_Clif_. By chance, and not intent, Your speech was forced upon mine ear, that ne'er More thankless duty to my heart discharged! Would for that heart it ne'er had known the sense Which tells it 'tis a bankrupt, there, where most It coveted to be rich, and thought it was so! O Julia, is it you? Could I have set A coronet upon that stately brow, Where partial nature hath already bound A brighter circlet--radiant beauty's own-- I had been proud to see thee proud of it, So for the donor thou hadst ta'en the gift, Not for the gift ta'en him. Could I have poured The wealth of richest Croesus in thy lap, I had been blest to see thee scatter it, So I was still thy riches paramount! _Julia_. Know you me, sir! _Clif_. I do. On Monday week We were to wed--and are--so you're content; The day that weds, wives you to be widowed. Take The privilege of my wife; be Lady Clifford! Outshine the title in the wearing on't! My coffers, lands, all are at thy command; Wear all! but, for myself, she wears not me, Although the coveted of every eye, Who would not wear me for myself alone. _Julia_. And do you carry it so proudly, sir? _Clif_. Proudly, but still more sorrowfully, lady! I'll lead thee to the church on Monday week. Till then, farewell and then, farewell for ever! O Julia, I have ventured for thy love, As the bold merchant, who, for only hope Of some rich gain, all former gains will risk. Before I asked a portion of thy heart, I perilled all my own; and now, all's lost! [CLIFFORD and MODUS go out.] _Julia_. Helen! _Helen_. What ails you, sweet? _Julia_. I cannot breathe--quick, loose my girdle, oh! [Faints.] [MASTER WALTER and MASTER HEARTWELL come forward.] _Wal_. Good Master Heartwell, help to take her in, Whilst I make after him! and look to her! Unlucky chance that took me out of town! [They go out severally.] SCENE III.--The Street. [Enter CLIFFORD and STEPHEN, meeting.] _Ste_. Letters, Sir Thomas. _Clif_. Take them home again, I shall not read them now. _Ste_. Your pardon, sir, But here is one directed strangely. _Clif_. How? _Ste_. "To Master Clifford, gentleman, now styled Sir Thomas Clifford, baronet." _Clif_. Indeed! Whence comes that letter? _Ste_. From abroad. _Clif_. Which is it? _Ste_. So please you, this, Sir Thomas. _Clif_. Give it me. _Ste_. That letter brings not news to wish him joy upon. If he was disturbed before, which I guessed by his looks he was, he is not more at ease now. His hand to his head! A most unwelcome letter! If it brings him news of disaster, fortune does not give him his deserts; for never waited servant upon a kinder master. _Clif_. Stephen! _Ste_. Sir Thomas! _Clif_. From my door remove The plate that bears my name. _Ste_. The plate, Sir Thomas!