University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—Winchester: outside a chapel; Margery sitting on a tombstone.
Mar.
He called me harlot—would not stay at home,
But left the house just as the wretched moon
Fainted away, and everything was wet.
[Enter Wilfred and Beatrix.]
'Tis he!
I'll go to—no, I cannot; oh, good saints,
I cannot! Who's that he's a-talking to?
She's better dressed than me, an' white o' skin.
Oh me!

Wil.
[to Beat.].
Why go to church so oft?

Beat.
Because, Sir Wilfred, 'tis the dormitory
Of souls that find their pillow on sweet prayer.
The want is frequent.

Wil.
Marry! while you kneel,
Love has to play the monk.

Beat.
Sir Wilfred, fie!
I fear you're not religious.

Wil.
I'm in love!

Beat.
And love is half religion.

Wil.
Lovely saint!

Beat.
Oh fie, Sir Wilfred!

Wil.
Lovely angel!

Beat.
Peace

Wil.
'S death! then lovely woman!

Beat.
Nay, for shame,
You're full of oaths.

Wil.
Just stop them with a kiss.

Beat.
Nay, not in public, by my modesty;
A girl is watching us!

Wil.
Oh—ah! the slut!
Our marriage day will never come methinks.

Beat.
It is Time's sluggard, as all glad days are
That slowly from the curtained future rise,
Unwilling to forsake the bed which Hope
Has made with golden hands.

Wil.
I'm for the bed
Dressed by a grosser chamber-maid.

[Exeunt.
Mar.
Alone! alone! I never felt alone
I' the country; there was something loving me
In all the green and everywhere about;
But here I'm lonely—lonely—desolate.
There is no love for me in all the men,
Nor in the streets they make. I cannot cry
Because of loneliness, bacause—

[Enter Jose.]
Jose.
Ho, wench!
You want another woer. Look at me!
What say you, Mopsy?

Mar.
Go away.

Jose.
Not yet.
Why, hem! you're resting on a slab that boasts
The unexampled virtue of its dame;
She'll break it open with her finger-point,
And mark you for perdition.

Mar.
Oh, good sir,
I cannot read

[rising].
Jose.
Nay, never spoil the joke;
Let's see your purse; your finery is dashed.

Mar.
No, no!

Jose.
Come, goose-cap, out with it.

Mar.
[beginning to cry].

'Tis here—keep it. The
fairies . . . I . . .

[In bringing the purse out a bit of red stuff appears.
Jose.
Well, and what of them?

Mar.

The little cap . . . I began it . . . this
this . . . O' my old red skirt . . . I . . .
an' the little bodies . . . why, why . . .
they've harebells n—ow

[sobs on her knees].
Jose.
The dolt! Look here! 'tis gold, not silver, mind.
Some weighty pieces. Come!

Mar.
I hate you!

Jose.
Strong!

[Re-enter Wilfred.]
Wil.
Margie, old girl! Ho! brother, get away!
[Aside.]
She's yours hereafter. Come to me anon.

Jose
[To Mar.].
God bless you!
[Exit Jose.

Wil.
Jewel, I have merry news.
These cheeks are wan and dinted, ask for winds
That blow across the fields. My turtle-dove,
We'll to your home.

Mar.
Is it to cast me oft
Because you take . . . a wife?

Wil.
Ha, jealousy!
Why, baggage, bless your innocence, we wed
Because we must. A wife, a wife! Forsooth!
We look more sweet on minions such as you,
Than on our proper spouses. Thus it is:
I ride perforce to Oxford, and you wait
The space of some few days till I return.
At Woodstock there's a jolly squire who keeps
Your foster-sister's bower. Margery,
Seek him. His honest talk will spend the time
If it hang heavy as a miser's purse.
We'll start at dawn.

Mar.
You'll bring me back again?
It is so still down there.

Wil.
Nay, never fear.
Brave wench, a kiss! And now come home with me.

[Exeunt.