Before night comes we will contrive to meet, And then I will tell you further. Till when, farewell.

_Sandford_. My prayers go with you, Lady, and your counsels, And heaven so prosper them, as I wish you well.

[_They part several ways_.]

Here follows:--

Scene the Second. A Library in Woodvil Hall; John Woodvil alone.

_John Woodvil (alone)_. Now universal England getteth drunk.

And so on as printed in Act II. [on page 165]. After the last printed line,

A fishing, hawking, hunting country gentleman,

the MS. has these five lines, but Lamb drew his pen through them:--

Great spirits ask great play-room; I would be The Phaeton, should put the world to a hazard, E'er I'd forego the horses of the sun, And giddy l.u.s.tre of my travels' glory For tedious common paces. [_Exit_.]

Next comes:--

Scene the Third. An apartment in Woodvil Hall; Margaret. Sandford.

_Margaret_. I pray you spare me, Mr. Sandford.

And so on as printed as the continuation of the former scene [page 159]

to the end of that and of the first act. But in the middle of Sandford's speech comes in the "Witch" story, thus introduced:--

[_Sandford_.] I know a suit Of lovely Lincoln-green, that much shall grace you In the wear, being glossy, fresh and worn but seld, Young Stephen Woodvil's they were, Sir Walter's eldest son, Who died long since in early youth.

_Margaret_. I have somewhere heard his story. I remember Sir Walter Rowland would rebuke me, being a girl, When I have asked the manner of his death.

But I forget it.

_Sandford_. One summer night, Sir Francis, as it chanc'd, Was pacing to and fro in the avenue That westward fronts our house,-- _Margaret_. Methinks I should learn something of his story Whose garments I am to wear.

_Sandford_. Among those aged oaks, etc.

And so the witch story goes on, not quite as printed as a separate poem in the _Works_ of 1818 [see page 199], but not differing very materially....

Then comes "Act the Second. John Woodvil alone. Reading a letter (which stands at the beginning of the book)." The letter is longer in MS. than in print [see page 160], the words in italics having been withdrawn from the middle of the second sentence:--

"The course I have taken ... seemed to [me] best _both for the warding off of calumny from myself (which should bring dishonor upon the memory of Sir Rowland my father, if a daughter of his could be thought to prefer doubtful ease before virtuous sufferance, softness before reputation), and_ for the once-for-all releasing of yourself...."

No notable alteration occurs until we come to the second scene, which in the MS. (owing to the transposition of Woodvil's soliloquy) followed immediately on Lovel's reply to Woodvil's speech--

No, you shall go with me into the gallery--

printed on page 164.

Scene the Second. Sherwood Forest. Sir Walter Woodvil, Simon, drest as Frenchmen.

Sir Walter's opening speech is long in print [page 166]--in MS. it is but this:--

_Sir Walter_. How fares my boy, Simon, my youngest born, My hope, my pride, young Woodvil, speak to me; Thinkest thy brother plays thy father false?

My life upon his faith and n.o.ble heart; Son John could never play thy father false.

There is no further material change to note until we come to the point in the conversation between Sir Walter, Simon and Margaret [page 172], where Simon calls John "a scurvy brother," to whom Margaret responds:--

_Margaret_. I speak no slander, Simon, of your brother, He is still the first of men.

_Simon_. I would fain learn that, if you please.

_Margaret_. Had'st rather hear his praises in the ma.s.s Or parcel'd out in each particular?

_Simon_. So please you, in the detail: general praise We'll leave to his Epitaph-maker.

_Margaret_. I will begin then-- His face is Fancy's tablet, where the witch Paints, in her fine caprice, ever new forms, Making it apt all workings of the soul, All pa.s.sions and their changes to display; His eye, attention's magnet, draws all hearts.

_Simon_. Is this all about your son, Sir?

_Margaret_. Pray let me proceed. His tongue....

_Simon_. Well skill'd in lying, no doubt--

_Sir Walter_. Ungracious boy! will you not hear her out?

_Margaret_. His tongue well skill'd in sweetness to discuss-- (False tongue that seem'd for love-vows only fram'd)--

_Simon_. Did I not say so?

_Margaret_. All knowledge and all topics of converse, Ev'n all the infinite stuff of men's debate From matter of fact, to the heights of metaphysick, How could she think that n.o.ble mind So furnish'd, so innate in all perfections, The manners and the worth That go to the making up of a complete Gentleman, Could from his proper nature so decline And from that starry height of place he mov'd in To link his fortune to a lowly Lady Who nothing with her brought but her plain heart, And truth of love that never swerv'd from Woodvil.

_Simon_. Wilt please you hear some vices of this brother, This all-accomplish'd John?

_Margaret_. There is no need--I grant him all you say and more, Vain, ambitious, large of purpose, Fantastic, fiery, swift and confident, A wayward child of vanity and spleen, A hair-brain'd mad-cap, dreamer of gold dreams, A daily feaster on high self-conceit, With many glorious faults beside, Weak minds mistake for virtues.

_Simon_. Add to these, That having gain'd a virtuous maiden's love, One fairly priz'd at twenty times his worth, He let her wander houseless from his door To seek new friends and find elsewhere a home.

_Sir Walter_. Fie upon't-- All men are false, I think, etc.

And here we arrive at the "Dying Lover," which was printed anonymously in the _London Magazine_ for January, 1822. But before pa.s.sing from the long pa.s.sage transcribed above I am bound to say that Lamb drew his pen through it all, marking some bits "bad" and others "very bad." I venture to think that in this he did himself some injustice.

To Sir Walter's sweeping indictment Margaret replies as follows. I keep to the text of the MS., noting some trifling changes made for the _London Magazine_ [see page 85]:--

_Margaret_. All are not false. I knew a youth who died For grief, because his Love proved so, And married to[32] another.

I saw him on the wedding day, For he was present in the church that day, And in his best apparel too[33], As one that came to grace the ceremony.

I mark'd him when the ring was given, His countenance never changed; And when the priest p.r.o.nounced the marriage blessing, He put a silent prayer up for the bride, [For they stood near who saw his lips move.][34]

He came invited to the marriage-feast With the bride's friends, And was the merriest of them all that day; But they, who knew him best, call'd it feign'd mirth; And others said, He wore a smile like death's[35] upon his face.

His presence dash'd all the beholders' mirth, And he went away in tears.

_Simon_. What followed then?

_Margaret_. Oh! then He did not as neglected suitors use Affect a life of solitude in shades, But lived, In free discourse and sweet society, Among his friends who knew his gentle nature best.

Yet ever when he smiled, There was a mystery legible in his face, That whoso saw him said he was a man Not long for this world.---- And true it was, for even then The silent love was feeding at his heart Of which he died: Nor ever spake word of reproach, Only he wish'd in death that his remains[36]