SELBY 'Twas a bolt At random shot; but if it hit, believe me, I am most sorry to have wounded you Through a friend's side. I know not how we have swerved From our first talk. I was to caution you Against this fault of a too grateful nature: Which, for some girlish obligations past, In that relenting season of the heart, When slightest favours pa.s.s for benefits Of endless binding, would entail upon you An iron slavery of obsequious duty To the proud will of an imperious woman.

KATHERINE The favours are not slight to her I owe.

SELBY Slight or not slight, the tribute she exacts Cancels all dues--_[A voice within.]_ even now I hear her call you In such a tone, as lordliest mistresses Expect a slave's attendance. Prithee, Kate, Let her expect a brace of minutes or so.

Say, you are busy. Use her by degrees To some less hard exactions.

KATHERINE I conjure you, Detain me not. I will return--

SELBY Sweet wife Use thy own pleasure--_[Exit Katherine.]_ but it troubles me.

A visit of three days, as was pretended, Spun to ten tedious weeks, and no hint given When she will go! I would this buxom Widow Were a thought handsomer! I'd fairly try My Katherine's constancy; make desperate love In seeming earnest; and raise up such broils, That she, not I, should be the first to warn The insidious guest depart.

_Re-enter Katherine._

So soon return'd!

What was our Widow's will?

KATHERINE A trifle, Sir.

SELBY Some toilet service-to adjust her head, Or help to stick a pin in the right place--

KATHERINE Indeed 'twas none of these.

SELBY or new vamp up The tarnish'd cloak she came in. I have seen her Demand such service from thee, as her maid, Twice told to do it, would blush angry-red, And pack her few clothes up. Poor fool! fond slave!

And yet my dearest Kate!--This day at least (It is our wedding-day) we spend in freedom, And will forget our Widow.--Philip, our coach-- Why weeps my wife? You know, I promised you An airing o'er the pleasant Hampshire downs To the blest cottage on the green hill side, Where first I told my love. I wonder much, If the crimson parlour hath exchanged its hue For colours not so welcome. Faded though it be, It will not shew less lovely than the tinge Of this faint red, contending with the pale, Where once the full-flush'd health gave to this cheek An apt resemblance to the fruit's warm side, That bears my Katherine's name.--

Our carriage, Philip.

_Enter a Servant_.

Now, Robin, what make you here?

SERVANT May it please you, The coachman has driven out with Mrs. Frampton.

SELBY He had no orders--

SERVANT None, Sir, that I know of, But from the lady, who expects some letter At the next Post Town.

SELBY Go, Robin.

[_Exit Servant_.]

How is this?

KATHERINE I came to tell you so, but fear'd your anger--

SELBY It was ill done though of this Mistress Frampton, This forward Widow. But a ride's poor loss Imports not much. In to your chamber, love, Where you with music may beguile the hour, While I am tossing over dusty tomes, Till our most reasonable friend returns.

KATHERINE I am all obedience. [_Exit Katherine_]

SELBY Too obedient, Kate, And to too many masters. I can hardly On such a day as this refrain to speak My sense of this injurious friend, this pest, This household evil, this close-clinging fiend, In rough terms to my wife. 'Death! my own servants Controll'd above me! orders countermanded!'

What next? _[Servant enters and announces the Sister]

_Enter Lucy._

Sister! I know you are come to welcome This day's return. 'Twas well done.

LUCY You seem ruffled.

In years gone by this day was used to be The smoothest of the year. Your honey turn'd So soon to gall?

SELBY Gall'd am I, and with cause, And rid to death, yet cannot get a riddance, Nay, scarce a ride, by this proud Widow's leave.

LUCY Something you wrote me of a Mistress Frampton.

SELBY She came at first a meek admitted guest, Pretending a short stay; her whole deportment Seem'd as of one obliged. A slender trunk, The wardrobe of her scant and ancient clothing, Bespoke no more. But in a few days her dress, Her looks, were proudly changed. And now she flaunts it In jewels stolen or borrow'd from my wife; Who owes her some strange service, of what nature I must be kept in ignorance. Katherine's meek And gentle spirit cowers beneath her eye, As spell-bound by some witch.

LUCY Some mystery hangs on it.

How bears she in her carriage towards yourself?

SELBY As one who fears, and yet not greatly cares For my displeasure. Sometimes I have thought, A secret glance would tell me she could love, If I but gave encouragement. Before me She keeps some moderation; but is never Closeted with my wife, but in the end I find my Katherine in briny tears.

From the small chamber, where she first was lodged, The gradual fiend by specious wriggling arts Has now ensconced herself in the best part Of this large mansion; calls the left wing her own; Commands my servants, equipage.--I hear Her hated tread. What makes she back so soon?

_Enter Mrs. Frampton._

MRS. FRAMPTON O, I am jolter'd, bruised, and shook to death, With your vile Wiltshire roads. The villain Philip Chose, on my conscience, the perversest tracks, And stoniest hard lanes in all the county, Till I was fain get out, and so walk back, My errand unperform'd at Andover.

LUCY And I shall love the knave for ever after.

[_Aside_.]

MRS. FRAMPTON A friend with you!

SELBY My eldest sister, Lucy, Come to congratulate this returning morn.-- Sister, my wife's friend, Mistress Frampton.

MRS. FRAMPTON Pray Be seated. For your brother's sake, you are welcome.

I had thought this day to have spent in homely fashion With the good couple, to whose hospitality I stand so far indebted. But your coming Makes it a feast.

LUCY

She does the honours naturally--[_Aside_.]

SELBY

As if she were the mistress of the house--[_Aside_.]

MRS. FRAMPTON I love to be at home with loving friends.

To stand on ceremony with obligations, Is to restrain the obliger. That old coach, though, Of yours jumbles one strangely.

SELBY I shall order An equipage soon, more easy to you, madam--