Flor. Her very kisses chill'd our infant brows;
She pluck'd the very flowers of daily life
As from a grave where Silence only wept,
And none but Hope lay buried. Her blue eyes
Were like Forget-me-nots, o'er which the shade
Of clouds still lingers when the moaning storm
Hath pass'd away in night. It mattered not,
They were the home from which tears never wander'd.
Sir Sim. [Aloud.] I shall lose patience shortly. Oh, that gout! Here, girl, assist me. Would you see me fall?
Flor. Well, father, leave me to myself awhile. I would obey you if I could.
Sir Sim. That's right.
You know I'm rough, but then who loves you like
A father? You ought not to try me thus;
Indeed you ought not. Come, my dear, we'll go,
And find your cousin. [FLORENCE hesitates.] Hey! not now? Beware,
'Tis better now! no nonsense. Come, come, come.
You know you can do what you please with me,
But then you must be more obedient—so!
[Going slowly, R.]
Your hand! You do me harm, girl! with this strife.
Gently—your cousin never frets me thus. [Exeunt, R.]
[Enter BASIL reading a letter, WILLIAM following, L. FLORENCE returns, R., and steals behind them, and listens to their conversation.]
Basil. [With a letter in his hand.] Good William, thou shalt drink to me. [Gives him money.] And art thou still called thirsty William?
Will. What answer shall I bear to my master?
Basil. Thy master? 'Tis a good youth, though a wild—I hope he be well. Yet, frankly, I would that he had not just now returned. Our uncle is so violent, and will not hear his name. Arthur hath been so imprudent, loose, eh? William, I regret the old man hath heard of these things.
Will. My master is a very Puritan, sir!
Basil. [Aside.] Let his worth go begging, then—but he will soon be bad as his fortunes demand. Your poverty-stricken gentlemen were better on the coast of Barbary than in this civilized country. And whatever he do, he shall be judged harshly. [Aloud to William.]