privilege of my wife; be Lady Clifford!
Outshine the title in the wearing on't!
My coffers, lands, all are at thy command;
Wear all! but, for myself, she wears not me,
Although the coveted of every eye,
Who would not wear me for myself alone.

_Julia_. And do you carry it so proudly, sir?

_Clif_. Proudly, but still more sorrowfully, lady!
I'll lead thee to the church on Monday week.
Till then, farewell and then, farewell for ever!
O Julia, I have ventured for thy love,
As the bold merchant, who, for only hope
Of some rich gain, all former gains will risk.
Before I asked a portion of thy heart,
I perilled all my own; and now, all's lost!

[CLIFFORD and MODUS go out.]

_Julia_. Helen!

_Helen_. What ails you, sweet?

_Julia_. I cannot breathe--quick, loose my girdle, oh!

[Faints.]

[MASTER WALTER and MASTER HEARTWELL come forward.]

_Wal_. Good Master Heartwell, help to take her in,
Whilst I make after him! and look to her!
Unlucky chance that took me out of town!

[They go out severally.]

SCENE III.--The Street.

[Enter CLIFFORD and STEPHEN, meeting.]

_Ste_. Letters, Sir Thomas.

_Clif_. Take them home again,
I shall not read them now.

_Ste_. Your pardon, sir,
But here is one directed strangely.

_Clif_. How?

_Ste_. "To Master Clifford, gentleman, now styled
Sir Thomas Clifford, baronet."

_Clif_. Indeed!
Whence comes that letter?

_Ste_. From abroad.

_Clif_. Which is it?

_Ste_. So please you, this, Sir Thomas.

_Clif_. Give it me.

_Ste_. That letter brings not news to wish him joy upon. If he was
disturbed before, which I guessed by his looks he was, he is not more at
ease now. His hand to his head! A most unwelcome letter! If it brings
him news of disaster, fortune does not give him his deserts; for never
waited servant upon a kinder master.

_Clif_. Stephen!

_Ste_. Sir Thomas!

_Clif_. From my door remove
The plate that bears my name.

_Ste_. The plate, Sir Thomas!

_Clif_. The plate--collect my servants and instruct them
To make out each their claims, unto the end
Of their respective terms, and give them in
To my steward. Him and them apprise, good fellow,
That I keep house no more. As you go home,
Call at my coachmaker's and bid him stop
The carriage I bespoke. The one I have
Send with my horses to the mart whereat
Such things are sold by auction. They're for sale;
Pack up my wardrobe, have my trunks conveyed
To the inn i