The Love-Chase [11]
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 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
[Enter WIDOW GREEN, unnoticed 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