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_Julia_. I breathe!
I could have sworn 'twas he!
[Makes an effort to look at him, but is unable.]
So like the voice-- I dare not look, lest there the form should stand!
How came he by that voice? 'Tis Clifford's voice, If ever Clifford spoke! My fears come back-- Clifford the secretary of my lord!
Fortune hath freaks, but none so mad as that!
It cannot be!--It should not be!--A look, And all were set at rest.
[Tries to look at him again, but cannot.]
So strong my fears, Dread to confirm them takes away the power To try and end them! Come the worst, I'll look.
[She tries again; and again is unequal to the task.]
I'd sink before him if I met his eye!
_Clif_. Will't please your ladys.h.i.+p to take the letter?
Julia. There Clifford speaks again! Not Clifford's heart Could more make Clifford's voice! Not Clifford's tongue And lips more frame it into Clifford's speech!
A question, and 'tis over! Know I you?
_Clif_. Reverse of fortune, lady, changes friends; It turns them into strangers. What I am I have not always been!
_Julia_. Could I not name you?
_Clif_. If your disdain for one, perhaps too bold When hollow fortune called him favourite,-- Now by her fickleness perforce reduced To take an humble tone, would suffer you--
_Julia_. I might?
_Clif_. You might!
_Julia_. Oh, Clifford! is it you?
_Clif_. Your answer to my lord.
[Gives the letter.]
_Julia_. Your lord!
[Mechanically taking it.]
_Clif_. Wilt write it?
Or, will it please you send a verbal one?
I'll bear it faithfully.
_Julia_. You'll bear it?
_Clif_. Madam, Your pardon, but my haste is somewhat urgent.
My lord's impatient, and to use despatch Were his repeated orders.
_Julia_. Orders? Well, I'll read the letter, sir. 'Tis right you mind His lords.h.i.+p's orders. They are paramount!
Nothing should supersede them!--stand beside them!
They merit all your care, and have it! Fit, Most fit, they should! Give me the letter, sir.
_Clif_. You have it, madam.
_Julia_. So! How poor a thing I look! so lost, while he is all himself!
Have I no pride?
[She rings, the Servant enters.]
Paper, and pen, and ink!
If he can freeze, 'tis time that I grow cold!
I'll read the letter.
[Opens it, and holds it as about to read it.]
Mind his orders! So!
Quickly he fits his habits to his fortunes!
He serves my lord with all his will! His heart's In his vocation. So! Is this the letter?
'Tis upside down--and here I'm poring on't!
Most fit I let him see me play the fool!
Shame! Let me be myself!
[A Servant enters with materials for writing.]
A table, sir, And chair.
[The Servant brings a table and chair, and goes out. She sits a while, vacantly gazing on the letter--then looks at CLIFFORD.]
How plainly shows his humble suit!
It fits not him that wears it! I have wronged him!
He can't be happy--does not look it!--is not.
That eye which reads the ground is argument Enough! He loves me. There I let him stand, And I am sitting!
[Rises, takes a chair, and approaches CLIFFORD.]
Pray you take a chair.
[He bows, as acknowledging and declining the honour. She looks at him a while.]
Clifford, why don't you speak to me?
[She weeps.]
_Clif_. I trust You're happy.
_Julia_. Happy! Very, very happy!
You see I weep, I am so happy! Tears Are signs, you know, of naught but happiness!
