MARIA.
Somewhat too sure, I think, my lord Lorenzo.
I scarce deemed possible that one so shy
But yester-morn should hold so high a mien,
Claiming what ne’er was given.
LORENZO.
Maria!
MARIA.
Sir,
You are a trifle bold to speak my name
Familiarly as no man, save my father
Or my own brother, dares.
LORENZO.
Ah, now I see
Your jest. You will not seem so lightly won
Without a wooing ? You will feign disdain,
Only to make more sweet your rich concession ?
Too late I heard it all. " A new light shines
On the familiar scene." What may that be,
Save the strange splendor of the dawn of love ?
Nay, darling, cease to jest, lest my poor heart,
Hanging twixt hell and heaven, in earnest break.
MARIA.
Here is no jest, sir, but a fatal error,
Crying for swift correction. You surprise me
