Imatges de pàgina
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He cannot help me,

SIR PHILIP.

A woman can; she knows a woman's mind,
And how 'tis hit; which being done, they say,
Her heart's in jeopardy!

Who say so? They

LADY ANNE.

Who do not know her! Hit her heart, you are sure

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For three years have you been my fair acquaintance; And if I err not, all that lapse of time

You have enjoy'd good health!

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So I should think!-You have always slept o' nights?

SIR PHILIP.

From laying down my head to lifting it!

LADY ANNE.

Sound sleep?—No trouble in the shape of dreams?

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LADY ANNE.

You would like to know for what? You are deep,
You are very deep in love. What would you do
With Lady Blanche, suppose you married her?
SIR PHILIP.

Show her to court and town-go everywhere,
And take her with me, that the world might see
She that rejected scores of suits was mine.
LADY ANNE.

It is his vanity that loves, not he! (aside.)"

From these specimens, the reader will understand somewhat of the psychological analysis which pervades this exceedingly beautiful poem. But the crowning specimen of this kind is in the last act, when the failure of their mutual schemes forces both the "old maids" to selfexamination :

"(LADY BLANCHE sits disconsolately.

Enter LADY ANNE, who draws a chair beside her, and likewise sits.)

Well, Blanche.

LADY ANNE.

LADY BLANCHE.

Well, Anne. You have quarrell'd with Sir Philip.

LADY ANNE.

And you have lost your pains with Colonel Blount.

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I doubt I am.

Are

I know I am.

you in love, dear Blanche?

LADY BLANCHE.

What could possess you, Anne,

To set yourself up at an age like yours

For an old maid?

Would you be wiser than
Had she been of your mind,

Your mother was?
Where had you been?

LADY ANNE.

What could possess you, Anne,

To give me credit for't, and you yourself
A woman? Think you there was ever one

Who led a life of single blessedness,

And with her will? You did forget your mother
As well as I. Children had better take
Example from their parents; they are copies
More like to spoil than mend by altering.

LADY BLANCHE.

you think

My mother was a wife at twenty-four.
Past that, I'm like to be no wife at all.
This comes of scorning men. How could
Women were e'er design'd to live without them?
Look at men's trades-no woman e'er could follow.
A pretty smith you'd make to blow a bellows,
And set an anvil ringing with a hammer.
LADY ANNE.

Or you a pretty mason with a mallet
Shaping a block of freestone with a chisel!
LADY BLANCHE.

You could not be a doctor, nor a surgeon.

LADY ANNE.

Nor you a lawyer-would you wear the wig?

LADY BLANCHE.

I'd starve first. You would never make a sailor.

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That love could be constrain'd? That one could love

Against one's will?

To love another?

That one could spite one's self

Love and hate at once?

I could kill Colonel Blount-could hack him up!
Make mincemeat of him-and could kill myself
For thinking I could do it, he is so full
Of wisdom, goodness, manliness, and grace!
I honour him, admire him, yea, affect him;
Yet more than him affect the 'prentice boy,
Whose blushing cheek attested for his heart
That love was an unknown, unlook'd-for guest,
Ne'er entertained before, and greeted, now,
With most confused, overpower'd welcome!
LADY ANNE.

You loved the 'prentice boy!—you thought not that
Before.

LADY BLANCHE.
Because it seem'd too slight for thought.
A spark I did not heed, because a spark!
Never suspected 'twould engender flame
That kept in secret kindling, nor was found
Before the blaze that now keeps raging on,
As from the smother springs the fiercest fire.
LADY ANNE.

Well! make confession to him.

Make my will

LADY BLANChe.

The fire is out!

And die. He loves no more.

Vanish'd!-the very embers blown away!

The memory even of my features gone,
At sight of which it burst with such a glare
As crimson'd all the welkin of his face,

And mock'd as you would think, extinguishing!
Nor rests it there-another fire is lit

And blazes to another deity!

There is the altar burn'd before for me,

But to another does the incense rise.

There is the temple where I once was shrined,

But to another's image sacred now;

And mine profaned, unbased, cast down, cast out, Never to know its worshipper again!

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To be sure I am, and like to be! ne'er woman more Deceived themselves than we did! To believe

It rested with ourselves to love or not;

As we at once could have and lack a heart;

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