MARIA.
Shall we sail to-night?
DON JOHN.
My Princess! Thou recoilest not from all
Thou must endure, ere I can openly
Claim thee my wife!
MARIA.
The pangs of purgatory
Were lightly borne with such a heaven in view.
I were content with one brief hour a day,
Snatched from the toils of war and thy high duties,
To gaze on thy dear face to feel thy hand,
Even as now a stay and a caress.
DON JOHN.
Angel, I have no thanks. May God forget me
When I forget this hour ! So, thou art firm—
Ready this night to leave thy home, thy kin,
Thy father?
MARIA (solemnly).
I am ready and resolved.
Yet judge me not so lightly as to deem
I say this with no pang. My love were naught.
Could I withdraw it painlessly at once
From him round whose colossal strength the tendrils
