6
Los Bandos de Verona.
Romeo.
Incredulous sceptic, doubting, lovely queen,
Mine errand shall at once be named to thee,
Art thou alone?
Julia.
Your sister, Sir, doth bear me company;
I pray you, Sir, to leave me now.
Release my hand.
Romeo.
My lovely queen, my tongue lacks confidence,
And yet how dare I longer silence keep.
Sweet angel, 'tis thy father that I seek.
Julia.
My father! wherefore? And for what, I pray?
Romeo.
To say I love thee, spite his bitter hate;
To claim you as Montesco's own sweet wife.
To die of hope deferr'd is keen and deadly
As your proud kindred's hate;
The hatred that divides our noble houses
Sleeps in its embers and ere long may die.
Let not my faith to thee be set as naught
E'en should I die for love of thee.
