Clif. My Julia!
Jul. Here again?
Up, up! By all thy hopes of heaven go hence!
To stay’s perdition to me! Look you, Clifford!
Were there a grave where thou art kneeling now,
I’d walk into’t and be inearthed alive
Ere taint should touch my name! Should some one come
And see thee kneeling thus! Let go my hand!—
Remember, Clifford, I’m a promised bride—
And take thy arm away! It has no right