Wal. No!
Lydia. Thou canst not. I
Repeat it.—Yet I’m thine—thine every way,
Except where honour fences!—Honour, sir,
Not property of gentle blood alone;
Of gentle blood not always property!
Thou’lt not obey me. Still enforcest me!
Oh, what a contradiction is a man!
What in another he one moment spurns,
The next—he does himself complacently!
Wal. Wouldst have me lose the hand that holds my life?
Lydia. Hear me and keep it, if thou art a man!
I love thee—for thy benefit would give
The labour of that hand!—wear out my feet!
Rack the invention of my mind!—the powers
Of my heart in one volition gather up!
My life expend, and think no more I gave
Than he who wins a priceless gem for thanks!
For such goodwill canst thou return me wrong?
Wal. Yet, for awhile, I cannot let thee go.
Propound for me an oath that I’ll not wrong thee!
An oath, which, if I break it, will entail
Forfeit of earth and heaven. I’ll take it—so
Thou stay’st one hour with me.
Lydia. No!—Not one moment!
Unhand me, or I shriek!—I know the summons
Will pierce into the street, and set me free!
I stand in peril while I’m near thee! She
Who knows her danger, and delays escape,
Hath but herself to thank, whate’er befalls!
Sir, I may have a woman’s weakness, but
I have a woman’s resolution, too,
And that’s a woman’s strength!
One moment more!—
Wal. Lo! Thou art free to go!
[Rises and throws himself distractedly into a chair.]
[Lydia approaches the door—her pace slackens—she pauses with her hand upon the lock—turns, and looks earnestly on Waller.]
Lydia. I have a word
To say to thee; if by thy mother’s honour,
Thou swear’st to me thou wilt not quit thy seat.