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[LYDIA approaches the door--her pace slackens--she pauses with her hand upon the lock--turns, and looks earnestly on WALLER.]
_Lydia_. I have a word To say to thee; if by thy mother's honour, Thou swear'st to me thou wilt not quit thy seat.
_Wal_. I swear as thou propound'st to me.
_Lydia_. [After a pause, bursting into tears.] Oh, why-- Why have you used me thus? See what you've done!
Essayed to light a guilty pa.s.sion up, And kindled in its stead a holy one!
For I do love thee! Know'st thou not the wish To find desert doth bring it oft to sight Where yet it is not? so, for substance, pa.s.ses What only is a phantasm of our minds!
I feared thy love was guilty--yet my wish To find it honest, stronger than my fear, My fear with fatal triumph overthrew!
Now hope and fear give up to certainty, And I must fly thee--yet must love thee still!
_Wal_. Lydia! by all--
_Lydia_. I pray you hear me out!
Was 't right? was 't generous? was 't pitiful?
One way or other I might be undone: To love with sin--or love without a hope!
_Wal_. Yet hear me, Lydia!--
_Lydia_. Stop! I'm undone!
A maid without a heart--robbed of the soil, Wherein life's hopes and wishes root and spring, And thou the foe that did me so much hate, And vowed me so much love!--but I forgive thee!
Yea, I do bless thee!
[Rus.h.i.+ng up and sinking at his feet.]
Recollect thy oath!-- Or in thy heart lodged never germ of honour, But 'tis a desert all!
[She kisses his hand--presses it to her heart, and kisses it again.]
Farewell then to thee!
[Rises.]
Mayst thou be happy. [Going.]
_Wal_. Wouldst ensure the thing Thou wishest?
[She moves towards the door with a gesture that prohibits further converse.]
Stop! [She continues to move on.]
Oh, sternly resolute! [She still moves.]
I mean thee honour!
[She stops and turns towards him.]
Thou dost meditate-- I know it--flight. Give me some pause for thought, But to confirm a mind almost made up.
If in an hour thou hearest not from me, then Think me a friend far better lost than won!
Wilt thou do this?
_Lydia_. I will.
_Wal_. An hour decides.
[They go out severalty.]
SCENE II.--A Room in Sir William Fondlove's House.
[Enter WILDRAKE and TRUEWORTH.]
_Wild_. You are not angry?
_True_. No; I knew the service I sent you on was one of danger.
_Wild_. Thank you.
Most kind you are--And you believe she loves me: And your own hopes give up to favour mine.
Was ever known such kindness! Much I fear 'Twill cost you.
_True_. Never mind! I'll try and bear it.
_Wild_. That's right. No use in yielding to a thing.
Resolve does wonders! Shun the sight of her-- See other women!--Fifty to be found As fair as she.
_True_. I doubt it.
_Wild_. Doubt it not.
Doubt nothing that gives promise of a care.
Right handsome dames there are in Lancas.h.i.+re, Whence called their women, witches!--witching things!
I know a dozen families in which You'd meet a courtesy worthy of a bow.
I'll give you letters to them.
_True_. Will you?
_Wild_. Yes.
_True_. The worth of a disinterested friend!
_Wild_. O Master Trueworth, deeply I'm your debtor I own I die for love of neighbour Constance!
And thou to give her up for me! Kind friend!
What won't I do for thee?--Don't pine to death; I'll find thee fifty ways to cure thy pa.s.sion, And make thee heart-whole, if thou'rt so resolved.
Thou shalt be master of my sporting stud, And go a hunting. If that likes thee not, Take up thy quarters at my shooting-lodge; There is a cellar to 't--make free with it.
I'll thank thee if thou emptiest it. The song Gives out that wine feeds love--It drowns it, man!
If thou wilt neither hunt nor shoot, try games; Play at loggats, bowls, fives, dominoes, draughts, cribbage, Backgammon--special recipes for love!
And you believe, for all the hate she shows, That neighbour Constance loves me?
_True_. 'Tis my thought.
