yed;
I dropped a week. He prayed and prayed the more!
I dropped a second one. Still more he prayed!
And I took off another week,--and now
I have his leave to wed, or not to wed!
He'll see that I have pride!

_Wal_. And so he ought.

_Julia_. O! for some way to bring him to my foot!
But he should lie there! Why, 'twill go abroad
That he has cast me off. That there should live
The man could say so! Or that I should live
To be the leavings of a man!

_Wal_. Thy case
I own a hard one!

_Julia_. Hard? 'Twill drive me mad!
His wealth and title! I refused a lord--
I did!--that privily implored my hand,
And never cared to tell him on't! So much
I hate him now, that lord should not in vain
Implore my hand again!

_Wal_. You'd give it him?

_Julia_. I would.

_Wal_. You'd wed that lord?

_Julia_. That lord I'd wed;--
Or any other lord,--only to show him
That I could wed above him!

_Wal_. Give me your hand
And word to that.

_Julia_. There! Take my hand and word!

_Wal_. That lord hath offered you his hand again.

_Julia_. He has?

_Wal_. Your father knows it: he approves of him.
There are the title-deeds of the estates,
Sent for my jealous scrutiny. All sound,--
No flaw, or speck, that e'en the lynx-eyed law
Itself could find. A lord of many lands!
In Berkshire half a county; and the same
In Wiltshire, and in Lancashire! Across
The Irish Sea a principality!
And not a rood with bond or lien on it!
Wilt give that lord a wife? Wilt make thyself
A countess? Here's the proffer of his hand.
Write thou content, and wear a coronet!

_Julia_. [Eagerly.] Give me the paper.

_Wal_. There! Here's pen and ink.
Sit down. Why do you pause? A flourish of
The pen, and you're a countess.

_Julia_. My poor brain
Whirls round and round! I would not wed him now,
Were he more lowly at my feet to sue
Than e'er he did!

_Wal_. Wed whom?

_Julia_. Sir Thomas Clifford.

_Wal_. You're right.

_Julia_. His rank and wealth are roots to doubt;
And while they lasted, still the weed would grow,
Howe'er you plucked it. No! That's o'er--that's done.
Was never lady wronged so foul as I! [Weeps.]

_Wal_. Thou'rt to be pitied.

_Julia_. [Aroused.] Pitied! Not so bad
As that.

_Wal_. Indeed thou art, to love the man
That spurns thee!

_Julia_. Love him! Love! If hate could find
A word more harsh than its own name, I'd take it,
To speak the love I bear him! [Weeps.]