This is the flower-of-love, This amaranth, and beneath it the device Non moritura.

Thus my heart remains True to his memory; and the ancient castle, Where we have lived together, where he died, Is dear to me as Ischia is to you.
VITTORIA.
I did not mean to chide you.
JULIA.
Let your heart Find, if it can, some poor apology For one who is too young, and feels too keenly The joy of life, to give up all her days To sorrow for the dead.

While I am true To the remembrance of the man I loved And mourn for still, I do not make a show Of all the grief I feel, nor live secluded And, like Veronica da Gambara, Drape my whole house in mourning, and drive forth In coach of sable drawn by sable horses, As if I were a corpse.

Ah, one to-day Is worth for me a thousand yesterdays.
VITTORIA.
Dear Julia! Friendship has its jealousies As well as love.

Who waits for you at Fondi?
JULIA.
A friend of mine and yours; a friend and friar.
You have at Naples your Fra Bernadino; And I at Fondi have my Fra Bastiano, The famous artist, who has come from Rome To paint my portrait.