Wild. Noble friend!
Kind friend! Instruct another man the way
To win thy mistress! Thou’lt not break my heart?
Take my advice, thou shalt not be in love
A month! Frequent the playhouse!—walk the Park!
I’ll think of fifty ladies that I know,
Yet can’t remember now—enchanting ones!
And then there’s Lancashire!—and I have friends
In Berkshire and in Wiltshire, that have swarms
Of daughters! Then my shooting-lodge and stud!
I’ll cure thee in a fortnight of thy love!
And now to neighbour Constance—yet almost
I fear accosting her—a hundred times
Have I essayed to break my mind to her,
But still she stops my mouth with restless scorn!
Howe’er, thy scheme I’ll try, and may it thrive!
For I am sick for love of neighbour Constance.
Farewell, dear Master Trueworth! Take my counsel—
Conquer thy passion! Do so! Be a man!
[Goes out.]
True. Feat easy done that does not tax ourselves!
[Enter Phœbe.]
Phœbe. A letter, sir.
[Goes out.]
True. Good sooth, a roaming one,
And yet slow traveller. This should have reached me
In Lombardy.—The hand! Give way, weak seal,
Thy feeble let too strong for my impatience!
Ha! Wronged!—Let me contain myself!—Compelled
To fly the roof that gave her birth!—My sister!
No partner in her flight but her pure honour!
I am again a brother. Pillow, board,
I know not till I find her.
[Enter Waller.]
Wal. Master Trueworth!
True. Ha! Master Waller! Welcome, Master Waller.