_Wild_. Nay, Master Trueworth, I must needs be gone!

She treats me worse and worse! I am a stock, That words have none to pay her. For her sake I quit the town to-day. I like a jest, But hers are jests past bearing. I am her b.u.t.t, She nothing does but practise on! A plague!-- Fly her shafts ever your way?

_True_. Would they did!

_Wild_. Art mad?--or wishest she should drive thee so?

_True_. Thou knowest her not.

_Wild_. I know not neighbour Constance?

Then know I not myself, or anything Which as myself I know!

_True_. Heigh ho!

_Wild_. Heigh ho!

Why what a burden that for a man's song!

Would fit a maiden that was sick for love.

Heigh ho! Come ride with me to Lincolnshire, And turn thy "Heigh ho!" into "hilly ho!"

_True_. Nay, rather tarry thou in town with me.

Men sometimes find a friend's hand of avail, When useless proves their own. Wilt lend me thine?

_Wild_. Or may my horse break down in a steeple-chase!

_True_. A steeple-chase. What made thee think of that?

I'm for the steeple--not to ride a race, Only to get there!--nor alone, in sooth, But in fair company.

_Wild_. Thou'rt not in love!

_True_. Heigh ho!

_Wild_. Thou wouldst not marry!

_True_. With your help.

_Wild_. And whom, I prithee?

_True_. Gentle Mistress Constance!

_Wild_. What!--neighbour Constance?--Never did I dream That mortal man would fall in love with her. [Aside.]

In love with neighbour Constance!--I feel strange At thought that she should marry!--[Aside.] Go to church With neighbour Constance! That's a steeple-chase I never thought of. I feel very strange!

What seest in neighbour Constance?

_True_. Lovers' eyes See with a vision proper to themselves; Yet thousand eyes will vouch what mine affirm.

First, then, I see in her the mould express Of woman--stature, feature, body, limb-- Breathing the gentle s.e.x we value most, When most 'tis at antipodes with ours!

_Wild_. You mean that neighbour Constance is a woman.

Why, yes; she is a woman, certainly.

_True_. So much for person. Now for her complexion.

What shall we liken to her dainty skin?

Her arm, for instance?--

_Wild_. Snow will match it.

_True_. Snow!

It is her arm without the smoothness on't; Then is not snow transparent. 'Twill not do.

_Wild_. A pearl's transparent!

_True_. So it is, but yet Yields not elastic to the thrilled touch!

I know not what to liken to her arm Except her beauteous fellow! Oh! to be The chosen friend of two such neighbours!

_Wild_. Would His tongue would make a halt. He makes too free With neighbour Constance! Can't he let her arms Alone! I trust their chosen friend Will ne'er be he! I'm vexed. [Aside.]

_True_. But graceful things Grow doubly graceful in the graceful use!

Hast marked her ever walk the drawing-room?

_Wild_. [Snappishly.] No.

_True_. No! Why, where have been your eyes?

_Wild_. In my head!

But I begin to doubt if open yet. [Aside.]

_True_. Yet that's a trifle to the dance; down which She floats as though she were a form of air; The ground feels not her foot, or tells not on't; Her movements are the painting of the strain, Its swell, its fall, its mirth, its tenderness!

Then is she fifty Constances!--each moment Another one, and each, except its fellow, Without a peer! You have danced with her!

_Wild_. I hate To dance! I can't endure to dance!--Of course You have danced with her?

_True_. I have.

_Wild_. You have?

_True_. I have.

_Wild_. I do abominate to dance!--could carve Fiddlers and company! A dancing man To me was ever like a dancing dog!

Save less to be endured.--Ne'er saw I one But I bethought me of the master's whip.

_True_. A man might bear the whip to dance with her!

_Wild_. Not if I had the laying of it on!

_True_. Well; let that pa.s.s. The lady is the theme.

_Wild_. Yes; make an end of it!--I'm sick of it. [Aside.]

_True_. How well she plays the harpsichord and harp!

How well she sings to them! Whoe'er would prove The power of song, should hear thy neighbour sing, Especially a love-song!