And likings of a ten days' growth, use courtesies, And shew red eyes at parting. Who bids "farewell" In the same tone he cries "God speed you, Sir ?" Or tells of joyful victories at sea, Where he hath ventures? does not rather muffle His organs to emit a leaden sound, To suit the melancholy dull "farewell," So peevish, Margaret ? But 'tis the cominon error of your sex, sure Make it renewable, as some appetites are, case, They tax us with neglect, and love grown cold, Which into maxims pass, and apothegms I know them all. They are jealous, when our larger hearts receive More guests than one. heart ) (Love in a woman's Being all in one.) For me, I am sure I have room here For more disturbers of my sleep than one. Yet Love not be excluded.-Foolish wench, To him enters Lovel. LOVEL. Bless us, Woodvil! what is the matter? I protest, man, I thought you had been weeping. WOODVIL. Nothing is the matter, only the wench has forced some water into my eyes, which will quickly disband. LOVEL. I cannot conceive you. WOODVIL. Margaret is flown. LOVEL. Upon what pretence? WOODVIL. Neglect on my part: which it seems she has had the wit to discover, maugre all my pains to conceal it. LOVEL. Then, you confess the charge? WOODVIL. To say the truth, my love for her has of late stopt short on this side idolatry. LOVEL. As all good Christians' should, I think. WOODVIL. I am sure, I could have loved her still within the limits of warrantable love. LOVEL. A kind of brotherly affection, I take it. WOODVIL. We should have made excellent man and wife in time. LOVEL. A good old couple, when the snows fell, to crowd about a sea-coal fire, and talk over old matters. WOODVIL. While each should feel, what neither cared to acknowledge, that stories oft repeated may, at last, come to lose some of their grace by the repetition. LOVEL. Which both of you may yet live long enough to discover. For, take my word for it, Margaret is a bird that will come back to you without a lure. WOODVIL. Never, never, Lovel. Spite of my levity, with tears I confess it, she was a lady of most confirmed honour, of an unmatchable spirit, and determinate in all virtuous resolutions; not hasty to anticipate an affront, nor slow to feel, where just provocation was given. LOVEL. What made you neglect her, then? WOODVIL. Mere levity and youthfulness of blood, a malady incident to young men, physicians call it caprice. Nothing else. He, that slighted her, knew her value: and 'tis odds, but, for thy sake, Margaret, John will yet go to his grave a bachelor. (A noise heard, as of one drunk and singing.) LOVEL. Here comes one, that will quickly dissipate these humours. (Enter one drunk.) DRUNKEN MAN. Good-morrow to you, gentlemen. Mr. Lovel, I am your humble servant. Honest Jack Woodvil, I will get drunk with you to morrow. WOODVIL. And why to-morrow, honest Mr. Freeman? DRUNKEN MAN. I scent a traitor in that question. A beastly question. Is it not his Majesty's birth-day? the day, of all days in the year, on which King Charles the second was graciously pleased to be born. (Sings) "Great pity 'tis such days as those should come but once a year." LOVEL. Drunk in a morning! foh! how he stinks! DRUNKEN MAN. And why not drunk in a morning? can't tell, bully? |