Books: The Love Chase
J >>
James Sheridan Knowles >> The Love Chase
[Goes out.]
Wild. Take that thyself! The first be mine, or none!
A man in love with neighbour Constance! Never
Dreamed I that such a thing could come to pass!
Such person, such endowments, such a soul!
I never thought to ask myself before
If she were man or woman! Suitors, too,
Dying for her! I'll e'en make one among 'em!
Woo her to go to church along with him,
And for my pains the privilege to take
The second kiss? I'll take the second kiss,
And first one too--and last! No man shall touch
Her lips but me. I'll massacre the man
That looks upon her! Yet what chance have I
With lovers of the town, whose study 'tis
To please your lady belles!--who dress, walk, talk,
To hit their tastes--what chance, a country squire
Like me? Yet your true fair, I have heard, prefers
The man before his coat at any time;
And such a one may neighbour Constance be.
I'll show a limb with any of them! Silks
I'll wear, nor keep my legs in cases more.
I'll learn to dance town-dances, and frequent
Their concerts! Die away at melting strains,
Or seem to do so--far the easier thing,
And as effective quite; leave naught undone
To conquer neighbour Constance.
[Enter LASH.]
Lash. Sir.
Wild. Well, sir?
Lash. So please you, sir, your horse is at the door.
Wild. Unsaddle him again and put him up.
And, hark you, get a tailor for me, sir -
The rarest can be found.
Lash. The man's below, sir,
That owns the mare your worship thought to buy.
Wild. Tell him I do not want her, sir.
Lash. I vow
You will not find her like in Lincolnshire.
Wild. Go to! She's spavined.
Lash. Sir!
Wild. Touched in the wind.
Lash. I trust my master be not touched in the head!
I vow, a faultless beast! [Aside.]
Wild. I want her not,
And that's your answer. Go to the hosier's, sir,
And bid him send me samples of his gear,
Of twenty different kinds.
Lash. I will, sir.--Sir!
Wild. Well, sir.
Lash. Squire Brush's huntsman's here, and says
His master's kennel is for sale.
Wild. The dogs
Are only fit for hanging! -
Lash. Finer bred -
Wild. Sirrah, if more to me thou talkest of dogs,
Horses, or aught that to thy craft belongs,
Thou mayst go hang for me!--A cordwainer
Go fetch me straight--the choicest in the town.
Away, sir! Do thy errands smart and well
As thou canst crack thy whip! [LASH goes out.]
Dear neighbour Constance,
I'll give up horses, dogs, and all for thee!
[Goes out.]
SCENE II.
[Enter WIDOW GREEN and LYDIA.]
W. Green. Lydia, my gloves. If Master Waller calls,
I shall be in at three; and say the same
To old Sir William Fondlove. Tarry yet! -
What progress, think you, make I in the heart
Of fair young Master Waller? Gods, my girl,
It is a heart to win and man as well!
How speed I, think you? Didst, as I desired,
Detain him in my absence when he called,
And, without seeming, sound him touching me?
Lydia. Yes.
W. Green. And effects he me, or not? How guess you?
What said he of me? Looked he balked, or not,
To find me not at home? Inquired he when
I would be back, as much he longed to see me?
What did he--said he? Come!--Is he in love,
Or like to fall into it? Goes well my game,
Or shall I have my labour for my pains?
Lydia. I think he is in love.--O poor evasion!
O to love truth, and yet not dare to speak it! [Aside.]
W. Green. You think he is in love--I'm sure of it.
As well have asked you has he eyes and ears,
And brain and heart to use them? Maids do throw
Trick after trick away, but widows know
To play their cards! How am I looking, Lydia?
Lydia. E'en as you ever look.
W. Green. Handsome, my girl?
Eh? Clear in my complexion? Eh?--brimful
Of spirits? not too much of me, nor yet
Too little?--Eh?--A woman worth a man?
Look at me, Lydia! Would you credit, girl,
I was a scarecrow before marriage?
Lydia. Nay! -
W. Green. Girl, but I tell thee "yea." That gown of thine -
And thou art slender--would have hung about me!
There's something of me now! good sooth, enough!
Lydia, I'm quite contented with myself;
I'm just the thing, methinks, a widow should be.
So, Master Waller, you believe, affects me?
But, Lydia, not enough to hook the fish;
To prove the angler's skill, it must be caught;
And lovers, Lydia, like the angler's prey -
Which, when he draws it near the landing-place,
Takes warning and runs out the slender line,
And with a spring perchance jerks off the hold
When we do fish for them, and hook, and think
They are all but in the creel, will make the dart
That sets them free to roam the flood again!
Lydia. Is't so?
W. Green. Thou'lt find it so, or better luck
Than many another maid! Now mark me, Lydia:
Sir William Fondlove fancies me. 'Tis well!
I do not fancy him! What should I do
With an old man?--Attend upon the gout,
Or the rheumatics! Wrap me in the cloud
Of a darkened chamber--'stead of shining out,
The sun of balls, and routs, and gala-days!
But he affects me, Lydia; so he may!
Now take a lesson from me--Jealousy
Had better go with open, naked breast,
Than pin or button with a gem. Less plague,
The plague-spot; that doth speedy make an end
One way or t'other, girl. Yet, never love
Was warm without a spice of jealousy.
Thy lesson now--Sir William Fondlove's rich,
And riches, though they're paste, yet being many,
The jewel love we often cast away for.
I use him but for Master Waller's sake.
Dost like my policy?
Lydia. You will not chide me?
W. Green. Nay, Lydia, I do like to hear thy thoughts,
They are such novel things--plants that do thrive
With country air! I marvel still they flower,
And thou so long in town! Speak freely, girl!
Lydia. I cannot think love thrives by artifice,
Or can disguise its mood, and show its face.
I would not hide one portion of my heart
Where I did give it and did feel 'twas right,
Nor feign a wish, to mask a wish that was,
Howe'er to keep it. For no cause except
Myself would I be loved. What were't to me,
My lover valued me the more, the more
He saw me comely in another's eyes,
When his alone the vision I would show
Becoming to? I have sought the reason oft,
They paint Love as a child, and still have thought,
It was because true love, like infancy,
Frank, trusting, unobservant of its mood,
Doth show its wish at once, and means no more!
W. Green. Thou'lt find out better when thy time doth come.
Now wouldst believe I love not Master Waller?
I never knew what love was, Lydia;
That is, as your romances have it. First,
I married for a fortune. Having that,
And being freed from him that brought it me,
I marry now, to please my vanity,
A man that is the fashion. O the delight
Of a sensation, and yourself the cause!
To note the stir of eyes, and ears, and tongues,
When they do usher Mistress Waller in,
Late Widow Green, her hand upon the arm
Of her young, handsome husband!--How my fan
Will be in requisition--I do feel
My heart begin to flutter now--my blood
To mount into my cheek! My honeymoon
Will be a month of triumphs!--"Mistress Waller!"
That name, for which a score of damsels sigh,
And but the widow had the wit to win!
Why, it will be the talk of east to west,
And north and south!--The children loved the man,
And lost him so--I liked, but there I stopped;
For what is it to love, but mind and heart
And soul upon another to depend?
Depend upon another? Nothing be
But what another wills? Give up the rights
Of mine own brain and heart? I thank my stars
I never came to that extremity.
[Goes out.]
Lydia. She never loved, indeed! She knows not love,
Except what's told of it! She never felt it.
To stem a torrent, easy, looking at it;
But once you venture in, you nothing know
Except the speed with which you're borne away,
Howe'er you strive to check it. She suspects not
Her maid, not she, brings Master Waller hither.
Nor dare I undeceive her. Well might she say
Her young and handsome husband! Yet his face
And person are the least of him, and vanish
When shines his soul out through his open eye!
He all but says he loves me! His respect
Has vanquished me! He looks the will to speak
His passion, and the fear that ties his tongue -
The fear? He loves not honestly, and yet
I'll swear he loves--I'll swear he honours me!
It is but my condition is a bar,
Denies him give me all. But knew he me
As I do know myself! Whate'er his purpose,
When next we speak, he shall declare it to me.
[Goes out.]
SCENE III.--Sir William Fondlove's.
[Enter CONSTANCE, dressed for riding, and PHOEBE.]
Con. Well, Phoebe, would you know me? Are those locks
That cluster on my forehead and my cheek,
Sufficient mask? Show I what I would seem,
A lady for the chase? My darkened brows
And heightened colour, foreign to my face,
Do they my face pass off for stranger too?
What think you?
Phoebe. That he'll ne'er discover you.
Con. Then send him to me. Say a lady wants
To speak with him, unless indeed it be
A man in lady's gear; I look so bold
And speak so gruff. Away! [PHOEBE goes out.] That I am glad
He stays in town, I own, but if I am,
'Tis only for the tricks I'll play upon him,
And now begin, persuading him his fame
Hath made me fancy him, and brought me hither
On visit to his worship. Soft, his foot!
THIS he? Why, what has metamorphosed him.
And changed my sportsman to fine gentleman?
Well he becomes his clothes! But, check my wonder,
Lest I forget myself. Why, what an air
The fellow hath. A man to set a cap at!
[Enter WILDRAKE.]
Wild. Kind lady, I attend your fair commands.
Con. My veiled face denies me justice, sir,
Else would you see a maiden's blushing cheek
Do penance for her forwardness; too late,
I own, repented of. Yet if 'tis true,
By our own hearts of others we may judge,
Mine in no peril lies that's shown to you,
Whose heart, I'm sure, is noble. Worthy sir,
Souls attract souls when they're of kindred vein.
The life that you love, I love. Well I know,
'Mongst those who breast the feats of the bold chase,
You stand without a peer; and for myself
I dare avow 'mong such, none follows them
With heartier glee than I do.
Wild. Churl were he
That would gainsay you, madam.
Con. [Curtseying.] What delight
To back the flying steed, that challenges
The wind for speed!--seems native more of air
Than earth!--whose burden only lends him fire! -
Whose soul, in his task, turns labour into sport;
Who makes your pastime his! I sit him now!
He takes away my breath! He makes me reel!
I touch not earth--I see not--hear not. All
Is ecstasy of motion!
Wild. You are used,
I see, to the chase.
Con. I am, sir. Then the leap,
To see the saucy barrier, and know
The mettle that can clear it! Then, your time
To prove you master of the manege. Now
You keep him well together for a space,
Both horse and rider braced as you were one,
Scanning the distance--then you give him rein,
And let him fly at it, and o'er he goes
Light as a bird on wing.
Wild. 'Twere a bold leap,
I see, that turned you, madam.
Con. [Curtseying.] Sir, you're good!
And then the hounds, sir! Nothing I admire
Beyond the running of the well-trained pack.
The training's everything! Keen on the scent!
At fault none losing heart!--but all at work!
None leaving his task to another!--answering
The watchful huntsman's cautions, check, or cheer.
As steed his rider's rein! Away they go
How close they keep together! What a pack!
Nor turn, nor ditch, nor stream divides them--as
They moved with one intelligence, act, will!
And then the concert they keep up!--enough
To make one tenant of the merry wood,
To list their jocund music!
Wild. You describe
The huntsman's pastime to the life.
Con. I love it!
To wood and glen, hamlet and town, it is
A laughing holiday! Not a hill-top
But's then alive! Footmen with horsemen vie,
All earth's astir, roused with the revelry
Of vigour, health, and joy! Cheer awakes cheer,
While Echo's mimic tongue, that never tires,
Keeps up the hearty din! Each face is then
Its neighbour's glass--where Gladness sees itself,
And at the bright reflection grows more glad!
Breaks into tenfold mirth!--laughs like a child!
Would make a gift of its heart, it is so free!
Would scarce accept a kingdom, 'tis so rich!
Shakes hands with all, and vows it never knew
That life was life before!
Wild. Nay, every way
You do fair justice, lady, to the chase;
But fancies change.
Con. Such fancy is not mine.
Wild. I would it were not mine, for your fair sake.
I have quite given o'er the chase.
Con. You say not so!
Wild. Forsworn, indeed, the sportsman's life, and grown,
As you may partly see, town-gentleman.
I care not now to mount a steed, unless
To amble 'long the street; no paces mind,
Except my own, to walk the drawing-room,
Or in the ball-room to come off with grace;
No leap for me, to match the light coupe;
No music like the violin and harp,
To which the huntsman's dog and horn I find
Are somewhat coarse and homely minstrelsy:
Then fields of ill-dressed rustics, you'll confess,
Are well exchanged for rooms of beaux and belles
In short, I've ta'en another thought of life -
Become another man!
Con. The cause, I pray?
Wild. The cause of causes, lady.
Con. He's in love! [Aside.]
Wild. To you, of women, I would name it last;
Yet your frank bearing merits like return;
I, that did hunt the game, am caught myself
In chase I never dreamed of!
[Goes out.]
Con. He is in love!
Wildrake's in love! 'Tis that keeps him in town,
Turns him from sportsman to town-gentleman.
I never dreamed that he could be in love!
In love with whom?--I'll find the vixen out!
What right has she to set her cap at him?
I warrant me, a forward, artful minx;
I hate him worse than ever. I'll do all
I can to spoil the match. He'll never marry -
Sure he will never marry! He will have
More sense than that! My back doth ope and shut -
My temples throb and shoot--I am cold and hot!
Were he to marry, there would be an end
To neighbour Constance--neighbour Wildrake--why,
I should not know myself!
[Enter TRUEWORTH.]
Dear Master Trueworth,
What think you!--neighbour Wildrake is in love!
In love! Would you believe it, Master Trueworth?
Ne'er heed my dress and looks, but answer me.
Knowest thou of any lady he has seen
That's like to cozen him?
True. I am not sure -
We talked to-day about the Widow Green!
Con. Her that my father fancies. Let him wed her!
Marry her to-morrow--if he will, to-night.
I can't spare neighbour Wildrake--neighbour Wildrake!
Although I would not marry him myself,
I could not hear that other married him!
Go to my father--'tis a proper match!
He has my leave! He's welcome to bring home
The Widow Green. I'll give up house and all!
She would be mad to marry neighbour Wildrake;
He would wear out her patience--plague her to death,
As he does me. She must not marry him!
[They go out.]
ACT III.
SCENE I.--A Room in Widow Green's.
[Enter MASTER WALLER, following LYDIA.]
Wal. But thou shalt hear me, gentle Lydia.
Sweet maiden, thou art frightened at thyself!
Thy own perfections 'tis that talk to thee.
Thy beauty rich!--thy richer grace!--thy mind,
More rich again than that, though richest each!
Except for these, I had no tongue for thee,
Eyes for thee!--ears!--had never followed thee! -
Had never loved thee, Lydia! Hear me! -
Lydia. Love
Should seek its match. No match am I for thee.
Wal. Right! Love should seek its match; and that is, love
Or nothing! Station--fortune--find their match
In things resembling them. They are not love!
Comes love (that subtle essence, without which
Life were but leaden dulness!--weariness!
A plodding trudger on a heavy road!)
Comes it of title-deeds which fools may boast?
Or coffers vilest hands may hold the keys of?
Or that ethereal lamp that lights the eyes
To shed the sparkling lustre o'er the face,
Gives to the velvet skin its blushing glow,
And burns as bright beneath the peasant's roof
As roof of palaced prince? Yes, Love should seek
Its match--then give my love its match in thine,
Its match which in thy gentle breast doth lodge
So rich--so earthly, heavenly fair and rich,
As monarchs have no thought of on their thrones,
Which kingdoms do bear up.
Lydia. Wast thou a monarch,
Me wouldst thou make thy queen?
Wal. I would.
Lydia. What! Pass
A princess by for me?
Wal. I would.
Lydia. Suppose
Thy subjects would prevent thee?
Wal. Then, in spite
Of them!
Lydia. Suppose they were too strong for thee?
Wal. Why, then I'd give them up my throne--content
With that thou'dst yield me in thy gentle breast.
Lydia. Can subjects do what monarchs do?
Wal. Far more!
Far less!
Lydia. Among those things, where more their power,
Is marriage one?
Wal. Yes.
Lydia. And no part of love,
You say, is rank or wealth?
Wal. No part of love.
Lydia. Is marriage part of love?
Wal. At times it is,
At times is not. Men love and marry--love
And marry not.
Lydia. Then have they not the power;
So must they hapless part with those they love.
Wal. Oh, no! not part! How could they love and part?
Lydia. How could they love not part, not free to wed?
Wal. Alone in marriage doth not union lie!
Lydia. Alone where hands are free! O yes--alone!
Love that is love, bestoweth all it can!
It is protection, if 'tis anything,
Which nothing in its object leaves exposed
Its care can shelter. Love that's free to wed,
Not wedding, but profanes the name of love;
Which is, on high authority to Earth's,
For Heaven did sit approving at its feast,
A holy thing! Why make you love to me?
Women whose hearts are free, by nature tender,
Their fancies hit by those they are besought by,
Do first impressions quickly--deeply take;
And, balked in their election, have been known
To droop a whole life through! Gain for a maid,
A broken heart!--to barter her young love,
And find she changed it for a counterfeit!
Wal. If there is truth in man, I love thee! Hear me!
In wedlock, families claim property.
Old notions, which we needs must humour often,
Bar us to wed where we are forced to love!
Thou hear'st?
Lydia. I do.
Wal. My family is proud;
Our ancestor, whose arms we bear, did win
An earldom by his deeds. 'Tis not enough
I please myself! I must please others, who
Desert in wealth and station only see.
Thou hear'st?
Lydia. I do.
Wal. I cannot marry thee,
And must I lose thee? Do not turn away!
Without the altar I can honour thee!
Can cherish thee, nor swear it to the priest;
For more than life I love thee!
Lydia. Say thou hatest me,
And I'll believe thee! Wherein differs love
From hate, to do the work of hate--destroy?
Thy ancestor won title to his deeds!
Was one of them, to teach an honest maid
The deed of sin--first steal her love, and then
Her virtue? If thy family is proud,
Mine, sir, is worthy! if we are poor, the lack
Of riches, sir, is not the lack of shame,
That I should act a part, would raise a blush,
Nor fear to burn an honest brother's cheek!
Thou wouldest share a throne with me! Thou wouldst rob me of
A throne!--reduce me from dominion to
Base vassalage!--pull off my crown for me,
And give my forehead in its place a brand!
You have insulted me. To shew you, sir,
The heart you make so light of, you are beloved -
But she that tells you so, tells you beside
She ne'er beholds you more!
[Goes out.]
Wal. Stay, Lydia!--No!
'Tis vain! She is in virtue resolute,
As she is bland and tender in affection.
She is a miracle, beholding which
Wonder doth grow on wonder! What a maid!
No mood but doth become her--yea, adorn her.
She turns unsightly anger into beauty!
Sour scorn grows sweetness, touching her sweet lips!
And indignation, lighting on her brow,
Transforms to brightness as the cloud to gold
That overhangs the sun! I love her! Ay!
And all the throes of serious passion feel
At thought of losing her!--so my light love,
Which but her person did at first affect,
Her soul has metamorphosed--made a thing
Of solid thoughts and wishes--I must have her!
[Enter WIDOW GREEN, unnoticed 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!
W. Green. You are!
Sir Wil. No, on my honour! Would you like to hear
The story of the ring?
W. Green. Much--very much.
Sir Wil. Think'st we may venture draw our chairs apart
A little more from Master Waller?
W. Green. Yes.
He'll bring it to a scene! Dear--dear Sir William,
How much I am obliged to him! A scene!
Gods, we shall have a scene!--Good Master Waller,
Your leave I pray you for a minute, while
Sir William says a word or two to me. -
He durst not trust his tongue for jealousy!--[Aside.]
Now, dear Sir William!
Sir Wil. You must promise me
You will not think me vain.
W. Green. No fear of that.
Sir Wil. Nor given to boast.
W. Green. O! dear Sir William!
Sir Wil. Nor
A flirt!
W. Green. O! who would take you for a flirt?
Sir Wil. How very kind you are!
W. Green. Go on, Sir William.
Sir Wil. Upon my life, I fear you'll think me vain!
I'm covered with confusion at the thought
Of what I've done. 'Twas very, very wrong
To promise you the story of the ring;
Men should not talk of such things.