Shame! Let me be myself!

[A Servant enters with materials for writing.]

A table, sir,
And chair.

[The Servant brings a table and chair, and goes out. She sits a while,
vacantly gazing on the letter--then looks at CLIFFORD.]

How plainly shows his humble suit!
It fits not him that wears it! I have wronged him!
He can't be happy--does not look it!--is not.
That eye which reads the ground is argument
Enough! He loves me. There I let him stand,
And I am sitting!

[Rises, takes a chair, and approaches CLIFFORD.]

Pray you take a chair.

[He bows, as acknowledging and declining the honour. She looks at him a
while.]

Clifford, why don't you speak to me?

[She weeps.]

_Clif_. I trust
You're happy.

_Julia_. Happy! Very, very happy!
You see I weep, I am so happy! Tears
Are signs, you know, of naught but happiness!
When first I saw you, little did I look
To be so happy!--Clifford!

_Clif_. Madam?

_Julia_. Madam!
I call thee Clifford, and thou call'st me madam!

_Clif_. Such the address my duty stints me to.
Thou art the wife elect of a proud Earl,
Whose humble secretary, sole, am I.

_Julia_. Most right! I had forgot! I thank you, sir,
For so reminding me; and give you joy,
That what, I see, had been a burthen to you,
Is fairly off your hands.

_Clif_. A burthen to me!
Mean you yourself? Are you that burthen, Julia?
Say that the sun's a burthen to the earth!
Say that the blood's a burthen to the heart!
Say health's a burthen, peace, contentment, joy,
Fame, riches, honours! everything that man
Desires, and gives the name of blessing to
E'en such a burthen, Julia were to me,
Had fortune let me wear her.

_Julia_. [Aside.] On the brink
Of what a precipice I'm standing! Back,
Back! while the faculty remains to do't!
A minute longer, not the whirlpool's self
More sure to suck me down! One effort! There!

[She returns to her seat, recovers her self-possession, takes up the
letter, and reads.]

To wed to-morrow night! Wed whom? A man
Whom I can never love! I should before
Have thought of that. To-morrow night! This hour
To-morrow! How I tremble! Happy bands
To which my heart such freezing welcome gives,
As sends an ague through me! At what means
Will not the desperate snatch! What's honour's price?
Nor friends, nor lovers,--no, nor life itself!
Clifford! This moment leave me!

[CLIFFORD retires up the stage out of JULIA'S sight.]

Is he gone?
O docile