 | Sir Anthony Moore |  |
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SCENE II.
Jasper, Kate—To them enter Esther.Est.
Good dame, my poor young friend is gone to sleep,
Much indisposed, I fear—watch how she rests,
While I for one hour seek yon lonely dell
To ponder and to weep.—Dame, our last stay,
The only rest to which we lean'd is broke,
And left us gall'd and wounded—now we are
Most wretched—For the love of gracious heaven,
Good dame, look to my friend.
(Exit Esther.)
Kate.
Husband, you're a wise man—
I seldom, in the run, have ever found you
Far out in estimate of man or woman.
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'Tis meet we pack these women to the door,
And let them shift as we do, for themselves.
Jas.
Ah, Kate!—Ah, Kate! it was not then, I fear,
For love of heaven, or pure benevolence,
You took these hapless wanderers to your home;
But some mean selfish motive—Trust me, Kate,
You'll never win heaven by such a game as that.
Kate.
But then, say they are wicked creatures, husband,
As wisely you suggested?—Think of that—
And then cast-off too!—Pray let them be going.
Jas.
That case I leave to Him who knows the heart
And secret ways of men—thus much I know,
That they are wretched, that is plea enough—
Nor will I turn them hence while I have bread,
And household-room to share with them.
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O yes—I see how the land lies—the young one,
You have some hankering there—I see, I see!
Jas.
Go!—You're a weak old woman!—Well, I'll go
And tend on her myself.
Kate.
Nay, with your leave,
One step you go not there—But that you lack
All sense of honour and propriety,
You would not proffer—
Jas.
Then may I trust that you'll be kind to her?
Kate.
Certes I will, since 'tis my husband's wish,
I will be kind as if she were my own.
Jas.
That's my good Kate—God bless thee, my old wife!
If she is sick, thou hast a blessed cordial,
Which often sooth'd our pains in soft oblivion,
When we were all so ill—Give her of that:
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For none so oft as you hath proved its power.
Kate.
No more—my heart is now all bent on kindness.
| Sir Anthony Moore | |