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THE SPAGNOLETTO.
DON JOHN.
Darling, not long ; t was but my restless love
That drove me here before the promised hour.
So were I well content to wait through ages
Upon the threshold of a joy like this,
Knowing the gates of heaven might ope to me
At any moment.
MARIA.
Your love is less than mine,
For I have counted every tedious minute
Since our last meeting.
DON JOHN.
I had rather speak
Less than the truth to have you chide me thus;
Yet if you enter in the lists with me,
Faith matched with faith, and loyal heart with heart,
I warrant you, the jealous god of love,
Who spies us now from yon pomegranate bush,
Would crown me victor.
MARIA.
Why should we compete?
Who could decide betwixt two equal truths,
Two perfect faiths?
