University of Virginia Library

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?

Lydia.
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?

W. Green.
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,
Howe'er you strive to check it. She suspects not
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.