Charles: To Rome? You must?—I am under a spell.
Fulvia: We, thou and I, after the battle's foam
Or chase's tired return, often have breathed
The passionate deep hours away in rest
And sympathy.
Charles: Say on. Your voice—I marvel——
Fulvia: And at the dawn have looked and sighed, then slow
With quiet clasp of fingers turned apart.
Charles: You go?—But, on!—your tone—in it I feel——
Fulvia: Have we not fast been friends?
Charles: What hath your voice?
Fulvia: Such friends have we not been as grow up from
Eternity?
Charles: You say it, and I wake.
Fulvia: Such friends—till yesterday you——
Charles: Ah!