[Gives the letter.]
Julia. Your lord!
[Mechanically taking it.]
Clif. Wilt write it?
Or, will it please you send a verbal one?
I’ll bear it faithfully.
Julia. You’ll bear it?
Clif. Madam,
Your pardon, but my haste is somewhat urgent.
My lord’s impatient, and to use despatch
Were his repeated orders.
Julia. Orders? Well,
I’ll read the letter, sir. ’Tis right you mind
His lordship’s orders. They are paramount!
Nothing should supersede them!—stand beside them!
They merit all your care, and have it! Fit,
Most fit, they should! Give me the letter, sir.
Clif. You have it, madam.
Julia. So! How poor a thing
I look! so lost, while he is all himself!
Have I no pride?
[She rings, the Servant enters.]