Lope de Vega

“ I'm not alive; in fact, I'm sure I'm dead.
Roselo. Who speaks of death with such melodious voice?
Marin. Indeed I'm dead. Let me 'scape this once,
And ne'er again will I come groping in
Cold, dank, and deathly vaults, on such fool's errand
As this same.
Roselo. Sweet Love, illumine with thy magic fire!
Marin. I wish Love would; these dead men here
Like droning bees go buzzing by your ear,
First right, then left, but give no light to cheer.
Roselo. Courage, we'll shout. Sweet Julia, love!
Marin. We'll suppose Otavio hears you call
He'll wake the drowsy dead both great and small. ”

“ At the farm which my dear father owns,
Two labourers' dresses will be good masquerade.
Roselo. Thy beauty will peep out, and give the lie
To that coarse dress which may enshroud thy charms.
Julia. What, when all do think me dead? ”

“ So chill, so dank? My very flesh doth creep.
Who, then, inhabit its dread silence? Sin—
Sickening corses seem to hem me in.
O heaven! how I love sweet life! Who, then,
Hath placed me living 'mid the dead, and when? ”