The Love-Chase | Page 4

saucy cub! I vow, I had as lief Your whipper-in had kissed me.
Sir Wil. Do you hear?
True. I do. Most pleasing discords!
[Enter CONSTANCE and WILDRAKE.]
Con. Father, speak To neighbour Wildrake!
Sir Wil. Very glad to see him!
Wild. I thank you, good Sir William! Give you joy Of your good looks!
Con. What, Phoebe!--Phoebe!--Phoebe!
Sir Wil. What wantest thou with thy lap-dog?
Con. Only, sir, To welcome neighbour Wildrake! What a figure To
show himself in town!
Sir Wil. Wilt hold thy peace?
Con. Yes; if you'll lesson me to hold my laughter! Wildrake.
Wild. Well?

Con. Let me walk thee in the Park - How they would stare at thee!
Sir Wil. Wilt ne'er give o'er?
Wild. Nay, let her have her way--I heed her not! Though to more
courteous welcome I have right; Although I am neighbour Wildrake!
Reason is reason!
Con. And right is right! so welcome, neighbour Wildrake, I am very,
very, very glad to see you! Come, for a quarter of an hour we'll e'en
Agree together! How do your horses, neighbour?
Wild. Pshaw!
Con. And your dogs?
Wild. Pshaw!
Con. Whipper-in and huntsman?
Sir Wil. Converse of things thou knowest to talk about!
Con. And keep him silent, father, when I know He cannot talk of any
other things? How does thy hunter? What a sorry trick He played thee
t'other day, to balk his leap And throw thee, neighbour! Did he balk the
leap? Confess! You sportsmen never are to blame! Say you are fowlers,
'tis your dog's in fault! Say you are anglers, 'tis your tackle's wrong;
Say you are hunters, why the honest horse That bears your weight,
must bear your blunders too! Why, whither go you?
Wild. Anywhere from thee.
Con. With me you mean.
Wild. I mean it not.
Con. You do! I'll give you fifty reasons for't--and first, Where you go,
neighbour, I'll go!

[They go out--WILDRAKE, pettishly--CONSTANCE laughing.]
Sir Wil. Do you mark? Much love is there!
True. Indeed, a heap, or none! I'd wager on the heap!
Sir Wil. Ay!--Do you think These discords, as in the musicians' art, Are
subtle servitors to harmony? That all this war's for peace? This
wrangling but A masquerade where love his roguish face Conceals
beneath an ugly visor!--Well?
True. Your guess and my conceit are not a mile Apart. Unlike to other
common flowers, The flower of love shews various in the bud; 'Twill
look a thistle, and 'twill blow a rose! And with your leave I'll put it to
the test; Affect myself, for thy fair daughter, love - Make him my
confidant--dilate to him Upon the graces of her heart and mind, Feature
and form--that well may comment bear - Till--like the practised
connoisseur, who finds A gem of heart out in a household picture The
unskilled owner held so cheap he grudged Renewal of the chipped and
tarnished frame, But values now as priceless--I arouse him Into a quick
sense of the worth of that Whose merit hitherto, from lack of skill, Or
dulling habit of acquaintanceship, He has not been awake to.
Con. [Without.] Neighbour Wildrake!
Sir Wil. Hither they come. I fancy well thy game! O to be free to marry
Widow Green! I'll call her hence anon--then ply him well.
[SIR WILLIAM goes out.]
Wild. [Without.] Nay, neighbour Constance!
True. He is high in storm.
[Enter WILDRAKE and CONSTANCE.]
Wild. To Lincolnshire, I tell thee.
Con. Lincolnshire! What, prithee, takes thee off to Lincolnshire?

Wild. Too great delight in thy fair company.
True. Nay, Master Wildrake, why away so soon? You are scarce a day
in town!--Extremes like this, And starts of purpose, are the signs of
love. Though immatured as yet. [Aside.]
Con. He's long enough In town! What should he here? He's lost in town:
No man is he for concerts, balls, or routs! No game he knows at cards,
save rare Pope Joan! He ne'er could master dance beyond a jig; And as
for music, nothing to compare To the melodious yelping of a hound,
Except the braying of his huntsman's horn! Ask HIM to stay in town!
Sir Wil. [Without.] Hoa, Constance!
Con. Sir! - Neighbour, a pleasant ride to Lincolnshire! Good-bye!
Sir Wil. [Without.] Why, Constance!
Con. Coming, sir. Shake hands! Neighbour, good-bye! Don't look so
woe-begone; 'Tis but a two-days' ride, and thou wilt see Rover, and
Spot, and Nettle, and the rest Of thy dear country friends!
Sir Wil. [Without.] Constance! I say.
Con. Anon!--Commend me to the gentle souls, And pat them for
me!--Will you, neighbour Wildrake?
Sir Wil. [Without.] Why, Constance! Constance!
Con. In a moment, sir! Good-bye!--I'd cry, dear neighbour--if I could!
Good-bye!--A pleasant day when next you hunt! And, prithee, mind thy
horse don't balk his leap! Good-bye!--and, after dinner, drink