Wal. Thou dost not mean
His lordship’s secretary?
Julia. Yes. Away
Disguises! in that secretary know
The master of the heart, of which the poor,
Unvalued, empty casket, at your feet—
Its jewel gone—I now despairing throw!
[Kneels.]
Of his lord’s bride he’s lord! lord paramount!
To whom her virgin homage first she paid,—
’Gainst whom rebelled in frowardness alone,
Nor knew herself how loyal to him, till
Another claimed her duty—then awoke
To sense of all she owed him—all his worth—
And all her undeservings!
Tin. Lady, we came not here to treat of hearts,—
But marriage; which, so please you, is with us
A simple joining, by the priest, of hands.
A ring’s put on, a prayer or two is said;
You’re man and wife,—and nothing more! For hearts,
We oftener do without, than with them, lady!
Clif. So does not wed this lady!
Tin. Who are you?
Clif. I’m secretary to the Earl of Rochdale.
Tin. My lord!
Roch. I know him not—