Could much discourse enlarge,
Well might I of thy courage speak.
So of bright hopes all hunted from my heart;
But I am forced to doubt all save fast friends;
My reason and my heart have been at war.
I go, Sir Count, my sad and gloomy way—
It seems the way to night, and shames the day:
My only hope to die;
And yet the death I seek I fly,
Yet, craving death, I am but coward clay,
As much as they who seek in hot revenge to slay.
Paris. To aid thee in thy present peril now,
Doth with my anxious wish most firmly hold:
I count it gain that I have met thee here,
To hold thee free from every treacherous aim;
And though my loving friend hath fall'n
Beneath thy deadly steel, yet do I know
'Twas in most fair and open fight; and all
The justice thine, the provocation his.
'Tis true fair Julia I had hoped to woo,
And so my court I paid as Castelvines' friend,
But finding from her lip and eye she loved me not,
To press my suit had been to tempt blind love
To course most counter to my future hopes.
So now I no Castelvin am, for thee alone
Will even be a Montes, urging this feud
To some quick peaceful happy end.
If that thou carest, I to Ferrara's walls
Will go at once; I turn me from Verona's halls.
Roselo. Count Paris, well thy actions show
In my mishaps a noble friend,
True princely blood doth course thy veins;
