 | Antonia |  |
SCENE III.
TERESA.Alas, poor soul! she takes it sore to heart;
And yet, methinks, it was no deadly sin,
For count Urbano, in a frolic fit,
To see his foreign friends safe to the town.
Had he but sent a loving note to her—
But wine that with an uproar steals the sense,
Has no respect for duteous courtesies.—
Why should she rage at Ferdinando so?
He did right well, and seems to deeply mourn
The rash excess that so betray'd his master.
| Antonia | |