The Love-Chase | Page 8

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.