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!