Hub. I must—and now. Let me but press your hand——
Mar. No, no, my lips! Hubert, let us be true.
Death watches now and will report all lies
To Heaven. Now I must see you go from me,
Out of my eyes as stars go from the sky,
And never, never see you come again,
Let me once hear you say you love me, Hubert,
And all the years that I must weep for thee
I'll keep the words as a sweet golden bell
To sound whene'er my ears want music.