a constant, inexhaustible
And ardent fire. Oh, sooner shall the orb
Forsake its pillow on the western wave,
And seek another breast, than I exchange
That snowy bosom———

Sforza rushing forward, and stabbing him.

Sforza.

    Traitor! false foul fiend!
Amid accursed spirits thy base soul
Shall howl through dread eternity——Despair!
For 'tis Geraldi Sforza strikes!

Veronica.

                                 Oh heaven!
What dark assassin has usurped that name!
Help, help, he dies.

Enter Isabel.

Isabel.

                             It is impossible,
Julian, awake; thou art not dead, my life!
My soul! my husband, speak to me!