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 Incredulous sceptic, doubting, lovely queen, Mine errand shall at once be named to thee, Art thou alone?

Your sister, Sir, doth bear me company; I pray you, Sir, to leave me now. Release my hand.

My lovely queen, my tongue lacks confidence, And yet how dare I longer silence keep. Sweet angel, 'tis thy father that I seek.

My father! wherefore? And for what, I pray?

To say I love thee, spite his bitter hate; To claim you as Montesco's own sweet wife. To die of hope deferr'd is keen and deadly As your proud kindred's hate; The hatred that divides our noble houses Sleeps in its embers and ere long may die. Let not my faith to thee be set as naught E'en should I die for love of thee.