young acquaintance, that hath grown
Old in long absence.

Flor. [Rushing to him] Arthur! dearest. Arthur!
How strange! Dear cousin! Sir! I wish'd to see you,
Needing protection—nay! I was to blame,
Too hasty, you must think me bold indeed!

Arth. [Aside] Is all her nature, art?—How beautiful! [Aloud.] Dear Florence. [Attempts to take her hand warmly, she bows.] I have scarcely words to speak. Cousin! I'll be your champion. [Aloud.]

Flor. There is nought
In which you can assist me? I have come
Here, cousin, to entreat you, take this money.
Indeed, you can repay me quite soon, when
Your brother is more just. It is for him
That I would give it—

Arth. For him? yes! you are Betroth'd?

Flor. My father wills so—

Arth. I need not This money—

Flor. Cousin, take it. You are proud. Will you refuse me?

Arth. 'Tis my character To doubt your sex, and yet from you I'd take it, But that I need it not in truth.

Flor. Why doubt us? Ah! cousin, I have heard you have been wild, And so think women false, as you deceive them.

Arth. That you have heard is false!

Flor. I thought so. Now
I could indeed imagine it were true.
Because, perchance, you've lightly won some hearts,
Thus you must be severe and scoff at all,
As if you had good reason!—It is proof
Of an ungenerous mind or scatter'd heart.

Arth. Fair cousin, at your feet I would recant Mine error.

Flor. 'Tis polite, sir, thus to yield All your experience.

Arth. Nay, then! Do you not Believe a man may once love faithfully?

Flor. 'Twere base to doubt it—yet I think not you: You know you could not tell if it were true, Your love might be a jest. [She goes up the stage.]

Arth. [following FLORENCE.] By heaven! No.

[WILLIAM and BARBARA come forward.]

Will. Young woman! I doubt not your attachment, nor wonder at your love; but it cannot be returned. Principle forbids; and this heart is blighted.

Barb. Plighted, or not, I want none of it. What nonsense the man talks!

Will. This beard—what think you of it?

Barb. That it is red.

Will. Yet 'tis not for you.

Barb. I would humbly desire so.

Will. Do you know, lively rustic, that the beard of Mars, the god of war, is auburnly inclined? It is much affected by the ladies of the south.

Barb. I would they had it then, for it is an abhorr'd thing here.

Will. What a rank prude is woman, thus to disguise her inclination. They call thee Barbara—Bab! restrain not thy fancy. Come, hang round my neck and love me. What! wouldst thou be an exception to thy sex?

Barb. [Strikes him.] Take that, thou coxcomb!

[Runs up the stage, WILLIAM follows, ARTHUR and FLORENCE advancing.]

Arth. Break not my dream. It is not late. The night
Will lose her beauty as thy footsteps fade
In distance from me. Florence, go not yet.
I had a thousand loyal thoughts, I swear,
To utter, and as many questions, Florence,
To ask thee of thyself. Thou lovest not,
Thou canst not love my brother; for thou saidst
As much, nay more, this moment.

Flor. Did I so? Perchance I might have done; but then I love My father—

Arth. Tell me so again!

Flor. Indeed, I love My father!

Arth. Cruel! no, I'd have thee say If thou dost love my brother.

Flor. He's my cousin.

Arth. Or any one!

Barb. Dear lady, it is time.

Flor. Farewell, sir! yet I bid you take this purse 'Tis justice—nay, my will!

Arth. Oh, farewell, Florence
May angels light thy feet, and all the stars
From heaven race with envious beams to shed
Celestial brightness on the path thou blessest.

[Exit FLORENCE, R. ARTHUR gazes after FLORENCE. WILLIAM and BARBARA, coming down, L.]

Will. Sweet Bab, I love thee.

Barb. That is a man's saying.

Will. Thou wouldst not have it said by anything but a man. Thou wilt not forget?

Barb. There, yes! no! anything!

[Tries to get away. WILLIAM gives BARBARA a kiss.]

Barb. Oh, dear, I must go. [Exit R.]

Arth. She's gone!

Will. They are, sir!

Arth. What they—

Will. Mistress Florence and Barbara, sir!

Arth. Why stand here prating, then?
Go follow; see no harm comes, quick, the road
Is dangerous. I'll wait here. Leave them not
Before they are safe in. [Exit WILLIAM, R.]
For thy sake, Florence,
I will believe perfection's in thy sex.
How much I might have said. Yes! I have been
Imagination's wildest fool to deck
With qualities that did beseem them not
All the worst half of women. Thus we stoop
To pick up hectic apples from the ground,
Pierc'd by the canker or the unseen worm,
And tasting deem none other grow but they,
Whilst on the topmost branches of life's tree
Hangs fruitage worthy of the virgin choir
Of bright Hesperides. Soft! Who comes here?
Surely my rascal is not yet return'd—
The times are full of plotting. I will hide—

[Stands aside. Voices heard.]

[Enter four POACHERS, one carrying a fawn.]

1st Poach. I tell thee that I heard 'em bay.

2nd Poach. And I too! Curse me, but I thought his fangs did meet in the calf of my leg.

[Enter POACHERS, L.U.E.]

3rd Poach. 'Tis like it was the tooth of a dog-bramble.

2nd Poach. Well, well; it is the nature of man to hunt forbidden deer.

Arth. [Aside] And to carve his name on benches.

2nd Poach. And while game be preserved, there will be the likes of we.

3rd Poach. Right too. But it is a mortal sin to make us men into dog's-meat, and to hunt us with foreign bloodhound varmint. Hast heard, friend Gregory, who stole my apples?

4th Poach. Not I!

3rd Poach. Would I could catch the thieving rascals! Look ye, the tree is mine, and it does but hang over the road a scantling; and, as sure as nights are dark, comes me some ragged pilferers, that have not to pay an honest drunkenness, and basely steal my apples.

Arth. [Aside] Oh, most benighted conscience of the villains!

4th Poach. Shall I lend thee my bull-bitch to watch thy tree? She hath a real gripe for a rascally thin leg. Your orphan, your cast-away, hath no chance with her, I warrant. A rare bitch!

Arth. [Aside] O gentle sophist! what a line is here; Lions tear wolves,