Look, my dear Lilia, how the sun shines out!
Lilia.
Shines out indeed! Yet 'tis not bad for England.
I would I were in Italy, my own!
[Weeps.]
Julian.
'Tis the same sun that shines in Italy.
Lilia.
But never more will shine upon us there!
It is too late; all wishing is in vain;
But would that we had not so ill deserved
As to be banished from fair Italy!
Julian.
Ah! my dear Lilia, do not, do not think
That God is angry when we suffer ill.
'Twere terrible indeed, if 'twere in anger.
Lilia.
Julian, I cannot feel as you. I wish
I felt as you feel.
Julian.
God will hear you, child,
If you will speak to him. But I must go.
Kiss me, my Lilia.
[She kisses him mechanically. He goes with a sigh.]
Lilia. It is plain to see He tries to love me, but is weary of me.