'Twere better then to cease to love,
But Love, most fruitful of expedients is,
Holding no ill without its antidote,
Whisper'd, thou canst not cease to love.
In secret if thou wilt; but love I must,
Oh Julia, mine own sweet Julia!
Julia. Call me not so oft by name,
I fear my heart will answer, not my tongue.
Thy loving words enchant my soul
And gladden night with sunshine;
But tell me, since thou will'st to speak,
How found this chance for words?
Why come, and thus persisting follow me?
Roselo. I'd have thee all mine own, sweet star,
In secret, if thou wilt: a close friendship
With a holy friar I have, and he, I know,
Will aid us; but should his conscience scruples hold,
I'll find some subtle means of cure.
Julia. My very soul doth tremble at thy words.
Roselo. What fears my dearest Julia?
Julia. More than a thousand ills.
Roselo. They are but fancied ills; once wed,
All rivalry would cease, all hatred should be dead.
Love beckons by this safe and secret road
To hold our houses free from hate,
And through our love shall smile everlasting peace.
Julia. Well did I say thou shouldst not speak;
But go, lest Otavio come, and find thee here;
He now in converse doth my father hold.
I know not why I live to love thee so.
Roselo. Say, sweet one, ere I go, what is thy resolve?
Julia. What can I say but this,
