Dead to each other! ’tis a woful word
To those who’ve loved. Thou fickle man! thou dost
Deceive thyself,—for true love never dies.
Thy fate doth mirror mine.
Northlake [taking her hand].
I beg thee tell it me.
Catharine.
Thou hold’st my hand close as my husband did
Upon our wedding morn, when he did make
Such noble vows of constancy as troops
Of angels swift delight to register.
And so we lived for many happy years;
They now do seem a vanished paradise;
And, looking back, beyond my later years,
It seems to me as fair as tender Eden
Did unto our first mother, Eve. And oft
I’ve wept most burning tears in memory
Of the adored one who did hold me there.
Northlake.
Why, thou dost clasp my hand with feverish zeal;
Let’s walk upon the cliff.
Catharine.
Nay, stay, and listen.