_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 b.u.t.t, 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 s.e.x 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 pa.s.s. 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!