Sand. Since you will have it so
(My careful age trembles at all may happen),
I will engage to furnish you.
I have the keys of the wardrobe, and can fit you
With garments to your size.
I know a suit
Of lively Lincoln green, that shall much grace you
In the wear, being glossy fresh, and worn but seldom.
Young Stephen Woodvil wore them while he lived.
I have the keys of all this house and passages,
And ere daybreak will rise and let you forth.
What things soe’er you have need of I can furnish you;
And will provide a horse and trusty guide,
To bear you on your way to Nottingham.
Marg. That once this day and night were
For then I’ll bid this house and love farewell;
Farewell, sweet Devon; farewell, lukewarm John;
For with the morning’s light will Margaret be gone.
Thanks, courteous Mr. Sandford.—
[Exeunt divers ways.
SCENE.—An Apartment in Woodvil Hall.
JOHN WOODVIL—alone. (Reading parts of a letter).
“When Love grows cold, and indifference has
usurped upon old Esteem, it is no marvel if the world
begin to account that dependence, which hitherto
has been esteemed honorable shelter. The course
I have taken, (in leaving this house, not easily wrought
thereunto,) seemed to me best for the once-for-all
releasing of yourself (who in times past have deserved
well of me) from the now daily, and not-to-be-endured
tribute of forced love, and ill-dissembled reluctance
Gone! gone! my girl? so hasty, Margaret!
And never a kiss at parting? shallow loves,
And likings of a ten days’ growth, use courtesies,
And show 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,”
Which they in Heaven not use?—
So peevish, Margaret?
But ’tis the common error of your sex
When our idolatry slackens, or grows less,
(As who of woman born can keep his faculty
Of Admiration, being a decaying faculty,
Forever strain’d to the pitch? or can at pleasure
Make it renewable, as some appetites are,
As, namely, Hunger, Thirst!—) this being the case,
They tax us with neglect, and love grown cold,
Coin plainings of the perfidy of men,
Which into maxims pass, and apothegms
To be retail’d in ballads.—
I know them all.
They are jealous when our larger hearts receive
More guests than one. (Love in a woman’s heart
Being all in one.) For me, I am sure I have room here
For more disturbers of my sleep than one.