University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

The inside of the Inn. Margaret and Wheeler in the Bar. Voices from an inner Apartment.
Wheeler.
He pass'd me when I fell. Some few came round,
And he among the rest. I knew his face,
As having seen him here; begg'd he would speed
To the appointed place, plead my excuse
Of sudden accident, and give you this;
Which at the christening I did intend
To place upon this finger.

(Puts the ring on her finger.)
Margaret.
It is strange!
He neither spoke of you nor of the ring.
I saw it on his finger here to-night
For the first time.

Wheeler.
Alas! when will ambition
Be satisfied with what itself can reach
From its own stand of merit? I can see
He reached this little beating heart of thine,
Standing upon my shoulders. True, he spoke
Nothing against me, mention'd not my name:
But that suppression put me under foot:
My non-appearance was the pedestal
Which raised him to thine eyes. But here I stand,
Trampling on no one, trusting to that love
Which rises to one level in our breasts—
Say, shall it float our hearts again together,
Billing like two young ducklings in a pond,
Beyond the reach of the pecking tribe on the banks?
Sweet lips, dear eyes, say yes.

Margaret.
You had no right
To fall at such a time. I am not pleased.

Wheeler.
It was my too great haste that made me fall;
My red-hot, reckless haste to be with thee.
My love outran my foot: though it lay lamed,
My heart was with thee.

Margaret.
Is your foot much hurt?

Wheeler.
At first I could not point it to the ground,
No, not for love.

Margaret.
O, do take care of it.

(Knocking, and voices from within.)
Voices.
Ale, ale! more ale! tobacco! bring the jug!

Margaret.
I've heard a piece of flannel boiled in salt
Was a good thing for a sprain.

Wheeler.
Ay, so they say;
But, bless your heart, it's almost well again.
One little kiss—come love—'twere worth a web
Of flannel boil'd in salt.

Margaret.
Behave yourself!
I'm very angry with you. No! not one.
Do you not hear them calling? Let me go.

[Kisses her, and exeunt, she following to the door.
Juniper
(within, knocking and shouting.)
Margaret, Alice, Ann! More ale, some one.

Re-enter Margaret, admiring the ring on her finger.
Margaret.
Have you no patience there? How very neat!
How lustry green the stone! and fits so well!
Yet, there is something strange in the two tales
Of Greene and Wheeler; they do not fit well.

(More knocking.)
Enter Bradbury from the inner room.
Bradbury.
What, is there no one here?—Ah! pardon me. (Margaret takes in the ale-jug.)

His impudence is not to be endured.
He sits and shouts there, “Margaret, bring the jug”—
As if she were a common waiting-maid;
And asks his friend, “Tom, how do you like our ale?”
And bets that he will play a game at bowls
On our own green with any man for a sovereign. (Laughing within.)

That's he, the swaggering fool!—She comes: ah, sweet!
Fill me another glass, I'll drink it here,
And thou wilt sit beside me.

Margaret.
My dear sir,
You should not leave the company! Go in
And sit amongst them; take your pipe and glass;
Be jolly, man! What, company must be humour'd!
Let that be your department—this be mine.

Bradbury.
In proper company keeping, that's my part;
But, there's that coxcomb there, he does not know
What company keeping is. You would not have
A man like me descend to humour him?

Margaret.
He's but a braggart: heed not what he says,
Have I not told you there's no word of truth
In all you overhead upon the bridge?

Juniper
(within) sings.

Voices
(within.)
Bravo! bravo! Your health, Juniper!

Bradbury.
No, no, my dear, I'll not go in again.
To-night he has it too much his own way—
He and his myrmidons. Content am I
That his most certain fall may be postponed.
Let him enjoy his visionary bliss
While we concoct the real.—Now, dear love, (Takes her hand.)

Vouchsafe a word or two. I will not blink
Your evident design that I, not you,
Should be the mover. I have weighed this well,
And, though not customary for the man
To make the wife's home his, yet I agree,
For reasons touching your weal more than mine.
But more of this hereafter. There are things—
Preliminary, love, to the event—
That claim our prior notice. Pardon me,
I wish not to procrastinate the time;
But business reasons will not let me name
Sooner than this day six weeks—

Margaret.
What! Six weeks?

Bradbury.
Well, then, say four. I think I can arrange.

Margaret.
O, go along; four weeks! the man is mad!

Bradbury.
What say you then, my pretty one? Let's see—
Perhaps I could arrange—O yes, I can:
Name any day you please within a fortnight.

Margaret.
Worse and worse! Why, it would take six months
To screw my courage up to name a day,
And six to get my dresses made. Young men
Are so impatient. O, my dear good sir!
It is a serious thing. Be not too rash;
Another year or two upon our heads,
And then—we'll talk about it.

Bradbury.
Fiddlesticks!
We've talked enough;—but ah! I understand,
And much commend thee for thy delicate sense
Of the proprieties. The woman's play
Is ever to be passive. Thus must she
Be looked at, loved, visited and admired,
Wooed, flattered, treated and sonneted,
Bowed to, kneeled to, solicited, implored;
No charm should move her lips to yield consent,
Till, like a lamb, she is led without consent;
Withholding to the last her sweet “I will,”
That she may drop it through the wedding ring.
Is it not so, my sweet? Well, well, good night;
We understand each other. For a woman
The finest gem in all her coronet
Is modesty; and Margaret, in thy sphere,
Amid the rude attacks and ribald jokes,
Still to retain the lustre of that gem,
Shows what a crown of studded virtues sits
Around these raven tresses! Dear, good night.

(Knocking on table within.)
[Exit Bradbury followed by Margaret.
Juniper
(within) sings.
Re-enter Margaret, who busies herself wiping glasses.
(Knocking on the table inside, and huzzaing.)

Enter from the inner room several gents, followed by Juniper. They go off, and he remains.
Juniper.
Walk slowly, gentlemen, I'll follow you.—
Now, darling dear, come, put away the towel:
Let Alice do the glasses. Why should you
Do all the sloppy work? You should have come
And sat beside us. Did you hear my songs?
Has Daddy Bradbury left? What an old fool that is!
Are all the yokels gone from the other rooms?
How quiet 'tis without them! Well, good night.
What, not a word to spare?

Margaret.
O, yes;—good night.

Juniper.
O, bother to its little saucy lips;
I'll make them speak.

[Kisses her, and exit.
Margaret.
How can you be so rude?

[Follows him, slapping him with the towel.