t.

_Helen_. Hand and heart.
Hie to thy dressing-room, and I'll to mine--
Attire thee for the altar--so will I.
Whoe'er may claim me, thou'rt the man shall have me.
Away! Despatch! But hark you, ere you go,
Ne'er brag of reading Ovid's Art of Love!

_Mod_. And cousin! stop--one little word with you!

[She returns, he snatches a kiss--They go out severally.]

SCENE II.--Julia's Chamber.

[Enter JULIA.]

_Julia_. No word from him, and evening now set in!
He cannot play me false! His messenger
Is dogged--or letter intercepted. I'm
Beset with spies!--No rescue!--No escape!--
The hour at hand that brings my bridegroom home!
No relative to aid me! friend to counsel me.

[A knock at the door.]

Come in.

[Enter two Female Attendants.]

Your will?

_First Attendant_. Your toilet waits, my lady;
'Tis time you dress.

_Julia_. 'Tis time I die! [A peal of bells.] What's that?

_First Attendant_. Your wedding bells, my lady.

_Julia_. Merrily
They ring my knell!
[Second Attendant presents an open case.]
And pray you what are these?

_Second Attendant_. Your wedding jewels.

_Julia_. Set them by.

_Second Attendant_. Indeed.
Was ne'er a braver set! A necklace, brooch,
And earrings all of brilliants, with a hoop
To guard your wedding ring.

_Julia_. 'Twould need a guard
That lacks a heart to keep it!

_Second Attendant_. Here's a heart
Suspended from the necklace--one huge diamond
Imbedded in a host of smaller ones!
Oh! how it sparkles!

_Julia_. Show it me! Bright heart,
Thy lustre, should I wear thee, will be false,--
For thou the emblem art of love and truth,--
From her that wears thee unto him that gives thee.
Back to thy case! Better thou ne'er shouldst leave it--
Better thy gems a thousand fathoms deep
In their native mine again, than grace my neck,
And lend thy fair face to palm off a lie!

_First Attendant_. Will't please you dress?

_Julia_. Ah! in infected clothes
New from a pest-house! Leave me! If I dress,
I dress alone! O for a friend! Time gallops!

[Attendants go out.]

He that should guard me is mine enemy!
Constrains me to abide the fatal die,
My rashness, not my reason cast! He comes,
That will exact the forfeit!--Must I pay it?--
E'en at the cost of utter bankruptcy!
What's to be done? Pronounce the vow that parts
My body from my soul! To what it loathes
Links that, while this is linked to what it loves!
Condemned to such perdition!