University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—A Room.
Master Waller, Master Wildrake, Master Trueworth, Master Neville, and Master Humphreys, sitting round a table.
Wal.
Well, Master Wildrake, speak you of the chase!
To hear you, one bestrides the bounding steed;
You bring the hounds and game, and all to view—
All scudding to the jovial huntsman's cheer!
And yet I pity the poor crownéd deer,
And always fancy 'tis by fortune's spite,
That lordly head of his, he bears so high—
Like Virtue, stately in calamity,
And hunted by the human, worldly hound—
Is made to fly before the pack, that straight
Burst into song at prospect of his death.
You say their cry is harmony; and yet
The chorus scarce is music to my ear,
When I bethink me what it sounds to his;
Nor deem I sweet the note that rings the knell
Of the once merry forester!

Nev.
The same things
Please us or pain, according to the thought
We take of them. Some smile at their own death,
Which most men shrink from, as a beast of prey
It kills to look upon. But you, who take
Such pity of the deer, whence follows it
You hunt more costly game?—the comely maid,
To wit, that waits on buxom Widow Green?

Hum.
The comely maid!—Such term not half the sum
Of her rich beauty gives! Were rule to go
By loveliness, I know not in the court,
Or city, lady might not fitly serve
That lady serving-maid!

True.
Come! your defence?
Why show you ruth where there's least argument,
Deny it where there's most? You will not plead?
Oh, Master Waller, where we wish to hunt,
We think the sport no crime!

Hum.
I give you joy,
You prosper in your chase.

Wal.
Not so! The maid
In simple honesty I must pronounce
A miracle of virtue, well as beauty.

Nev.
And well do I believe you, Master Waller;
Those know I who have ventured gift and promise
But for a minute of her ear—the boon
Of a poor dozen words spoke through a chink—
And come off bootless; save the haughty scorn
That cast their bounties back to them again.

True.
That warrants her what Master Waller speaks her.
Is she so very fair?

Nev.
Yes, Master Trueworth;
And I believe indeed as virtuous, too.
But chastest maid will list to freest suit,
If Master Waller pleads it. On pretence
Of sneaking kindness for gay Widow Green,
He visits her, for sake of her fair maid;
To whom a glance, or word, avails to hint
His proper errand; and—as glimpses only
Beget and whet desire to see the whole—
Awakens interest to hear the tale
So stintingly that's told. I know his practice—
Luck to you, Master Waller! If you win,
You merit it, who take the way to win!

Wal.
Good, Master Neville!

True.
I should laugh to see
The poacher snared!—the maid, for mistress sought,
Turn out a wife.

Nev.
How say you, Master Waller?
Things quite as strange have fallen!

Wal.
Impossible!

True.
Impossible! Most possible of things—
If thou'rt in love! Where merit lies itself,
What matters it to want the name, which, weigh'd,
Is not the worth of so much breath as it takes
To utter it! If, but from Nature's hand,
She is all you could expect of gentle blood,
Face, form, mien, speech; with these, what to belong
To lady more behoves—thoughts delicate,
Affections generous, and modesty—
Perfectionating, brightening crown of all!—
If she hath these—true titles to thy heart—
What does she lack that's title to thy hand?
The name of lady, which is none of these,
But may belong without? Thou mightst do worse
Than marry her. Thou wouldst, undoing her,
Yea, by my mother's name, a shameful act,
Most shamefully perform'd!

Wal.
[Starting up and drawing.]
Sir!

Nev.
[and the others, interposing].
Gentlemen!

True.
All's right! Sit down!—I will not draw again.
A word with you: If—as a man—thou say'st,
Upon thy honour, I have spoken wrong,
I'll ask thy pardon!—though I never hold
Communion with thee more!

Wal.
[After a pause, putting up his sword.]
My sword is sheathed?
Wilt let me take thy hand?

True.
'Tis thine, good sir,
And faster than before—A fault confess'd,
Is a new virtue added to a man!
Yet let me own some blame was mine. A truth
May be too harshly told—but 'tis a theme
I am tender on—I had a sister, sir,—
You understand me!—'Twas my happiness
To own her once—I would forget her now!—
I have forgotten!—I know not if she lives!—
Things of such strain as we were speaking of,
Spite of myself, remind me of her!—So!—

Nev.
Sit down! Let's have more wine.

Wild.
Not so, good sirs.
Partaking of your hospitality,
I have overlook'd good friends I came to visit,
And who have late become sojourners here—
Old country friends and neighbours, and with whom
I e'en take up my quarters. Master Trueworth,
Bear witness for me.

True.
It is even so.
Sir William Fondlove and his charming daughter.

Wild.
Ay, neighbour Constance. Charming, does he say?
Yes, neighbour Constance is a charming girl
To those that do not know her. If she plies me
As hard as was her custom in the country,
I should not wonder though, this very day,
I seek the home I quitted for a month!
[Aside.
Good even, gentlemen.

Hum.
Nay, if you go,
We all break up, and sally forth together.

Wal.
Be it so—Your hand again, good Master Trueworth!
I am sorry that I pain'd you.

True.
It is yours, sir.

[They go out.