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Helena.
Alas! henceforward all my joys are fled,
Vivid imagination will surround
Thy secret with a host of fears. My heart
Suggests[1] some cruel motive for thy stern
Unyielding silence. Oh! my own Giovanni,
Why art thou so unkind?
Giovanni.
Thou art my wife;
I should have told this tale when I had won
Thy virgin love, and left thee to thy choice.
Forgive me, for I feared to lose thee, sweet;
Forgive me, that I tell the story now.
It is to prove to thee, my love, my trust,
And that I deem thee wise as thou art fair.
Helena.
I am a fool to let thee see how deep,
How ardent, tender, and how passionate,
My love hath grown. My husband, when I feel
The pressure of thine arm, meet thy fond glance
