Let my warm blood like water flow: each drop
That ebbs shall leave thy dying daughter pure
And still more constant to her Romeo.
In death a corse of Romeo's second self—
My lover and my lord, for whom this heart
Alone doth beat.
His love he rescued from a living grave:
If that be crime, then let my bosom feel
But as the magnet to attract thy steel.
Old Capelete.
Silence, unduteous child! thy base intent
Demands a quick and deadly punishment.
He rushes forward to stab Julia, but Count Paris interposes.
Count Paris.
Hold! hold! Capelete! Slay her not—forbear!
Although unworthy thy fond love to share.
I love, alas! and would not shed her blood!
That steel will not efface the love which fills
So full her maiden heart.
Loving as I must love, I know how deep
The wound, and how oblivion, though she's woo'd,
Still comes not at our call.
I would not seek to wed another's love;
Love is not love, save it doth share alike.
