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days to come, Whereof be none less beautiful than this. Why art thou silent? Does not love inspire Joyous expression, be it but a sigh, A song, a smile, a broken word, a cry? Thou hast not granted me the promised pledge For which I hunger still. I would confirm With dear avowals, frequent seals of love, That which, though sure, I yet can scarce believe. 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 With rude impatience, ere I have found time To con a gentle answer. Pardon me If any phrase or word or glance of mine Hath bred or nourished in your heart a hope That you might win my love. It cannot be. LORENZO. A word, a glance! Why, the whole frozen statue Warmed into life. Surely it was not you. You must have bribed some angel with false prayers To wear your semblance--nay, no angel served, But devilish witchcraft-- MARIA. Sir, enough, enough! I hoped to find here peace and solitude. These lacking, I retire. Farewell. [Going toward the house.] LORENZO. Signora, I will not rob you of your own. Farewell to you. [Exit.] MARIA. Where have you flown, bright dreams? Has that rude hand Sufficed to dash to naught your frail creations? Sad thoughts and humors black now fill my soul. So his rough foot hath bruised the dewy grass, And left it sere. Why should his harsh words touch me? The truth of yes
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