The Love-chase Part 12

_Con_. Right! It was anything but dancing! Steps That never came from dancing-school--nor English, Nor Scotch, nor Iris.h.!.+ You must try to cut, And how you did it! [Cuts.] That's the way to cut!

And then your cha.s.se! Thus you went, and thus.

[Mimicking him.]

As though you had been playing at hop, step, And jump!--and yet you looked so monstrous pleased, And played the simpleton with such a grace, Taking their t.i.ttering for compliment!

I could have boxed you soundly for't. Ten times Denied I that I knew you.

_Wild_. Twenty guineas Were better in the gutter thrown than gone To fee a dancing-master! [Aside.]

_Con_. And you're grown An amateur in music!--What fine air Was that you praised last night?--"The Widow Jones!"

A country jig they turned into a song.

You asked "If it had come from Italy?"

The lady blushed and held her peace, and then You blushed and said, "Perhaps it came from France!"

And then when blushed the lady more, nor spoke, You said, "At least it came from Germany!"

The air was Englis.h.!.+--a true English air; A downright English air!--a common air; Old as "When Good King Arthur." Not a square, Court, alley, street, or lane about the town, In which it is not whistled, played, or sung!

But you must have it come from Italy, Or Germany, or France. Go home! Go home!

To Lincolns.h.i.+re, and mind thy dog and horn!

You'll never do for town! "The Widow Jones"

To come from Italy! Stay not in town, Or you'll be married to the Widow Jones, Since you've forsworn, you say, the Widow Green!

And morn and night they'll din your ears with her!

"Well met, dear Master Wildrake. A fine day!

Pray, can you tell whence came the Widow Jones?"

They love a jest in town! To Lincolns.h.i.+re!

You'll never do for town! To Lincolns.h.i.+re; "The Widow Jones" to come from Italy!

[Goes out.]

_Wild_. Confound the Widow Jones! 'Tis true! The air Well as the huntsman's triple mort I know, But knew not then indeed, 'twas so disguised With shakes and flourishes, outlandish things, That mar, not grace, an honest English song!

Howe'er, the mischief's done! and as for her, She is either into hate or madness fallen.

If madness, would she had her wits again, Or I my heart! If hate, my love's undone; I'll give her up. I'll e'en to Master Trueworth, Confess my treason--own my punishment-- Take horse, and back again to Lincolns.h.i.+re!

[Goes out.]

_Con_. [Returning.] Not here! I trust I have not gone too far!

If he should quit the house! Go out of town!

Poor neighbour Wildrake! Little does he owe me!

From childhood I've been used to plague him thus.

Why would he fall in love, and spoil it all!

I feel as I could cry! He has no right To marry any one! What wants he with A wife? Has he not plague enough in me?

Would he be plagued with anybody else?

Ever since I have lived in town I have felt The want of neighbour Wildrake! Not a soul Besides I care to quarrel with; and now He goes and gives himself to another! What!

Am I in love with neighbour Wildrake? No.

I only would not have him marry--marry?

Sooner I'd have him dead than have him marry!

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--A Room in Master Waller's House.

[Enter ALICE, hastily.]

_Alice_. [Speaking to the outside.] Fly, Stephen, to the door! your rapier! quick!-- Our master is beset, because of one Whose part he takes, a maid, whom lawless men Would lawlessly entreat! In what a world We live!--How do I shake!--with what address [Looking out of window.]

He lays about him, and his other arm Engaged, in charge of her whom he defends!

A damsel worth a broil!--Now, Stephen, now!

Take off the odds, brave lad, and turn the scale!

I would I were a swordsman! How he makes His rapier fly!--Well done!--O Heaven, there's blood.

But on the side that's wrong!--Well done, good Stephen!

Pray Heaven no life be ta'en!--Lay on, brave lad!

He has marked his man again. Good lad--Well done, I pray no mischief come!--Press on him, Stephen!

Now gives he ground.--Follow thy advantage up!

Allow no pause for breaths!--Hit him again!

Forbid it end in death!--Lounge home, good Stephen!

How fast he now retreats!--That spring, I'll swear, Was answer to thy point!--Well fenced!--Well fenced!

Now Heaven forefend it end in death!--He flies!

And from his comrade, the same moment, hath Our master jerked his sword--The day is ours!

Quick may they get a surgeon for their wounds, And I, a cordial for my fluttered spirits: I vow, I'm nigh to swoon!

_Wal_. [Without.] Hoa! Alice! Hoa!

Open the door! Quick, Alice! Quick!

_Alice_. Anon!

Young joints take no thought of aged ones, But ever think them as supple as themselves.

_Wal_. Alice!

_Alice_. [Opening the door.] I'm here!--A mercy!-- Is she dead?

[Enter MASTER WALLER, bearing LYDIA, fainting.]

_Wal_. No, she but faints.--A chair!--Quick, Alice, quick!

Water to bathe her temples.

[ALICE goes out.]

Such a turn Kind fortune never do me. Shall I kiss To life these frozen lips?--No!--of her plight 'Twere base to take advantage.

[ALICE returns, &c.]

All is well, The blood returns.

_Alice_. How wondrous fair she is!

_Wal_. Thou think'st her so?--No wonder then should I.

How say you?--Wondrous fair? [Aside.]