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 of affection.

“MARGARET.”

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 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,”
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,
For ever 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 retailed 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. 
Love shall have part, but Love shall not have all. 
Ambition, Pleasure, Vanity, all by turns,
Shall lie in my bed, and keep me fresh and waking;
Yet Love not be excluded.—­Foolish wench,
I could have lov’d her twenty years to come,
And still have kept my liking.  But since ’tis so,
Why, fare thee well, old play-fellow!  I’ll try
To squeeze a tear for old acquaintance sake. 
I shall not grudge so much.—­

      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.