The Love-Chase | Page 9

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