Lucia

Marcia

Lucia. Sure 'twas the clash of swords; my troubled heart

Marcia. See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's blood and murder!

Lucia. Now, Marcia, now, call up to thy assistance

Marcia. Lucia, look there, and wonder at my patience;

Lucia. What can I think, or say, to give thee comfort?

Marcia. Talk not of comfort, 'tis for lighter ills:

Juba

Jub. What do I hear? and was the false Sempronius

Marcia. 'Tis not in fate to ease my tortured breast.

Jub. What means that voice? Did she not call on Juba?

Marcia. Why do I think on what he was? he's dead!

Jub. Where am I? Do I live? or am indeed

Marcia. Ye dear remains of the most loved of men,

Jub. See, Marcia, see,

[Throwing himself before her.

Marcia. With pleasure and amaze I stand transported!

Jub. A wretch,

Marcia. I've been surprised in an unguarded hour,

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