Con. Such fancy is not mine.
Wild. I would it were not mine, for your fair sake.
I have quite given o’er the chase.
Con. You say not so!
Wild. Forsworn, indeed, the sportsman’s life, and grown,
As you may partly see, town-gentleman.
I care not now to mount a steed, unless
To amble ’long the street; no paces mind,
Except my own, to walk the drawing-room,
Or in the ball-room to come off with grace;
No leap for me, to match the light coupé;
No music like the violin and harp,
To which the huntsman’s dog and horn I find
Are somewhat coarse and homely minstrelsy:
Then fields of ill-dressed rustics, you’ll confess,
Are well exchanged for rooms of beaux and belles;
In short, I’ve ta’en another thought of life—
Become another man!
Con. The cause, I pray?
Wild. The cause of causes, lady.
Con. He’s in love! [Aside.]
Wild. To you, of women, I would name it last;
Yet your frank bearing merits like return;
I, that did hunt the game, am caught myself
In chase I never dreamed of!
[Goes out.]
Con. He is in love!
Wildrake’s in love! ’Tis that keeps him in town,
Turns him from sportsman to town-gentleman.
I never dreamed that he could be in love!
In love with whom?—I’ll find the vixen out!
What right has she to set her cap at him?
I warrant me, a forward, artful minx;
I hate him worse than ever. I’ll do all
I can to spoil the match. He’ll never marry—
Sure he will never marry! He will have
More sense than that! My back doth ope and shut—
My temples throb and shoot—I am cold and hot!
Were he to marry, there would be an end
To neighbour Constance—neighbour Wildrake—why,
I should not know myself!