# Castelvines y Monteses (Cosens)/Act 2/Scene 2

Scene II.—An Orchard by Antonio's house.
Roselo. Hast well secured our ladder cords?
Marin. Sir, all is secure.
Roselo. At last we're 'neath the orchard wall!
Marin. My love and duty found me wings; Am I not watchful ever to defend thee, Should aught of danger or mishap surprise? He who of little value holds his life, Hath naught to fear in love or strife.
Roselo. Thy love for Celia, not for me: 'Tis that which makes thee bold and venturous.
Marin. Thou see'st my love divided; One half for her, the other half for thee.
Roselo. As I sweet Julia come to woo, so thou, To bid a long farewell to Celia comest now.
Marin. Well, that is true; but Celia's love Could not alone have drawn me here, the dove. But now I see thee safe beyond the wall, I cannot but admire such love and constancy; For how we came so safely and unknown, So easy and unharm'd, I know not.
​Roselo. I but my destined path pursue, And yet I fear to lose my love so true.
Marin. I hear the noise of footsteps coming pit-a-pat.
Roselo. Look that our swords be ready to our hands!
Marin. I breathe again; there's naught to fear, 'Tis but the plashing fountain that I hear.
Roselo. Julia, my heart's sole idol, comes this way!
Enter Julia and Celia.
Julia. My love, my husband!
Roselo. Kind heaven, grant me firmness at my need, For what would life's pulsations be to me, Losing the kindred throb of thine, O Julia? Love, fond wife, in hope, in joy, despondency, Or bitter grief, whatever ills befall, I'm arm'd. Thus as I press thee trembling to my heart, In absence still, in fancied presence thou; If those dear eyes rain tears at fortune's frowns, Crosses or evil tidings touch of woe; Oh, kill me not by weeping now, sweet wife! If thou desirest death, my love, one sword, One blow, shall give our hearts' blood to the earth! Those who now seek our lives may slay; but still Our souls shall live unparted after death! Oh, sad and luckless feud! Though guiltless I, A thousand evils had I suffer'd with content, Rather than kill Otavio, whose unruly tongue, The quickening cause, alas! of his untimely death, More tears my life! And if thou lov'st him dead More than thy living husband, let this cursed hate, Knowing no respite, die with me! ​Take this poignard, plunge it in my heart, And with my blood so end this hated strife. Thou speakest not!
Marin. Sweet Celia, should hot anger move thy heart That I, faint-hearted, kept aloof from strife, And mounting to the tower's topmost height, Did shout, I but a peaceful friar am, and so Did bring some scandal on the Church below, In double-quilted doublet here I stand, And here's my dagger ready to your hand; Kill me, and then to prison go! Thou'rt silent, sweet.
Julia. She who abandons all things for thy love, How mourn a cousin while a husband lives? I care not if the blood of all our house be shed! I know no father, kindred, home—to me they're dead; All, save one in whom my soul all worship knows. Thou art my kindred—no Castelvin daughter I! Once I bore that name, but now I Montes am In hope, in thought, in soul and name!
Celia. Most sweet Marin, for thee I now forget I ever had a kindred, house, or name. What care I if our linen washes white or no, Or see the glass which holds our honied sweets Be cracked or no? Why should I wish Marin Were bold and valiant, risking precious life In foolish broils? for fighting thou might'st E'en meet death, and I a weeping widow be. I'd have my lover to be this: in will A game old fowl, wary, tough to kill. The coward should most careful counsel know; The brave and reckless can in useless broils show, Keeping stern, wrinkled Justice all agog, ​The city full of shouts and brawls. I love you more than all my other loves; And as each hen doth wisely guard her nest, So mine's well fill'd with jewels of the best. The cocks may strut, and crow, and fight; Who cares? And shall I kill my loving knight, By slipping steel 'neath doublet to his heart? Oh no! I'll give instead the keys to open vaults Well stored with rosy wines; of that red blood I give thee leave to drain full cups; no other cares Thy Celia dear to spare. Oh sweet Marin, Thine is the kindred and the house I love, For in the flesh I Celia am, I know, But in the spirit nothing but Marina.
Roselo. What would my own sweet love that I In this perplexing strait attempt?
Julia. In secret to Verona come when only stars Can see, till favouring sunshine smiles with hope Upon our loves. Then fate shall waft us on To Venice; thy corded steps will point the way, And my poor heart not even cold content can know Until thou com'st again, husband, I love thee so. Say thou wilt come, and quickly, too, ere I let thee go.
Roselo. Can my sweet Julia doubt her husband's love? Pray heaven that my father's face I no more see, Nor be at peace with kindred of our house Amid these broils and most accursed strife, Or reach Ferrara's gates with life, Or that some Castelvins may in ambush lie, And rushing forth, stab till thy husband die; And so each hope of joy and bliss may fade, Ere I one syllable omit of promise made.
​Celia. And Marin, I know the loving one will come To see and coax his Celia. Art thou dumb?
Marin. If it please heaven I no hindrance find Upon the road, nor yet within the inns, Nor want plump partridge for my evening meal, Nor sound white wine to wash it down, Why, then, if I do aught, my lovely maid, Which harm may bring on me, I know Thou wilt forgive Marin. And so my dove Remember, be thou steadfast in thy love.
Celia. Not quite so steadfast a running wheel, A breeze, a summer cloud, a rolling dice, I will remain, so long as brave Marin Shall truly love his Celia.
Antonio (within). Lucio, good Lucio, my halberd bring, I hear strange voices by the wall.
Julia. My father speaks without, sweet love. Begone!
Roselo. See thou, Marin, the ladder now is sure.
Marin. Jump, master mine.
Celia. Stay, dear Marin; thy Celia speaks.
Marin. No staying now, sweet maid, for me.
Julia. Roselo, love, hast thou no guard?
Roselo. Ay, love, a good and true one, too.
Julia. Whom?
Roselo. Anselmo, with six trusty friends.
Julia. Farewell, sweet love. Once more, farewell!
Roselo. Farewell, my life and sweetest love!
Celia. Oh, Lady Julia, thy father comes, I fear; To even whisper now he's near
Enter Antonio, Lucio, and Teodoro.
Lucio. The footsteps sounded by the wall.
Antonio. Fire!
Julia. Hold, sir!
Antonio. Who goes there? 'Tis Julia's voice!
Julia. I am that sad and hapless maid.
Antonio. Who spoke with thee anon?
Julia. Celia, sir, is here.
Antonio. Why so late abroad?
Julia. Have I not cause to be abroad, and with despair To weep Otavio's cruel death In red-eyed silence with the stars?
Antonio. Sad tears and sighs can never bring The dead again to life, so poets sing.
Julia. Wouldst thou have me insensible as stone— Cold, bloodless as the marble statue of a maid? Weep I not Otavio dead—a husband in the cold tomb laid?
Antonio. A husband!
Julia. He should have been; and as a woman, Marvel not I weep a husband dead. 'Tis good, and holds fair reason for my tears. Revenge is quick, and like the jewel shines; 'Tis bright, but hath no soul to feel; Pray heaven that this deadly hate or worse
Lucio. Poor girl, alas! she weeps. Did she not in all heart-sadness say, 'Twas thy hot vengeance did a husband slay?
Antonio. In sorrow did I mark each word she spoke, And though a husband she hath lost, her father lives. ​ Oh, had I known how much she loved Otavio, I'd not have clamoured for revenge, And wedding her, let vengeance sleep. It grieves me sore to see her weep Otavio dead, the more that all her tears And woe be of a widow'd bride; I fain would see her lock'd in bonds of love. Her husband should be brave and noble, rich, And must well favour'd be. Count Paris did entreat me for her hand, Ere he did journey with the Duke; He will return anon. Think'st thou, good Lucio, She'll mourn the dead for ever, while A living lover woos her tearful eyes to smile?
Lucio. Count Paris is a fitting and most proper lord For so gentle gracious and so sweet a maid As Lady Julia. I pray you seek her, sir, and with most gentle words Discourse of this most noble Count, whose sighs Perchance will find some favour in her eyes.
Antonio. A husband dead is mourn'd as cloudy day; Let sunshine on the morrow break, 'twill hap You'll seek the grief in dark oblivion's lap.