_Julia_. Oh, Clifford! is it you? _Clif_. Your answer to my lord. [Gives the letter.] _Julia_. Your lord! [Mechanically taking it.] _Clif_. Wilt write it? Or, will it please you send a verbal one? I'll bear it faithfully. _Julia_. You'll bear it? _Clif_. Madam, Your pardon, but my haste is somewhat urgent. My lord's impatient, and to use despatch Were his repeated orders. _Julia_. Orders? Well, I'll read the letter, sir. 'Tis right you mind His lordship's orders. They are paramount! Nothing should supersede them!--stand beside them! They merit all your care, and have it! Fit, Most fit, they should! Give me the letter, sir. _Clif_. You have it, madam. _Julia_. So! How poor a thing I look! so lost, while he is all himself! Have I no pride? [She rings, the Servant enters.] Paper, and pen, and ink! If he can freeze, 'tis time that I grow cold! I'll read the letter. [Opens it, and holds it as about to read it.] Mind his orders! So! Quickly he fits his habits to his fortunes! He serves my lord with all his will! His heart's In his vocation. So! Is this the letter? 'Tis upside down--and here I'm poring on't! Most fit I let him see me play the fool! 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.