Chapter 7

[Enter MASTER WALLER, following LYDIA.]

_Wal_. But thou shalt hear me, gentle Lydia. Sweet maiden, thou art frightened at thyself! Thy own perfections 'tis that talk to thee. Thy beauty rich!--thy richer grace!--thy mind, More rich again than that, though richest each! Except for these, I had no tongue for thee, Eyes for thee!--ears!--had never followed thee!-- Had never loved thee, Lydia! Hear me!--

_Lydia_. Love Should seek its match. No match am I for thee.

_Wal_. Right! Love should seek its match; and that is, love Or nothing! Station--fortune--find their match In things resembling them. They are not love! Comes love (that subtle essence, without which Life were but leaden dulness!--weariness! A plodding trudger on a heavy road!) Comes it of title-deeds which fools may boast? Or coffers vilest hands may hold the keys of? Or that ethereal lamp that lights the eyes To shed the sparkling lustre o'er the face, Gives to the velvet skin its blushing glow, And burns as bright beneath the peasant's roof As roof of palaced prince? Yes, Love should seek Its match--then give my love its match in thine, Its match which in thy gentle breast doth lodge So rich--so earthly, heavenly fair and rich, As monarchs have no thought of on their thrones, Which kingdoms do bear up.

_Lydia_. Wast thou a monarch, Me wouldst thou make thy queen?

_Wal_. I would.

_Lydia_. What! Pass A princess by for me?

_Wal_. I would.

_Lydia_. Suppose Thy subjects would prevent thee?

_Wal_. Then, in spite Of them!

_Lydia_. Suppose they were too strong for thee?

_Wal_. Why, then I'd give them up my throne--content With that thou'dst yield me in thy gentle breast.

_Lydia_. Can subjects do what monarchs do?

_Wal_. Far more! Far less!

_Lydia_. Among those things, where more their power, Is marriage one?

_Wal_. Yes.

_Lydia_. And no part of love, You say, is rank or wealth?

_Wal_. No part of love.

_Lydia_. Is marriage part of love?

_Wal_. At times it is, At times is not. Men love and marry--love And marry not.

_Lydia_. Then have they not the power; So must they hapless part with those they love.

_Wal_. Oh, no! not part! How could they love and part?

_Lydia_. How could they love not part, not free to wed?

_Wal_. Alone in marriage doth not union lie!

_Lydia_. Alone where hands are free! O yes--alone! Love that is love, bestoweth all it can! It is protection, if 'tis anything, Which nothing in its object leaves exposed Its care can shelter. Love that's free to wed, Not wedding, but profanes the name of love; Which is, on high authority to Earth's, For Heaven did sit approving at its feast, A holy thing! Why make you love to me? Women whose hearts are free, by nature tender, Their fancies hit by those they are besought by, Do first impressions quickly--deeply take; And, balked in their election, have been known To droop a whole life through! Gain for a maid, A broken heart!--to barter her young love, And find she changed it for a counterfeit!

_Wal_. If there is truth in man, I love thee! Hear me! In wedlock, families claim property. Old notions, which we needs must humour often, Bar us to wed where we are forced to love! Thou hear'st?

_Lydia_. I do.

_Wal_. My family is proud; Our ancestor, whose arms we bear, did win An earldom by his deeds. 'Tis not enough I please myself! I must please others, who Desert in wealth and station only see. Thou hear'st?

_Lydia_. I do.

_Wal_. I cannot marry thee, And must I lose thee? Do not turn away! Without the altar I can honour thee! Can cherish thee, nor swear it to the priest; For more than life I love thee!

_Lydia_. Say thou hatest me, And I'll believe thee! Wherein differs love From hate, to do the work of hate--destroy? Thy ancestor won title to his deeds! Was one of them, to teach an honest maid The deed of sin--first steal her love, and then Her virtue? If thy family is proud, Mine, sir, is worthy! if we are poor, the lack Of riches, sir, is not the lack of shame, That I should act a part, would raise a blush, Nor fear to burn an honest brother's cheek! Thou wouldst share a throne with me! Thou wouldst rob me of A throne!--reduce me from dominion to Base vassalage!--pull off my crown for me, And give my forehead in its place a brand! You have insulted me. To shew you, sir, The heart you make so light of, you are beloved-- But she that tells you so, tells you beside She ne'er beholds you more!

[Goes out.]

_Wal_. Stay, Lydia!--No! 'Tis vain! She is in virtue resolute, As she is bland and tender in affection. She is a miracle, beholding which Wonder doth grow on wonder! What a maid! No mood but doth become her--yea, adorn her. She turns unsightly anger into beauty! Sour scorn grows sweetness, touching her sweet lips! And indignation, lighting on her brow, Transforms to brightness as the cloud to gold That overhangs the sun! I love her! Ay! And all the throes of serious passion feel At thought of losing her!--so my light love, Which but her person did at first affect, Her soul has metamorphosed--made a thing Of solid thoughts and wishes--I must have her!

[Enter WIDOW GREEN, unnoticed by SIR WALLER, who continues abstracted.]

_W. Green_. What! Master Waller, and contemplative! Presumptive proof of love! Of me he thinks! Revolves the point "to be or not to be!" "To be!" by all the triumphs of my sex! There was a sigh! My life upon't, that sigh, If construed, would translate "Dear Widow Green!"

_Wal_. Enchanting woman!

_W. Green_. That is I!--most deep Abstraction, sure concomitant of love. Now, could I see his busy fancy's painting, How should I blush to gaze upon myself.

_Wal_. The matchless form of woman! The choice calling Of the aspiring artist, whose ambition Robs Nature to outdo her--the perfections Of her rare various workmanship combines To aggrandise his art at Nature's cost, And make a paragon!

_W. Green_. Gods! how he draws me! Soon as he sees me, at my feet he falls!-- Good Master Waller!

_Wal_. Ha! The Widow Green!

_W. Green_. He is confounded! So am I. O dear! How catching is emotion. He can't speak! O beautiful confusion! Amiable Excess of modesty with passion struggling! Now comes he to declare himself, but wants The courage. I must help him.--Master Waller!

[Enter SIR WILLIAM FONDLOVE.]

_Sir Wil_. Dear Widow Green!

_W. Green_. Sir William Fondlove!

_Wal_. Thank My lucky stars! [Aside.]

_W. Green_. I would he had the gout, And kept his room! [Aside.]--You're welcome, dear Sir William! 'Tis very, very kind of you to call. Sir William Fondlove--Master Waller. Pray Be seated, gentlemen.--He shall requite me For his untimely visit. Though the nail Be driven home, it may want clinching yet To make the hold complete! For that, I'll use him.--[Aside.] You're looking monstrous well, Sir William! and No wonder. You're a mine of happy spirits! Some women talk of such and such a style Of features in a man. Give me good humour; That lights the homeliest visage up with beauty, And makes the face, where beauty is already, Quite irresistible!

_Sir Wil_. That's hitting hard. [Aside.] Dear Widow Green, don't say so! On my life You flatter me. You almost make me blush.

_W. Green_. I durst not turn to Master Waller now, Nor need I. I can fancy how he looks! I warrant me he scowls on poor Sir William, As he could eat him up. I must improve His discontent, and so make sure of him.--[Aside.] I flatter you, Sir William! O, you men! You men, that talk so meek, and all the while Do know so well your power! Who would think You had a marriageable daughter! You Did marry very young.

_Sir Wil_. A boy!--a boy! Who knew not his own mind.

_W. Green_. Your daughter's twenty. Come, you at least were twenty when you married; That makes you forty.

_Sir Wil_. O dear! Widow Green.

_W. Green_. Not forty?

_Sir Wil_. You do quite embarrass me! I own I have the feelings of a boy, The freshness and the glow of spring-time, yet,-- The relish yet for my young schooldays' sports; Could whip a top--could shoot at taw--could play At prison-bars and leapfrog--so I might-- Not with a limb, perhaps, as supple, but With quite as supple will. Yet I confess To more than forty!

_W. Green_. Do you say so? Well, I'll never guess a man's age by his looks Again.--Poor Master Waller! He must writhe To hear I think Sir William is so young. I'll turn his visit yet to more account.--[Aside.] A handsome ring, Sir William, that you wear!

_Sir Wil_. Pray look at it.

_W. Green_. The mention of a ring Will take away his breath.

_Wal_. She must be mine Whate'er her terms! [Aside.]

_W. Green_. I'll steal a look at him!

_Wal_. What! though it be the ring?--the marriage ring? If that she sticks at, she deserves to wear it! Oh, the debate which love and prudence hold! [Aside.]

_W. Green_. How highly he is wrought upon! His hands Are clenched!--I warrant me his frame doth shake! Poor Master Waller! I have filled his heart Brimful with passion for me. The delight Of proving thus my power!

_Sir Wil_. Dear Widow Green!-- She hears not! How the ring hath set her thinking! I'll try and make her jealous. [Aside.]--Widow Green!

_W. Green_. Sir William Fondlove!

_Sir Wil_. Would you think that ring Could tell a story?

_W. Green_. Could it? Ah, Sir William, I fear you are a rogue.

_Sir Wil_. O no!

_W. Green_. You are!

_Sir Wil_. No, on my honour! Would you like to hear The story of the ring?

_W. Green_. Much--very much.

_Sir Wil_. Think'st we may venture draw our chairs apart A little more from Master Waller?

_W. Green_. Yes. He'll bring it to a scene! Dear--dear Sir William, How much I am obliged to him! A scene! Gods, we shall have a scene!--Good Master Waller, Your leave I pray you for a minute, while Sir William says a word or two to me.-- He durst not trust his tongue for jealousy!--[Aside.] Now, dear Sir William!

_Sir Wil_. You must promise me You will not think me vain.

_W. Green_. No fear of that.

_Sir Wil_. Nor given to boast.

_W. Green_. O! dear Sir William!

_Sir Wil_. Nor A flirt!

_W. Green_. O! who would take you for a flirt?

_Sir Wil_. How very kind you are!

_W. Green_. Go on, Sir William.

_Sir Wil_. Upon my life, I fear you'll think me vain! I'm covered with confusion at the thought Of what I've done. 'Twas very, very wrong To promise you the story of the ring; Men should not talk of such things.

_W. Green_. Such as what? As ladies' favours?

_Sir Wil_. 'Pon my life, I feel As I were like to sink into the earth.

_W. Green_. A lady then it was gave you the ring?

_Sir Wil_. Don't ask me to say yes, but only scan The inside of the ring.--How much she's moved. [Aside.]

_Wal_. They to each other company enough! I, company for no one but myself. I'll take my leave, nor trouble them to pay The compliments of parting. Lydia! Lydia!

[Goes out.]

_W. Green_. What's here? "Eliza!" So it was a lady!-- How wondrously does Master Waller bear it! He surely will not hold much longer out.--[Aside.] Sir William! Nay, look up! What cause to cast Your eyes upon the ground? What an it were A lady?

_Sir Wil_. You're not angry?

_W. Green_. No!

_Sir Wil_. She is. I'll take the tone she speaks in 'gainst the word, For fifty crowns.--I have not told you all About the ring; though I would sooner die Than play the braggart!--yet, as truth is truth, And told by halves, may from a simple thing, By misconstruction, to a monster grow, I'll tell the whole truth!

_W. Green_. Dear Sir William, do!

_Sir Wil_. The lady was a maid, and very young; Nor there in justice to her must I stop, But say that she was beautiful as young; And add to that that she was learned too, Almost enough to win for her that title, Our sex, in poor conceit of their own merits, And narrow spirit of monopoly, And jealousy, which gallantry eschews, Do give to women who assert their right To minds as well as we.

_W. Green_. What! a blue-stocking?

_Sir Wil_. I see--she'll come to calling names at last.--[Aside.] I should offend myself to quote the term. But, to return, for yet I have not done; And further yet may go, then progress on That she was young, that she was beautiful. A wit and learned are naught to what's to come-- She had a heart!--

_W. Green_. [Who during SIR WILLIAM'S speech has turned gradually.] What, Master Waller gone! [Aside.]

_Sir Wil_. I say she had a heart--

_W. Green_. [Starting up--SIR WILLIAM also.] A plague upon her!

_Sir Wil_. I knew she would break out! [Aside.]

_W. Green_. Here, take the ring. It has ruined me!

_Sir Wil_. I vow thou hast no cause For anger!

_W. Green_. Have I not? I am undone, And all about that bauble of a ring.

_Sir Wil_. You're right, it is a bauble.

_W. Green_. And the minx That gave it thee!

_Sir Wil_. You're right, she was a minx. I knew she'd come to calling names at last. [Aside.]

_W. Green_. Sir William Fondlove, leave me.

_Sir Wil_. Widow Green!--

_W. Green_. You have undone me, sir!

_Sir Wil_. Don't say so! Don't! It was a girl--a child gave me the ring!

_W. Green_. Do you hear me, sir? I bade you leave me.

_Sir Wil_. If I thought you were so jealous--

_W. Green_. Jealous, sir! Sir William! quit my house.

_Sir Wil_. A little girl To make you jealous!

W. Green. Sir, you'll drive me mad!

_Sir Wil_. A child, a perfect child, not ten years old!

_W. Green_. Sir, I would be alone, sir!

_Sir Wil_. Young enough To dandle still her doll!

_W. Green_. Sir William Fondlove!

_Sir Wil_. Dear Widow Green!

_W. Green_. I hate you, sir! Detest you! Never wish To see you more! You have ruined me! Undone me! A blighted life I wear, and all through you! The fairest hopes that ever woman nourished, You've cankered in the very blowing! bloom And sweet destroyed, and nothing left me, but The melancholy stem.

_Sir Wil_. And all about A little slut I gave a rattle to!-- Would pester me for gingerbread and comfits!-- A little roguish feigning! A love-trick I played to prove your love!

_W. Green_. Sir William Fondlove! If of my own house you'll not suffer me To be the mistress, I will leave it to you!

_Sir Wil_. Dear Widow Green! The ring--

_W. Green_. Confound the ring, The donor of it, thee, and everything!

[Goes out.]

_Sir Wil_. She is over head and ears in love with me! She's mad with love! There's love and all its signs! She's jealous of me unto very death! Poor Widow Green! I warrant she is now In tears! I think I hear her sob! Poor thing! Sir William! Oh, Sir William! You have raised A furious tempest! Set your wits to work To turn it to a calm. No question that She loves me! None then that she'll take me! So I'll have the marriage settlements made out To-morrow, and a special licence got, And marry her the next day! I will make Quick work of it, and take her by surprise! Who but a widower a widow's match? What could she see with else but partial eyes To guess me only forty? I'm a wonder! What shall I pass for in my wedding suit? I vow I am a puzzle to myself, As well as all the world besides. Odd's life! To win the heart of buxom Widow Green!

[Goes out.]

[WIDOW GREEN re-enters with LYDIA.]

_W. Green_. At last the dotard's gone! Fly, Lydia, fly, This letter bear to Master Waller straight; Quick, quick, or I'm undone! He is abused, And I must undeceive him--own my love, And heart and hand at his disposal lay. Answer me not, my girl--obey me! Fly.

[Goes out.]

_Lydia_. Untowardly it falls!--I had resolved This hour to tell her I must quit her service! Go to his house! I will not disobey Her last commands!--I'll leave it at the door, And as it closes on me think I take One more adieu of him! Hard destiny!

[Goes out.]