_Wal_. Write thy own name,
And show him how near akin thy hate's to hate.

_Julia_. [Writes.] 'Tis done!

_Wal_. 'Tis well! I'll come to you anon! [Goes out.]

_Julia_. [Alone.] I'm glad 'tis done! I'm very glad 'tis done!
I've done the thing I ought. From my disgrace
This lord shall lift me 'bove the reach of scorn--
That idly wags its tongue, where wealth and state
Need only beckon to have crowds to laud!
Then how the tables change! The hand he spurned
His betters take! Let me remember that!
I'll grace my rank! I will! I'll carry it
As I was born to it! I warrant none
Shall say it fits me not:--but, one and all
Confess I wear it bravely, as I ought!
And he shall hear it! Ay, and he shall see it!
I will roll by him in an equipage
Would mortgage his estate--but he shall own
His slight of me was my advancement! Love me!
He never loved me! if he had, he ne'er
Had given me up! Love's not a spider's web
But fit to mesh a fly--that you can break
By only blowing on't! He never loved me!
He knows not what love is!--or, if he does,
He has not been o'erchary of his peace!
And that he'll find when I'm another's wife,
Lost!--lost to him for ever! Tears again!
Why should I weep for him? Who make their woes.
Deserve them! What have I to do with tears?

[Enter HELEN.]

_Helen_. News, Julia, news!

_Julia_. What! is't about Sir Thomas?

_Helen_. Sir Thomas, say you? He's no more Sir Thomas!
That cousin lives, as heir to whom, his wealth
And title came to him.

_Julia_. Was he not dead?

_Helen_. No more than I am dead.

_Julia_. I would 'twere not so.

_Helen_. What say you, Julia?

_Julia_. Nothing!

_Helen_. I could kiss
That cousin! couldn't you, Julia?

_Julia_. Wherefore?

_Helen_. Why
For coming back to life again, as 'twere
Upon his cousin to revenge you.

_Julia_. Helen!

_Helen_. Indeed 'tis true. With what a sorry grace
The gentleman will bear himself without
His title! Master Clifford! Have you not
Some token to return him? Some love-letter?
Some brooch? Some pin? Some anything? I'll be
Your messenger, for nothing but the pleasure
Of calling him plain "Master Clifford."

_Julia_. Helen!

_Helen_. Or has he aught of thine? Write to him, Julia,
Demanding it! Do, Julia, if you love me;
And I'll direct it in a schoolboy's hand,
As round as I can write, "To Master Clifford."

_Julia_. Helen!

_Helen_. I'll think of fifty thousand way