University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Blount, Lucy.
LUCY.
Dear sir, you look pale. Are you ill?

BLOUNT.
Ay, what then?
What am I in your thoughts?

LUCY.
The most generous of men.
Can you doubt of the orphan's respectful affection,
When she owes ev'n a home to your sainted protection?

BLOUNT.
In that home I had hoped for your youth to secure
Safe escape from the perils that threaten the pure;
But, alas! where a daughter of Eve is, I fear
That the serpent will still be found close at her ear.

LUCY.
You alarm me!

BLOUNT.
I ought. Ah, what danger you ran!
You have seen—have conversed with—

LUCY.
Well, well.

BLOUNT.
A young man.

LUCY.
Nay, he is not so frightful, dear sir, as you deem;
If you only but knew him, I'm sure you'd esteem.
He's so civil—so pleasant—the sole thing I fear
Is—heigh-ho! are fine gentlemen always sincere?

BLOUNT.
You are lost if you heed not the words that I say.
Ah! young men are not now what they were in my day.
Then their fashion was manhood, their language was truth,
And their love was as fresh as a world in its youth;
Now they fawn like a courtier, and fib like his flunkeys,
And their hearts are as old as the faces of monkeys.

LUCY.
Ah! you know not Sir Sidney—

BLOUNT.
His nature I do,
For he owned to my friend his designs upon you.

LUCY.
What designs?

BLOUNT.
Of a nature too dreadful to name.

LUCY.
How! His words full of honour—

BLOUNT.
Veiled thoughts full of shame.
Heard you never of wolves in sheep's clothing? Why weep?

LUCY.
Indeed, sir, he don't look the least like a sheep.

BLOUNT.
No, the sheepskin for clothing much finer he trucks;
Wolves are nowaday clad not as sheep—but as bucks.
'Tis a false heart you find where a fine dress you see,
And a lover sincere is a plain man like me.
Dismiss then, dear child, this young beau from your mind—
A young beau should be loathed by good young womankind.
At the best he's a creature accustomed to roam;
'Tis at sixty man learns how to value a home.
Idle fancies throng quick at your credulous age,
And their cure is companionship, cheerful, but sage;
So, in future, I'll give you much more of my own.
Weeping still!—I've a heart, and it is not of stone.

LUCY.
Pardon, sir, these vain tears; nor believe that I mourn
For a false-hearted—

BLOUNT.
Coxcomb, who merits but scorn.
We must give you some change—purer air, livelier scene—
And your mind will soon win back its temper serene.
You must quit this dull court with its shocking look-out.
Yes, a cot is the home of contentment, no doubt.
A sweet cot with a garden—walled round—shall be ours,
Where our hearts shall unite in the passion—for flowers.
Ah! I know a retreat, from all turmoil remote,
In the suburb of Lambeth—soon reached by a boat.
So that every spare moment to business not due
I can give, my sweet Lucy, to rapture and you.

LUCY.
What means he? His words and his looks are alarming:
Mr Jones, you're too good!

BLOUNT.
What!—to find you so charming?
Yes; tho' Fortune has placed my condition above you,
Yet Love levels all ranks. Be not startled—I love you.
From all dreams less exalted your fancies arouse;
The poor orphan I raise to the rank of my spouse.

LUCY.
What! His spouse! Do I dream?

BLOUNT.
Till that moment arrives,
Train your mind to reflect on the duty of wives.
I must see Mistress Vizard, and all things prepare;
To secure our retreat shall this day be my care.
And—despising the wretch who has caused us such sorrow—
Our two lives shall unite in the cottage to-morrow.

LUCY.
Pray excuse me—this talk is so strangely—

BLOUNT.
Delightful!

LUCY
(aside).
I am faint; I am all of a tremble: how frightful!

(Exit through side door to left.)
BLOUNT.
Good; my mind overawes her! From fear love will grow,
And by this time to-morrow a fig for the beau.
(Calling out.)
Mistress Vizard!

(Enter Mrs Vizard.)