her myrtle bower. Cor. (smilingly). But I am dark as night; she as the day,[27] Thou foolish maid. Julia. Believe me, thou in thy Rich, languid charm would cast enchantment o'er Adonis, as would keep him from the chase Where Venus pled in vain. Cor. Tut, flatterer! Julia (slyly). Methinks I'd make a model lover then If I do flatter. Is't not so, sweet lady? Cor. (bitterly). Lovers are mockeries in this blackened age. A maid may wed the low-souled fool so long As he's high-born! The man of noble mind Is numbered, if a common, 'mongst the dead. Julia (idly). Methinks Sicinius comes here anon? Cor. (in displeasure). What! Insolent! Who bade thee speak, I pray? Julia (softly). Lady, mine eyes are clear and quick to see, And thy heart's sentinels are slumbering. I mean no insolence, by all the gods! My motive only love and sympathy. I, too, am a plebeian, and rejoice To see thy gracious, noble condescension. Yet in my joy I well could weep with pain, Seeing the darkness of thy doubtful future. Cor. Darkness! It is a void as empty as My heart this day is full. Begone, I pray, Each one of you; nay, thou, my Julia, stay And bid the bards perform a soothing lay.

[27]

[Exeunt maids. Sounds of a harp without in soft accompaniment. 

Cor. Tiberius, come hither unto me.[28]

[28]

[The boy approaches her.

Now kiss me, child, and talk a space with me. Tib. What melancholy broods upon thy brow, Curves thy dear lips, and glooms within thine eyes? Cor. Brother, thou art too young to comprehend. Tib. Mayhap, for I am only twelve years old; Yet I'm no dullard, sister, and I weep Because I see thee sad. Methinks Sicinius Would weep for thee as well. Cor. (starting in dismay). Ye gods of love! Does all Italia observe my heart, Which I had deemed secure within my breast? Or possibly (although the gods forbid!) My maidens have been gossiping to thee? Tib. (disdainfully). No, never; gossip reacheth not mine ears. But oft I hear thee sigh and then, within The selfsame breath, breathe forth a name I know; A name all Romans know—Sicinius. Ay, and I oft have heard thee sob, although I fain had heard it not, since thou desirest Thy grief held secret. Sister mine, how canst Thou hope to wed a soldier and a pleb? Cor. Alas! Alas! Mine own Tiberius! No hope have I, and yet I love my strength Away—my heart and soul are all aflame With a wild conflagration. Boy, thou seemest Inclined to comprehend my fierce emotions, Bitter despair and strange besieging hope, That scarce is conscious hope, 

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