[Enter SIR WILLIAM FONDLOVE.]
Sir Wil. At sixty-two, to be in leading-strings, Is an old child--and with a daughter, too!
Her mother held me ne'er in check so strait As she. I must not go but where she likes, Nor see but whom she likes, do anything But what she likes!--A slut bare twenty-one!
Nor minces she commands! A brigadier More coolly doth not give his orders out Than she! Her waiting-maid is aide-de-camp;My steward adjutant; my lacqueys serjeants;
That bring me her high pleasure how I march And counter-march--when I'm on duty--when I'm off--when suits it not to tell it me Herself--"Sir William, thus my mistress says!"As saying it were enough--no will of mine Consulted! I will marry. Must I serve, Better a wife, my mistress, than a daughter!
And yet the vixen says, if I do marry, I'll find she'll rule my wife, as well as me!
[Enter TRUEWORTH.]
Ah, Master Trueworth! Welcome, Master Trueworth!
True. Thanks, sir; I am glad to see you look so well!
Sir Wil. Ah, Master Trueworth, when one turns the hill, 'Tis rapid going down! We climb by steps;By strides we reach the bottom. Look at me, And guess my age.
True. Turned fifty.
Sir Wil. Ten years more!
How marvellously well I wear! I think You would not flatter me!--But scan me close, And pryingly, as one who seeks a thing He means to find--What signs of age dost see?
True. None!
Sir Wil. None about the corners of the eyes?
Lines that diverge like to the spider's joists, Whereon he builds his airy fortalice?
They call them crow's feet--has the ugly bird Been perching there?--Eh?--Well?
True. There's something like, But not what one must see, unless he's blind Like steeple on a hill!
Sir Wil. [After a pause.] Your eyes are good!
I am certainly a wonder for my age;
I walk as well as ever! Do I stoop?
True. A plummet from your head would find your heel.
Sir Wil. It is my make--my make, good Master Trueworth;I do not study it. Do you observe The hollow in my back? That's natural.
As now I stand, so stood I when a child, A rosy, chubby boy!--I am youthful to A miracle! My arm is firm as 'twas At twenty. Feel it!
True. [Feeling SIR WILLIAM'S arm.] It is deal!
Sir Wil. Oak--oak, Isn't it, Master Trueworth? Thou hast known me Ten years and upwards. Thinkest my leg is shrunk?
True. No.
Sir Wil. No! not in the calf?
True. As big a calf As ever!
Sir Wil. Thank you, thank you--I believe it!
When others waste, 'tis growing-time with me!
I feel it, Master Trueworth! Vigour, sir, In every joint of me--could run!--could leap!
Why shouldn't I marry? Knife and fork I play Better than many a boy of twenty-five -Why shouldn't I marry? If they come to wine, My brace of bottles can I carry home, And ne'er a headache. Death! why shouldn't I marry?
True. I see in nature no impediment.
Sir Wil. Impediment? She's all appliances! -And fortune's with me, too! The Widow Green Gives hints to me. The pleasant Widow Green Whose fortieth year, instead of autumn, brings, A second summer in. Odds bodikins, How young she looks! What life is in her eyes!
What ease is in her gait!--while, as she walks, Her waist, still tapering, takes it pliantly!
How lollingly she bears her head withal:
On this side now--now that! When enters she A drawing-room, what worlds of gracious things Her curtsey says!--she sinks with such a sway, Greeting on either hand the company, Then slowly rises to her state again!
She is the empress of the card-table!
Her hand and arm!--Gods, did you see her deal -With curved and pliant wrist dispense the pack, Which, at the touch of her fair fingers fly!
How soft she speaks--how very soft! Her voice Comes melting from her round and swelling throat, Reminding you of sweetest, mellowest things -Plums, peaches, apricots, and nectarines - Whose bloom is poor to paint her cheeks and lips.
By Jove, I'll marry!
True. You forget, Sir William, I do not know the lady.
Sir Wil. Great your loss.
By all the gods I'll marry!--but my daughter Must needs be married first. She rules my house;Would rule it still, and will not have me wed.
A clever, handsome, darling, forward minx!
When I became a widower, the reins Her mother dropped she caught,--a hoyden girl;Nor, since, would e'er give up; howe'er I strove To coax or catch them from her. One way still Or t'other she would keep them--laugh, pout, plead;Now vanquish me with water, now with fire;
Would box my face, and, ere I well could ope My mouth to chide her, stop it with a kiss!
The monkey! What a plague she's to me! How I love her! how I love the Widow Green!
True. Then marry her!
Sir Wil. I tell thee, first of all Must needs my daughter marry. See I not A hope of that; she nought affects the sex:
Comes suitor after suitor--all in vain.
Fast as they bow she curtsies, and says, "Nay!"Or she, a woman, lacks a woman's heart, Or hath a special taste which none can hit.
True. Or taste, perhaps, which is already hit.
Sir Wil. Eh!--how?
True. Remember you no country friend, Companion of her walks--her squire to church, Her beau whenever she went visiting -Before she came to town?
Sir Wil. No!
True. None?--art sure?
No playmate when she was a girl?
Sir Wil. O! ay!
That Master Wildrake, I did pray thee go And wait for at the inn; but had forgotten.
Is he come?
