 | The Love-Chase |  |
12
ACT II.
SCENE I.
—A Room in Sir William's House.Enter Trueworth and Wildrake.
Wild.
Nay, Master Trueworth, I must needs be gone!
She treats me worse and worse! I am a stock,
That words have none to pay her. For her sake
I quit the town to-day. I like a jest,
But hers are jests past bearing. I am her butt,
She nothing does but practise on! A plague!—
Fly her shafts ever your way?
True.
Would they did!
Wild.
Art mad?—or wishest she should drive thee so?
True.
Thou knowest her not.
Wild.
I know not neighbour Constance?
Then know I not myself, or anything
Which as myself I know!
True.
Heigh ho!
Wild.
Heigh ho!
Why what a burden that for a man's song!
'Twould fit a maiden that was sick for love.
Heigh ho! Come ride with me to Lincolnshire,
And turn thy “heigh ho!” into “hilly ho!”
True.
Nay, rather tarry thou in town with me.
Men sometimes find a friend's hand of avail,
When useless proves their own. Wilt lend me thine?
Wild.
Or may my horse break down in steeple-chase!
True.
A steeple-chase. What made thee think of that?
I'm for the steeple—not to ride a race,
Only to get there!—nor alone, in sooth,
But in fair company!
Wild.
Thou'rt not in love?
True.
Heigh ho!
Wild.
Thou wouldst not marry?
True.
With your help.
Wild.
And whom, I prithee?
True.
Gentle Mistress Constance!
Wild.
What!—neighbour Constance?—Never did I dream
That mortal man would fall in love with her.
[Aside
In love with neighbour Constance!—I feel strange
At thought that she should marry!— [Aside.]
Go to church
With neighbour Constance! That's a steeple-chase
I never thought of. I feel very strange!
What seest in neighbour Constance?
True.
Lover's eyes
See with a vision proper to themselves;
Yet thousand eyes will vouch what mine affirm.
First, then, I see in her the mould express
Of woman—stature, feature, body, limb—
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When most 'tis at antipodes with ours!
Wild.
You mean that neighbour Constance is a woman?
Why, yes; she is a woman certainly.
True.
So much for person. Now for her complexion.
What shall we liken to her dainty skin?
Her arm for instance?—
Wild.
Snow will match it.
True.
Snow!
It is her arm without the smoothness on't;
Then is not snow transparent? 'Twill not do.
Wild.
A pearl 's transparent!
True.
So it is, but yet
Yields not elastic to the thrilléd touch!
I know not what to liken to her arm
Except its beauteous fellow! O, to be
The chosen friend of two such neighbours!
Wild.
Would
His tongue would make a halt. He makes too free
With neighbour Constance! Can't he let her arms
Alone! I trust their chosen friend
Will ne'er be he! I'm vex'd.
[Aside.
True.
But graceful things
Grow doubly graceful in the graceful use!
Hast mark'd her, ever, walk the drawing-room?
Wild.
[snappishly].
No.
True.
No! Why, where have been your eyes?
Wild.
In my head!
But I begin to doubt if open yet.
[Aside.
True.
Yet that's a trifle to the dance; down which
She floats as though she were a form of air;
The ground feels not her foot, or tells not on't;
Her movements are the painting of the strain,
Its swell, its fall, its mirth, its tenderness!
Then is she fifty Constances!—each moment
Another one, and each, except its fellow,
Without a peer! You have danced with her?
Wild.
I hate
To dance! I can't endure to dance!—Of course
You have danced with her?
True.
I have.
Wild.
You have?
True.
I have.
Wild.
I do abominate to dance!—Could carve
Fiddlers and company! A dancing man
To me was ever like a dancing dog!
Save less to be endured!—Ne'er saw I one
But I bethought me of the master's whip.
True.
A man might bear the whip to dance with her!
Wild.
Not if I had the laying of it on!
True.
Well; let that pass. The lady is the theme.
Wild.
Yes; make an end of it!—I'm sick of it.
[Aside.
14
How well she plays the harpsichord and harp!
How well she sings to them! Whoe'er would prove
The power of song, should hear thy neighbour sing,
Especially a love-song!
Wild.
Does she sing
Such songs to thee?
True.
O yes, and constantly.
For such I ever ask her.
Wild.
Forward minx!
[Aside.
Maids should not sing love-songs to gentlemen!
Think'st neighbour Constance is a girl to love?
True.
A girl to love?—Ay, and with all her soul!
Wild.
How know you that?
True.
I have studied close the sex.
Wild.
You town-rakes are the devil for the sex!
[Aside.
True.
Not your most sensitive and serious maid
I'd always take for deep impressions. Mind
The adage of the bow. The pensive brow
I have oft seen bright in wedlock, and anon
O'ercast in widowhood; then, bright again,
Ere half the season of the weeds was out;
While, in the airy one, I've known one cloud
Forerunner of a gloom that ne'er clear'd up—
So would it prove with neighbour Constance. Not
On superficial grounds she'll ever love:
But once she does, the odds are ten to one
Her first love is her last!
Wild.
I wish I ne'er
Had come to town! I was a happy man
Among my dogs and horses. [Aside.]
Hast thou broke
Thy passion to her?
True.
Never.
Wild.
Never?
True.
No.
I hoped you'd act my proxy there.
Wild.
I thank you.
True.
I knew 'twould be a pleasure to you.
Wild.
Yes;
A pleasure!—an unutterable pleasure!
True.
Thank you! You make my happiness your own.
Wild.
I do.
True.
I see you do. Dear Master Wildrake!
O, what a blessing is a friend in need!
You'll go and court your neighbour for me?
Wild.
Yes.
True.
And says she “nay” at first, you'll press again.
Wild.
Ay, and again!
True.
There's one thing I mistrust—yea, most mistrust,
That of my poor deserts you'll make too much.
Wild.
Fear anything but that.
True.
'Twere better far
You slightly spoke of them.
15
You think so?
True.
Yes,
Or rather did not speak of them at all.
Wild.
You think so?
True.
Yes.
Wild.
Then I'll not say a word
About them.
True.
Thank you! A judicious friend
Is better than a zealous—You are both!
I see you'll plead my cause as 'twere your own;
Then stay in town, and win your neighbour for me;
Make me the envy of a score of men
That die for her as I do.—Make her mine,
And when the last “Amen!” declares complete
The mystic tying of the holy knot,
And 'fore the priest she stands a blushing wife,
Be thine the right to claim the second kiss
She pays for change from maidenhood to wifehood.
[Goes out.
Wild.
Take that thyself! The first be mine, or none!
A man in love with neighbour Constance!—Never
Dream'd I that such a thing could come to pass!
Such person, such endowments, such a soul!
I never thought to ask myself before
If she were man or woman! Suitors, too,
Dying for her! I'll e'en make one among 'em!
Woo her to go to church along with him,
And for my pains the privilege to take
The second kiss? I'll take the second kiss,
And first one too—and last! No man shall touch
Her lips but me. I'll massacre the man
That looks upon her! Yet what chance have I
With lovers of the town, whose study 'tis
To please your lady belles!—who dress, walk, talk,
To hit their tastes—what chance, a country squire
Like me? Yet your true fair, I have heard, prefers
The man before his coat at any time;
And such a one may neighbour Constance be.
I'll show a limb with any of them! Silks
I'll wear, nor keep my legs in cases more!
I'll learn to dance town-dances, and frequent
Their concerts! Die away at melting strains,
Or seem to do so—far the easier thing,
And as effective quite; leave nought undone
To conquer neighbour Constance.
Enter Lash.
Lash.
Sir.
Wild.
Well, sir?
Lash.
So please you, sir, your horse is at the door.
Wild.
Unsaddle him again and put him up.
And, hark you, get a tailor for me, sir—
The rarest can be found.
16
The man 's below, sir,
That owns the mare your worship thought to buy.
Wild.
Tell him I do not want her, sir.
Lash.
I vow,
You will not find her match in Lincolnshire.
Wild.
Go to! She's spavin'd.
Lash.
Sir!
Wild.
Touch'd in the wind.
Lash.
I trust my master be not touch'd in the head!
[Aside.
I vow, a faultless beast!
Wild.
I want her not,
And that's your answer—Go to the hosier's, sir,
And bid him send me samples of his gear,
Of twenty different kinds.
Lash.
I will, sir.—Sir!
Wild.
Well, sir.
Lash.
Squire Brush's huntsman's here, and says
His master's kennel is for sale.
Wild.
The dogs
Are only fit for hanging!
Lash.
Finer bred—
Wild.
Sirrah, if more to me thou talk'st of dogs,
Horses, or aught that to thy craft belongs,
Thou mayst go hang for me!—A cordwainer
Go fetch me straight—the choicest in the town.
Away, sir! Do thy errands smart and well
As thou canst crack thy whip! [Lash goes out.]
Dear neighbour Constance,
I'll give up horses, dogs, and all for thee!
[Goes out.
SCENE II.
Enter Widow Green and Lydia.W. Green.
Lydia, my gloves. If Master Waller calls,
I shall be in at three; and say the same
To old Sir William Fondlove. Tarry yet!—
What progress think you make I in the heart
Of fair young Master Waller? Gods, my girl,
It is a heart to win, and man, as well!
How speed I, think you? Didst, as I desired,
Detain him in my absence when he call'd,
And, without seeming, sound him touching me?
Lydia.
Yes.
W. Green.
And affects he me, or not? How guess you?
What said he of me? Look'd he balk'd, or not,
To find me not at home? Inquired he, when
I would be back, as much he long'd to see me?
What did he—said he? Come!—Is he in love,
Or like to fall into it? Goes well my game,
Or shall I have my labour for my pains?
17
I think he is in love.—O poor evasion!
O to love truth, and yet not dare to speak it!
[Aside.
W. Green.
You think he is in love?—I'm sure of it!
As well have ask'd you has he eyes and ears,
And brain and heart to use them? Maidens throw
Trick after trick away, but widows know
To play their cards! How am I looking, Lydia?
Lydia.
E'en as you ever look.
W. Green.
Handsome, my girl?
Eh? Clear in my complexion? Eh?—brimful
Of spirits? not too much of me, nor yet
Too little?—Eh?—A woman worth a man?
Look at me, Lydia! Would you credit, girl,
I was a scarecrow before marriage?
Lydia.
Nay!—
W. Green.
Girl, but I tell thee “yea.” That gown of thine—
And thou art slender—would have hung about me!
There's something of me now! good sooth, enough!
Lydia, I'm quite contented with myself;
I'm just the thing, methinks, a widow should be.
So, Master Waller, you believe, affects me?
But, Lydia, not enough to hook the fish;
To prove the angler's skill, it must be caught;
And lovers, Lydia, like the angler's prey—
Which, when he draws it near the landing-place,
Takes warning and runs out the slender line,
And with a spring perchance jerks off the hold—
When we do fish for them, and hook, and think
They are all but in the creel, will make the dart
That sets them free to roam the flood again!
Lydia.
Is't so?
W. Green.
Thou'lt find it so, or better luck
Than many another maid! Now mark me, Lydia,
Sir William Fondlove fancies me. 'Tis well!
I do not fancy him! What should I do
With an old man?—Attend upon the gout,
Or the rheumatics! Wrap me in the cloud
Of a darken'd chamber—'stead of shining out,
The sun of balls, and routs, and gala-days!
But he affects me, Lydia; so he may!
Now take a lesson from me—Jealousy
Had better go with open, naked breast,
Than pinn'd or button'd with a gem—Less plague,
The plague-spot; that comes quickly to an end
One way or t'other, girl—Yet, never love
Was warm without a spice of jealousy.
Thy lesson now—Sir William Fondlove 's rich,
And riches, though they're paste, yet being many,
We often cast the jewel love away for.
I use him but for Master Waller's sake
Dost like my policy?
Lydia.
You will not chide me?
18
Nay, Lydia, I am pleased to hear thy thoughts,
They are such novel things—plants that thrive well
With country air! I marvel still they flower,
And thou so long in town! Speak freely, girl!
Lydia.
I cannot think love thrives by artifice,
Or wears disguise, if it be love indeed.
I would not hide one portion of my heart
From him I gave it to deservedly,
Nor feign a wish, to mask a wish that was,
Howe'er to prosper. For no cause except
Myself would I be loved. What were't to me,
My lover valued me the more, the more
He saw me precious in another's eyes,
When his alone the vision I would show
Deserving in? I have sought the reason oft,
They paint Love as a child, and still have thought,
It was because true love, like infancy,
Frank, trusting, unobservant of its mood,
Avows its wish at once, and means no more!
W. Green.
Thou'lt find out better when thy time is come.
Now wouldst believe I love not Master Waller?
I never knew what love was, Lydia—
That is, as your romances have it. First,
I married for a fortune. Having that,
And being freed from him that brought it me,
I marry now, to please my vanity,
A man that is the fashion. O the delight
Of a sensation, and yourself the cause!
To note the stir of eyes, and ears, and tongues,
When they shall usher Mistress Waller in,
Late Widow Green, her hand upon the arm
Of her young, handsome husband!—How my fan
Will be in requisition—I protest
My heart begins to flutter now—my blood
To mount into my cheek! My honey-moon
Will be a month of triumphs!—“Mistress Waller!”
That name, for which a score of damsels sigh,
And but the widow had the wit to win!
Why it will be the talk of east and west,
And north and south!—The children loved the man,
And lost him so—I liked, but there I stopp'd;
For what is it to love, but mind and heart
And soul upon another to depend?
Depend upon another?—Nothing be
But what another wills?—Give up the rights
Of mine own brain and heart?—I thank my stars
I never came to that extremity.
[Goes out.
Lydia.
She never loved, indeed!—She knows not love,
Except what's told of it!—She never felt it.
To stem a torrent, easy, looking at it;
But once you venture in, you nothing know
Except the speed with which you're borne away,
19
Her maid, not she, brings Master Waller hither.
Nor dare I undeceive her. Well might she say
Her young and handsome husband! Yet his face
And person are the least of him, and vanish
When shines his soul out through his open eye!
He all but says he loves me!—His respect
Has vanquish'd me! He looks the will to speak
His passion, and the fear that ties his tongue—
The fear?—He loves not honestly!—and yet
I'll swear he loves!—I'll swear he honours me!
It is but my condition that's a bar,
Denies him give me all! But knew he me
Well as I know myself!—Whate'er his purpose,
When next we speak, he shall declare it to me.
[Goes out.
SCENE III.
—Sir William Fondlove's.Enter Constance, dressed for riding, and Phœbe.
Con.
Well, Phœbe, would you know me? Are those locks
That cluster on my forehead and my cheek,
Sufficient mask? Show I what I would seem,
A lady for the chase? My darken'd brows
And heighten'd colour, foreign to my face,
Do they my face pass off for stranger too?
What think you?
Phœbe.
That he'll ne'er discover you.
Con.
Then send him to me—Say a lady wants
To speak with him—unless indeed it be
A man in lady's gear—I look so bold
And speak so gruff! Away [Phœbe goes out.]
That I am glad
He stays in town, I own; but, if I am,
'Tis only for the tricks I'll play upon him;
And now begin—persuading him his fame
Hath made me fancy him, and brought me hither
On visit to his worship. Soft! his foot!
This he? Why, what has metamorphosed him,
And changed my sportsman to fine gentleman?
Well he becomes his clothes!—But check my wonder,
Lest I forget myself—Why, what an air
The fellow hath!—A man to set a cap at!
Enter Wildrake.
Wild.
Kind lady, I attend your fair commands.
Con.
My veiléd face denies me justice, sir,
Else would you see a maiden's blushing cheek
Do penance for her forwardness—too late,
I own, repented of. Yet if 'tis true,
By our own hearts of others we may judge,
20
Whose heart, I'm sure, is noble. Worthy sir,
Souls attract souls, when they're of kindred vein.
The life that you love, I love. Well I know,
'Mongst those who breast the feats of the bold chase,
You stand without a peer; and for myself
I dare avow 'mong such, none follows them
With heartier glee than I do!
Wild.
Churl were he
That would gainsay you, madam!
Con.
[Curtsying.]
What delight
To back the flying steed, that challenges
The wind for speed!—seems native more of air
Than earth!—whose burden only lends him fire!—
Whose soul, in his task, turns labour into sport!
Who makes your pastime his! I sit him now!
He takes away my breath!—He makes me reel!
I touch not earth—I see not—hear not—All
Is ecstasy of motion!
Wild.
You are used,
I see, to the chase.
Con.
I am, sir! Then the leap,
To see the saucy barrier, and know
The mettle that can clear it! Then, your time
To prove you master of the manége. Now
You keep him well together for a space,
Both horse and rider braced as you were one,
Scanning the distance—then you give him rein,
And let him fly at it, and o'er he goes
Light as a bird on wing.
Wild.
'Twere a bold leap,
I see, that turn'd you, madam.
Con.
[Curtsying.]
Sir you're good!
And then the hounds, sir! Nothing I admire
Beyond the running of the well-train'd pack.
The training 's everything! Keen on the scent!
At fault, none losing heart!—but all at work!
None leaving his task to another!—answering
The watchful huntsman's caution, check, or cheer,
As steed his rider's rein! Away they go!
How close they keep together!—What a pack!
Nor turn, nor ditch, nor stream divides them—as
They moved with one intelligence, act, will!
And then the concert they keep up!—enough
To make one tenant of the merry wood,
To list their jocund music!
Wild.
You describe
The huntsman's pastime to the life!
Con.
I love it!
To wood and glen, hamlet and town, it is
A laughing holiday!—Not a hill-top
But's then alive! Footmen with horsemen vie,
21
Of vigour, health, and joy!—Cheer awakes cheer,
While Echo's mimic tongue, that never tires,
Keeps up the hearty din! Each face is then
Its neighbour's glass—where gladness sees itself,
And at the bright reflection, grows more glad!
Breaks into tenfold mirth!—laughs like a child!
Would make a gift of its heart, it is so free!
Would scarce accept a kingdom; 'tis so rich!
Shakes hands with all, and vows it never knew
That life was life before!
Wild.
Nay, every way
You do fair justice, lady, to the chase;
But fancies change.
Con.
Such fancy is not mine.
Wild.
I would it were not mine, for your fair sake.
I have quite given o'er the chase.
Con.
You say not so!
Wild.
Forsworn, indeed, the sportsman's life, and grown,
As you may partly see, town-gentleman.
I care not now to mount a steed, unless
To amble 'long the street; no paces mind,
Except my own, to walk the drawing-room,
Or in the ball-room to come off with grace;
No leap for me, to match the light coupé;
No music like the violin and harp—
To which the huntsman's dog and horn I find
Are somewhat coarse and homely minstrelsy:
Then fields of ill-dress'd rustics, you'll confess,
Are well-exchanged for rooms of beaux and belles;
In short, I've ta'en another thought of life—
Become another man!
Con.
The cause, I pray?
Wild.
The cause of causes, lady.
[Sighs deeply.
Con.
He's in love!
[Aside.
Wild.
To you, of women, I would name it last;
Yet your frank bearing merits like return;
I, that pursued the game, am caught myself
In chase I never dreaméd of!
[Goes out.
Con.
He is in love!
Wildrake 's in love! That keeps the youth in town,
Turns him from sportsman to town-gentleman.
I never dream'd that he would fall in love!
In love with whom?—I'll find the vixen out!
What right has she to set her cap at him?
I warrant her, a forward artful minx!
I hate him worse than ever.—I'll do all
I can to spoil the match. He'll never marry—
Sure he will never marry! He will have
More sense than that! My back doth ope and shut—
My temples throb and shoot—I am cold and hot!
Were he to marry, there would be an end
22
I should not know myself!
Enter Trueworth.
Dear Master Trueworth,
What think you!—neighbour Wildrake is in love!
In love!—Would you believe it, Master Trueworth?
Ne'er heed my dress and looks, but answer me.
Know'st thou of any lady he has seen
That's like to cozen him?
True.
I am not sure—
We talk'd to-day about the Widow Green!
Con.
Her that my father fancies.—Let him wed her!
Marry her to-morrow—if he will, to-night.
I can't spare neighbour Wildrake—neighbour Wildrake!
Although I would not marry him myself,
I could not bear that other married him!
Go to my father—'tis a proper match!
He has my leave! He's welcome to bring home
The Widow Green. I'll give up house and all!
She would be mad to marry neighbour Wildrake;
He would wear out her patience—plague her to death,
As he does me.—She must not marry him!
[They go out.
END OF ACT II.
| The Love-Chase | |