class="smcap">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!