University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—A Tavern.
On one side Sir Thomas Clifford, at a table, with wine before him; on the other, Master Wilford, Gaylove, Holdwell, and Simpson, likewise taking wine.
Wilf.

Your wine, sirs! your wine! You do not justice to
mine host of the Three Tuns, nor credit to yourselves; I swear
the beverage is good! It is as palatable poison as you will
purchase within a mile round Ludgate! Drink, gentlemen;
make free. You know I am a man of expectations; and hold
my money as light as the purse in which I carry it.

Gay.

We drink, Master Wilford. Not a man of us has
been chased, as yet.

Wilf.

But you fill not fairly, sirs! Look at my measure!
Wherefore a large glass, if not for a large draught? Fill,
I pray you, else, let us drink out of thimbles! This will
never do for the friends of the nearest of kin to the wealthiest
peer in Britain.

Gay.

We give you joy, Master Wilford, of the prospect of
advancement which has so unexpectedly opened to you.

Wilf.

Unexpectedly indeed! But yesterday arrived the
news that the Earl's only son and heir had died; and, to-day,
has the Earl, himself, been seized with a mortal illness.—His
dissolution is looked for hourly; and I, his cousin in only the
third degree, known to him but to be unnoticed by him—a
decayed gentleman's son—glad of the title and revenues of a
scrivener's clerk,—am the undoubted successor to his estates
and coronet.

Gay.

Have you been sent for?

Wilf.

No; but I have certified to his agent, Master Walter,
the Hunchback, my existence, and peculiar propinquity; and
momentarily expect him, here.

Gay.

Lives there any one that may dispute your claim,—I
mean vexatiously?

Wilf.

Not a man, Master Gaylove. I am the sole remaining
branch of the family tree.

Gay.

Doubtless you look for much happiness from this
change of fortune?

Wilf.

A world! Three things have I an especial passion
for. The finest hound, the finest horse, and the finest wife
in the kingdom, Master Gaylove!

Gay.

The finest wife?

Wilf.

Yes, sir; I marry. Once the earldom comes into my
line, I shall take measures to perpetuate its remaining there.
I marry, sir! I do not say that I shall love. My heart has
changed mistresses too often to settle down in one servitude
now, sir. But fill, I pray you, friends. This, if I mistake
not, is the day whence I shall date my new fortunes; and, for
that reason, hither have I invited you; that, having been so
long my boon companions, you shall be the first to congratulate
me.

Enter Waiter.
Waiter.
You are wanted, Master Wilford.

Wilf.
By whom?

Waiter.
One Master Walter.

Wilf.
His lordship's agent! News, sirs! Show him in!
[Waiter goes out.
My heart's a prophet, sirs.—The Earl is dead.
Enter Master Walter.
Well, Master Walter. How accost you me?

Wal.
As your impatience shows me you would have me.—
My lord, the Earl of Rochdale!

Gay.
Give you joy!

Hold.
All happiness, my lord!

Simp.
Long life and health unto your lordship!

Gay.
Come!
We'll drink to his lordship's health! 'Tis two o'clock,
We'll e'en carouse till midnight! Health, my lord!

Hold.
My lord, much joy to you!

Simp.
All good to your lordship!

Wal.
Give something to the dead!

Gay.
Give what?

Wal.
Respect!
He has made the living! First to him that's gone,
Say “Peace!”—and then with decency to revels!

Gay.
What means the knave by revels?

Wal.
Knave?

Gay.
Ay, knave!

Wal.
Go to! Thou'rt flush'd with wine!

Gay.
Thou sayest false!
Though didst thou need a proof thou speakest true,
I'd give thee one. Thou seest but one lord here,
And I see two!

Wal.
Reflect'st thou on my shape?
Thou art a villain!

Gay.
[Starting up.]
Ha!

Wal.
A coward, too!
Draw!

[Drawing his sword.
Gay.
Only mark him! how he struts about!
How laughs his straight sword at his noble back

Wal.
Does it? It cuffs thee for a liar then!

[Strikes Gaylove with his sword.
Gay.
A blow!

Wal.
Another, lest you doubt the first!

Gay.
His blood on his own head! I'm for you, sir!

[Draws.
Clif.
Hold, sir! This quarrel's mine!

[Coming forward and drawing.
Wal.
No man shall fight for me, sir!

Clif.
By your leave,
Your patience, pray! My lord, for so I learn
Behoves me to accost you—for your own sake,
Draw off your friend!

Wal.
Not till we have a bout, sir!

Clif.
My lord, your happy fortune ill you greet!—
Ill greet it those who love you—greeting thus
The herald of it!

Wal.
Sir, what's that to you?
Let go my sleeve!

Clif.
My lord, if blood be shed
On the fair dawn of your prosperity,
Look not to see the brightness of its day.
'Twill be o'ercast throughout!

Gay.
My lord, I'm struck!

Clif.
You gave the first blow, and the hardest one!
Look, sir; if swords you needs must measure, I'm
Your mate, not he!

Wal.
I'm mate for any man!

Clif.
Draw off your friend, my lord, for your own sake!

Wilf.
Come, Gaylove! let's have another room.

Gay.
With all my heart, since 'tis your lordship's will.

Wilf.
That's right! Put up! Come, friends!

[Wilford and Friends go out.
Wal.
I'll follow him!
Why do you hold me? 'Tis not courteous of you!
Think'st thou I fear them? Fear! I rate them but
As dust! dross! offals! Let me at them!—Nay,
Call you this kind? then kindness know I not;
Nor do I thank you for't! Let go, I say!

Clif.
Nay, Master Walter, they're not worth your wrath!

Wal.
How know you me for Master Walter? By
My hunchback, eh!—my stilts of legs and arms,
The fashion more of ape's than man's? Aha!
So you have heard them, too—their savage gibes
As I pass on,—“There goes my lord!” Aha!
God made me, sir, as well as them and you!
'Sdeath! I demand of you, unhand me, sir!

Clif.
There, sir, you're free to follow them! Go forth,
And I'll go too: so on your wilfulness
Shall fall whate'er of evil may ensue.
Is't fit you waste your choler on a burr?
The nothings of the town; whose sport it is
To break their villain jests on worthy men,
The worthier the fitter! Fie for shame!
Regard what such would say? So would not I,
No more than heed a cur.

Wal.
You're right, sir; right.
For twenty crowns!—so there's my rapier up!
You've done me a good turn against my will;
Which, like a wayward child, whose pet is off,
That made him restive under wholesome check,
I now right humbly own, and thank you for.

Clif.
No thanks, good Master Walter, owe you me!
I'm glad to know you, sir.

Wal.
I pray you, now,
How did you learn my name? Guess'd I not right?
Was't not my comely hunch that taught it you?

Clif.
I own it.

Wal.
Right, I know it; you tell truth.
I like you for't.

Clif.
But when I heard it said
That Master Walter was a worthy man,
Whose word would pass on 'change soon as his bond;
A liberal man—for schemes of public good
That sets down tens, where others units write;
A charitable man—the good he does,
That's told of, not the half—I never more
Could see the hunch on Master Walter's back!

Wal.
You would not flatter a poor citizen?

Clif.
Indeed, I flatter not!

Wal.
I like your face—
A frank and honest one! Your frame 's well knit,
Proportion'd, shaped!

Clif.
Good sir!

Wal.
Your name is Clifford?—
Sir Thomas Clifford. Humph! You're not the heir
Direct to the fair baronetcy? He
That was, was drown'd, abroad. Am I not right?
Your cousin, was't not?—so succeeded you
To rank and wealth, your birth ne'er promised you.

Clif.
I see you know my history.

Wal.
I do.
You're lucky who conjoin the benefits
Of penury and abundance; for I know
Your father was a man of slender means.
You do not blush, I see. That's right! Why should you?
What merit to be dropp'd on fortune's hill?
The honour is to climb it. You'd have done it;
For you were train'd to knowledge, industry,
Frugality, and honesty,—the sinews
That surest help a man to gain the top,
And then will keep him there. I have a clerk,
Once served your father; there's the riddle for you.
Humph! I may thank you for my life to-day.

Clif.
I pray you say not so.

Wal.
But I will say so!
Because I think so, know so, feel so, sir!
Your fortune, I have heard, I think, is ample!
And doubtless you live up to't?

Clif.
'Twas my rule,
And is so still, to keep my outlay, sir,
A span within my means.

Wal.
A prudent rule!
The turf is a seductive pastime?

Clif.
Yes.

Wal.
You keep a racing stud? You bet?

Clif.
No, neither.
'Twas still my father's precept—“Better owe
A yard of land to labour, than to chance
Be debtor for a rood!”

Wal.
'Twas a wise precept.
You've a fair house—you'll get a mistress for it?

Clif.
In time!

Wal.
In time? 'Tis time thy choice were made!
Is't not so yet? Or is thy lady love
The newest still thou seest?

Clif.
Nay, not so.
I'd marry, Master Walter, but old use—
For since the age of thirteen, I have lived
In the world—has made me jealous of the thing
That flatter'd me with hope of profit. Bargains
Another would snap up, might lie, for me;
Till I had turn'd and turn'd them! Speculations,
That promised twenty, thirty, forty, fifty,
Ay, cent-per-cent. returns, I would not launch in,
When others were afloat, and out at sea;
Whereby I made small gains, but miss'd great losses.
As ever, then, I look'd before I leap'd,
So do I now.

Wal.
Thou'rt all the better for it!
[Aside.]
Let's see! Hand free—heart whole—well-favour'd—so!
Rich—titled—let that pass!—kind, valiant, prudent—
Sir Thomas, I can help thee to a wife,
Hast thou the luck to win her!

Clif.
Master Walter!
You jest?

Wal.
I do not jest!—I like you!—Mark!—
I like you—and I like not every one!
I say a wife, sir, can I help you to,
The pearly texture of whose dainty skin
Alone were worth thy baronetcy! Form
And feature has she, wherein move and glow
The charms, that in the marble, cold and still,
Cull'd by the sculptor's jealous skill and joinéd there,
Inspire us! Sir, a maid, beneath whose feet,
A duke—a duke might lay his coronet,
To lift her to his state, and partner her!
A fresh heart too!—a young fresh heart, sir; one
That Cupid has not toy'd with; and a warm one—
Fresh, young, and warm!—Mark that! A mind to boot—
Wit, sir; sense, taste;—a garden strictly tended—
Where nought but what is costly flourishes!
A consort for a king, sir! You shall see her!

Clif.
I thank you, Master Walter! As you speak,
Methinks I see me at the altar-foot!
Her hand fast lock'd in mine!—the ring put on!
My wedding-bell rings merry in my ear;
And round me throng glad tongues that give me joy
To be the bridegroom of so fair a bride!

Wal.
What! sparks so thick? We'll have a blaze anon!

Servant.
[Entering.]
The chariot's at the door.

Wal.
It waits in time!
Sir Thomas, it shall bear thee to the bower
Where dwells this fair—for she's no city belle,
But e'en a sylvan goddess!

Clif.
Have with you!

Wal.
You'll bless the day you served the Hunchback, sir!

[They go out.

SCENE II.

—A Garden before a Country House.
Enter Julia and Helen.
Helen.
I like not, Julia, this your country life.
I'm weary on't!

Julia.
Indeed? So am not I!
I know no other; would no other know!

Helen.
You would no other know! Would you not know
Another relative?—another friend—
Another house—another anything,
Because the ones you have already please you?
That's poor content! Would you not be more rich,
More wise, more fair? The song that last you learn'd
You fancy well; and therefore shall you learn
No other song? Your virginal, 'tis true,
Hath a sweet tone; but does it follow thence,
You shall not have another virginal?
You may, love, and a sweeter one; and so
A sweeter life may find, than this you lead!

Julia.
I seek it not. Helen, I'm constancy!

Helen.
So is a cat, a dog, a silly hen,
An owl, a bat,—where they are wont to lodge,
That still sojourn, nor care to shift their quarters.
Thou'rt constancy? I am glad I know thy name!
The spider comes of the same family,
That in his meshy fortress spends his life,
Unless you pull it down and scare him from it.
And so thou'rt constancy? Art proud of that?
I'll warrant thee I'll match thee with a snail
From year to year that never leaves his house!
Such constancy forsooth!—A constant grub
That houses ever in the self-same nut
Where he was born, till hunger drives him out,
Or plunder breaketh through his castle wall!
And so, in very deed, thou'rt constancy!

Julia.
Helen, you know the adage of the tree;—
I've ta'en the bend. This rural life of mine,
Enjoin'd me by an unknown father's will,
I've led from infancy. Debarr'd from hope
Of change, I ne'er have sigh'd for change. The town
To me was like the moon, for any thought
I e'er should visit it—nor was I taught
To think it half so fair!

Helen.
Not half so fair!
The town 's the sun, and thou hast dwelt in night
E'er since thy birth, not to have seen the town!
Our women there are queens, and kings our men;
Their houses palaces!

Julia.
And what of that?
Have your town-palaces a hall like this?
Couches so fragrant? walls so high-adorn'd?
Casements with such festoons, such prospects, Helen,
As these fair vistas have? Your kings and queens!
See me a May-day queen, and talk of them!

Helen.
Extremes are ever neighbours. 'Tis a step
From one to the other! Were thy constancy
A reasonable thing—a little less
Of constancy—a woman's constancy—
I should not wonder wert thou ten years hence
The maid I know thee now; but, as it is,
The odds are ten to one, that this day year
Will see our May-day queen a city one!

Julia.
Never! I'm wedded to a country life!
O, did you hear what Master Walter says!
Nine times in ten, the town 's a hollow thing,
Where what things are is nought to what they seem;
Where merit's name laughs merit's self to scorn!
Where friendship and esteem, that ought to be
The tenants of men's hearts, lodge in their looks
And tongues alone. Where little virtue, with
A costly keeper, passes for a heap;
A heap, for none, that has a homely one!
Where fashion makes the law—your umpire which
You bow to, whether it has brains or not!
Where Folly taketh off his cap and bells,
To clap on Wisdom, which must bear the jest!
Where to pass current you must seem the thing,
The passive thing, that others think; and not
Your simple, honest, independent self!

Helen.
Ay: so says Master Walter. See I not
What can you find in Master Walter, Julia,
To be so fond of him!

Julia.
He's fond of me!
I've known him since I was a child. E'en then,
The week I thought a weary-heavy one,
That brought not Master Walter. I had those
About me, then, that made a fool of me;
As children oft are fool'd; but more I loved
Good Master Walter's lesson, than the play
With which they'd surfeit me. As I grew up,
More frequent Master Walter came, and more
I loved to see him! I had tutors then,
Men of great skill and learning—but not one
That taught like Master Walter. What they'd show me,
And I, dull as I was, but doubtful saw,—
A word from Master Walter made as clear
As daylight! When my schooling days were o'er—
That's now good three years past—three years—I vow
I'm twenty, Helen!—well, as I was saying,
When I had done with school, and all were gone,
Still Master Walter came!—And still he comes,
Summer or winter!—frost or rain! I've known
The snow upon a level with the hedge,
Yet there was Master Walter!

Helen.
Who comes here?
A carriage, and a gay one—Who alights?
Pshaw! Only Master Walter! What see you,
Which thus repairs the arch of the fair brow,
A frown was like to spoil?—A gentleman!
One of our town kings! Mark!—How say you now?
Wouldst be a town queen, Julia?—Which of us,
I wonder, comes he for?

Julia.
For neither of us!
He's Master Walter's clerk, most like.

Helen.
Most like!
Mark him as he comes up the avenue;
So looks a clerk! A clerk has such a gait!
So does a clerk dress, Julia!—Mind his hose—
They're very like a clerk's! a diamond loop
And button, note you, for his clerkship's hat!
O, certainly a clerk! A velvet cloak,
Jerkin of silk, and doublet of the same!—
For all the world a clerk! See, Julia, see,
How master Walter bows, and yields him place,
That he may first go in,—A very clerk!
I'll learn of thee, love, how to know a clerk!

Julia.
I wonder who he is!

Helen.
Wouldst like to know?
Wouldst for a fancy, ride to town with him?
I prophesy he comes to take thee thither!

Julia.
He ne'er takes me to town! No, Helen, no!
To town who will, a country life for me!

Helen.
We'll see!

Enter Fathom.
Fath.
You're wanted, madam,

Julia
[embarrassed].
Which of us?

Fath.
You, madam.

Helen.
Julia! what's the matter? Nay,
Mount not the rose so soon! He must not see it
A month hence! 'Tis love's flower, which once she wears,
The maid is all his own!

Julia.
Go to!

Helen.
Be sure
He comes to woo thee! He will bear thee hence!
He'll make thee change the country for the town!

Julia.
I'm constancy. Name he the town to me,
I'll tell him what I think on't!

Helen.
Then you guess
He comes a wooing?

Julia.
I guess nought!

Helen.
You do!
At your grave words, your lips, more honest, smile,
And show them to be traitors. Hie to him!

Julia.
Hie thee to soberness.

[Goes out.
Helen.
Ay, will I, when,
Thy bridemaid, I shall hie to church with thee.
Well, Fathom, who is come?

Fath.
I know not.

Helen.
What!
Didst thou not hear his name?

Fath.
I did.

Helen.
What is't?

Fath.
I noted not.

Helen.
What hast thou ears for, then?

Fath.
What good were it for me to mind his name?
I do but what I must do. To do that
Is labour quite enough!

Wal.
[without].
What, Fathom!

Fath.
Here.

Wal.
[Entering.]
Here, sirrah! Wherefore didst not come to me?

Fath.
You did not bid me come.

Wal.
I call'd thee.

Fath.
Yes,
And I said “Here;” and waited then to know
Your worship's will with me.

Wal.
We go to town.
Thy mistress, thou, and all the house.

Fath.
Well, sir?

Wal.
Mak'st thou not ready then to go to town?

Fath.
You did not bid me to make ready, sir.

Wal.
Hence, knave, despatch!

[Fathom goes out.
Helen.
Go we to town?

Wal.
We do;
'Tis now her father's will, she sees the town.

Helen.
I'm glad, on't! Goes she to her father?

Wal.
No.
At the desire of thine, she, for a term,
Shares roof with thee.

Helen.
I'm very glad on't.

Wal.
What!
You like her then? I thought you would. 'Tis time
She sees the town.

Helen.
It has been time for that
These six years!

Wal.
By thy wisdom's count. No doubt
You've told her what a precious place it is?

Helen.
I have.

Wal.
I even guess'd as much. For that
I told thee of her; brought thee here to see her;
And pray'd thee to sojourn a space with her;
That its fair space, from thy too fair report,
Might strike a novice less,—so less deceive her.
I did not put thee under check.

Helen.
'Twas right,—
Else had I broken loose, and run the wilder!
So knows she not her father yet? That's strange.
I prithee how does mine?

Wal.
Well—very well.
News for thee.

Helen.
What?

Wal.
Thy cousin is in town.

Helen.
My cousin Modus?

Wal.
Much do I suspect
That cousin 's nearer to thy heart than blood.

Helen.
Pshaw! Wed me to a musty library!
Love him who nothing loves but Greek and Latin!
But, Master Walter, you forget the main
Surpassing point of all! Who's come with you?

Wal.
Ay, that's the question!

Helen.
Is he soldier or
Civilian?—lord or gentleman? He's rich,
If that's his chariot! Where is his estate?
What brings it in? Six thousand pounds a year?
Twelve thousand, may be! Is he bachelor,
Or husband?—Bachelor I'm sure he is!
Comes he not hither wooing, Master Walter?
Nay, prithee, answer me!

Wal.
Who says thy sex
Are curious? That they're patient, I'll be sworn;
And reasonable—very reasonable—
To look for twenty answers in a breath!
Come, thou shalt be enlighten'd—but propound
Thy questions one by one! Thou'rt far too apt
A scholar! My ability to teach
Will ne'er keep pace, I fear, with thine to learn.

[They go out.

SCENE III.

—An Apartment in the House.
Enter Julia, followed by Clifford.
Julia.
No more! I pray you, sir, no more!

Clif.
I love you!

Julia.
You mock me, sir!

Clif.
Then is there no such thing
On earth as reverence; honour filial, the fear
Of kings, the awe of supreme Heaven itself,
Are only shows and sounds that stand for nothing.
I love you!

Julia.
You have known me scarce a minute!

Clif.
Say but a moment, still I say I love you!
Love's not a flower that grows in the dull earth!—
Springs by the calendar!—must wait for sun—
For rain!—matures by parts!—must take its time
To stem, to leaf, to bud, to blow! It owns
A richer soil, and boasts a quicker seed!
You look for it, and see it not; and lo!
E'en while you look, the peerless flower is up,
Consummate in the birth!

Julia.
You're from the town;
How comes it, sir, you seek a country wife?

Clif.
In joining contrasts lieth love's delight.
Complexion, stature, nature, mateth it,
Not with their kinds, but with their opposites.
Hence hands of snow in palms of russet lie;
The form of Hercules affects the sylph's;
And breasts, that case the lion's fear-proof heart,
Find their meet lodge in arms where tremors dwell!
Haply for this, on Afric's swarthy neck,
Hath Europe's priceless pearl been seen to hang,
That makes the orient poor! So with degrees,
Rank passes by the circlet-gracéd brow,
Upon the forehead, bare, of notelessness
To print the nuptial kiss. As with degrees
So is't with habits; therefore I, indeed
A gallant of the town, the town forsake,
To win a country wife!

Julia.
Who marries me
Must lead a country life.

Clif.
The life I'd lead!
But fools would fly from it; for O! 'tis sweet!
It finds the heart out, be there one to find;
And corners in't where store of pleasures lodge,
We never dream'd were there! It is to dwell
'Mid smiles that are not neighbours to deceit;
Music, whose melody is of the heart;
And gifts, that are not made for interest,
Abundantly bestow'd by nature's cheek,
And voice, and hand! It is to live on life,
And husband it! It is to constant scan
The handiwork of Heaven! It is to con
Its mercy, bounty, wisdom, power! It is
To nearer see our God!

Julia.
How like he talks
To Master Walter!—Nay, no country life
For thee! Thou wouldst not live one half a year!
A quarter mightst thou for the novelty
Of fields and trees; but then it needs must be
In summer time, when they go dress'd.

Clif.
Not it!
In any time—say winter! Fields and trees
Have charms for me in very winter time!

Julia.
But snow may clothe them then.

Clif.
I like them full
As well in snow!

Julia.
You do?

Clif.
I do.

Julia.
But night
Will hide both snow and them, and that sets in
Ere afternoon 's well out. A heavy thing,
A country fireside in a winter's night,
To one bred in the town; where winter's said,
For sun of gaiety and sportiveness,
To beggar shining summer!

Clif.
I should like
A country winter's night especially!

Julia.
You'd sleep by the fire!

Clif.
Not I; I'd talk to thee!

Julia.
You'd tire of that!

Clif.
I'd read to thee!

Julia.
And that!

Clif.
I'd talk to thee again!

Julia.
And sooner tire
Than first you did, and fall asleep at last!
You'd never do to lead a country life.

Clif.
You deal too harshly with me! Matchless maid,
As loved instructor brightens dullest wit,
Fear not to undertake the charge of me!
A willing pupil kneels to thee, and lays
His title and his fortune at your feet.

Julia.
His title and his fortune!

Enter Master Walter and Helen.—Julia, disconcerted, retires with the latter.—Clifford rises.
Wal.
So, Sir Thomas!
Aha! you husband time! Well, was I right?
Is't not the jewel that I told you 'twas?
Wouldst thou not give thine eyes to wear it? Eh?
It has an owner though.—Nay, start not,—one
That may be brought to part with't, and with whom
I'll stand thy friend—I will—I say, I will!
A strange man, sir, and unaccountable:
But I can humour him—will humour him
For thy sake, good Sir Thomas; for I like thee.
Well, is't a bargain? Come, thy hand upon it.
A word or two with thee.

[They retire. Julia and Helen come forward.
Julia.
Go up to town!

Helen.
Have I not said it ten times o'er to thee?
But if thou likest it not, protest against it.

Julia.
Not if 'tis Master Walter's will.

Helen.
What then?
Thou wouldst not break thy heart for Master Walter?

Julia.
That follows not!

Helen.
What follows not?

Julia.
That I
Should break my heart, because we go to town!

Helen.
Indeed?—O that's another matter. Well,
I'd e'en advise thee then to do his will;
And, ever after, when I prophesy,
Believe me, Julia!

[They retire. Master Walter comes forward.
Enter Fathom.
Fath.

So please you, sir, a letter,—a post-haste letter! The
bearer on horseback, the horse in a foam—smoking like a
boiler at the heat—be sure a post-haste letter!

Wal.
Look to the horse and rider.
[Opens the letter, and reads.
What's this? A testament address'd to me,
Found in his lordship's escrutoire, and thence
Directed to be taken by no hand
But mine!—My presence instantly required!
[Sir Thomas, Julia, and Helen come forward.
Come, my mistresses,
You dine in town to-day. Your father's will
It is, my Julia, that you see the world;
And thou shalt see it in its best attire.
Its gayest looks—its richest finery
It shall put on for thee, that thou mayst judge
Betwixt it, and this rural life you've lived.
Business of moment I'm but just advised of,
Touching the will of my late noble master,
The Earl of Rochdale, recently deceased,
Commands me for a time to leave thee there.
Sir Thomas, hand her to the chariot. Nay,
I tell thee true. We go indeed to town!

[They go out.