W. Green. Lydia, my gloves. If Master Waller calls, I shall be in at three; and say the same To old Sir William Fondlove. Tarry yet! -What progress, think you, make I in the heart Of fair young Master Waller? Gods, my girl, It is a heart to win and man as well!
How speed I, think you? Didst, as I desired, Detain him in my absence when he called, And, without seeming, sound him touching me?
Lydia. Yes.
W. Green. And effects he me, or not? How guess you?
What said he of me? Looked he balked, or not, To find me not at home? Inquired he when I would be back, as much he longed to see me?
What did he--said he? Come!--Is he in love, Or like to fall into it? Goes well my game, Or shall I have my labour for my pains?
Lydia. I think he is in love.--O poor evasion!
O to love truth, and yet not dare to speak it! [Aside.]
W. Green. You think he is in love--I'm sure of it.
As well have asked you has he eyes and ears, And brain and heart to use them? Maids do throw Trick after trick away, but widows know To play their cards! How am I looking, Lydia?
Lydia. E'en as you ever look.
W. Green. Handsome, my girl?
Eh? Clear in my complexion? Eh?--brimful Of spirits? not too much of me, nor yet Too little?--Eh?--A woman worth a man?
Look at me, Lydia! Would you credit, girl, I was a scarecrow before marriage?
Lydia. Nay! - W. Green. Girl, but I tell thee "yea." That gown of thine -And thou art slender--would have hung about me!
There's something of me now! good sooth, enough!
Lydia, I'm quite contented with myself;
I'm just the thing, methinks, a widow should be.
So, Master Waller, you believe, affects me?
But, Lydia, not enough to hook the fish;
To prove the angler's skill, it must be caught;And lovers, Lydia, like the angler's prey - Which, when he draws it near the landing-place, Takes warning and runs out the slender line, And with a spring perchance jerks off the hold When we do fish for them, and hook, and think They are all but in the creel, will make the dart That sets them free to roam the flood again!
Lydia. Is't so?
W. Green. Thou'lt find it so, or better luck Than many another maid! Now mark me, Lydia:
Sir William Fondlove fancies me. 'Tis well!
I do not fancy him! What should I do With an old man?--Attend upon the gout, Or the rheumatics! Wrap me in the cloud Of a darkened chamber--'stead of shining out, The sun of balls, and routs, and gala-days!
But he affects me, Lydia; so he may!
Now take a lesson from me--Jealousy Had better go with open, naked breast, Than pin or button with a gem. Less plague, The plague-spot; that doth speedy make an end One way or t'other, girl. Yet, never love Was warm without a spice of jealousy.
Thy lesson now--Sir William Fondlove's rich, And riches, though they're paste, yet being many, The jewel love we often cast away for.
I use him but for Master Waller's sake.
Dost like my policy?
Lydia. You will not chide me?
W. Green. Nay, Lydia, I do like to hear thy thoughts, They are such novel things--plants that do thrive With country air! I marvel still they flower, And thou so long in town! Speak freely, girl!
Lydia. I cannot think love thrives by artifice, Or can disguise its mood, and show its face.
I would not hide one portion of my heart Where I did give it and did feel 'twas right, Nor feign a wish, to mask a wish that was, Howe'er to keep it. For no cause except Myself would I be loved. What were't to me, My lover valued me the more, the more He saw me comely in another's eyes, When his alone the vision I would show Becoming to? I have sought the reason oft, They paint Love as a child, and still have thought, It was because true love, like infancy, Frank, trusting, unobservant of its mood, Doth show its wish at once, and means no more!
W. Green. Thou'lt find out better when thy time doth come.
Now wouldst believe I love not Master Waller?
I never knew what love was, Lydia;
That is, as your romances have it. First, I married for a fortune. Having that, And being freed from him that brought it me, I marry now, to please my vanity, A man that is the fashion. O the delight Of a sensation, and yourself the cause!
To note the stir of eyes, and ears, and tongues, When they do usher Mistress Waller in, Late Widow Green, her hand upon the arm Of her young, handsome husband!--How my fan Will be in requisition--I do feel My heart begin to flutter now--my blood To mount into my cheek! My honeymoon Will be a month of triumphs!--"Mistress Waller!"That name, for which a score of damsels sigh, And but the widow had the wit to win!
Why, it will be the talk of east to west, And north and south!--The children loved the man, And lost him so--I liked, but there I stopped;For what is it to love, but mind and heart And soul upon another to depend?
Depend upon another? Nothing be But what another wills? Give up the rights Of mine own brain and heart? I thank my stars I never came to that extremity.
[Goes out.]
Lydia. She never loved, indeed! She knows not love, Except what's told of it! She never felt it.
To stem a torrent, easy, looking at it;
But once you venture in, you nothing know Except the speed with which you're borne away, Howe'er you strive to check it. She suspects not Her maid, not she, brings Master Waller hither.
Nor dare I undeceive her. Well might she say Her young and handsome husband! Yet his face And person are the least of him, and vanish When shines his soul out through his open eye!
He all but says he loves me! His respect Has vanquished me! He looks the will to speak His passion, and the fear that ties his tongue -The fear? He loves not honestly, and yet I'll swear he loves--I'll swear he honours me!
It is but my condition is a bar, Denies him give me all. But knew he me As I do know myself! Whate'er his purpose, When next we speak, he shall declare it to me.
[Goes out.]
