Chapter 4

[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! Would 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 a 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_. Lovers' 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-- Breathing the gentle sex we value most, 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 thrilled touch! I know not what to liken to her arm Except her beauteous fellow! Oh! 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 vexed. [Aside.]

_True_. But graceful things Grow doubly graceful in the graceful use! Hast marked 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.]

_True_. 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_. Oh, 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 have known one cloud Forerunner of a gloom that ne'er cleared 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! Oh, 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.

_Wild_. 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 a blushing wife she stands, 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 Dreamed 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 naught 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.

_Lash_. 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 like in Lincolnshire.

_Wild_. Go to! She's spavined.

_Lash_. Sir!

_Wild_. Touched in the wind.

_Lash_. I trust my master be not touched in the head! I vow, a faultless beast! [Aside.]

_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 talkest 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.]