Sir Wil. Smile, then,
And talk and rally me! I did expect,
Ere half an hour had passed, you would have put me
A dozen times to the blush. Without such things,
A bridegroom knows not his own wedding-day.
I see! Her looks are glossary to thine,
She flouts thee still, I marvel not at thee;
There’s thunder in that cloud! I would to-day
It would disperse, and gather in the morning.
I fear me much thou know’st not how to woo.
I’ll give thee a lesson. Ever there’s a way,
But knows one how to take it? Twenty men
Have courted Widow Green. Who has her now?
I sent to advertise her that to-day
I meant to marry her. She wouldn’t open
My note. And gave I up? I took the way
To make her love me! I did send, again
To pray her leave my daughter should be bridemaid.
That letter too came back. Did I give up?
I took the way to make her love me! Yet,
Again I sent to ask what church she chose
To marry at; my note came back again;
And did I yet give up? I took the way
To make her love me! All the while I found
She was preparing for the wedding. Take
A hint from me! She comes! My fluttering heart
Gives note the empress of its realms is near.
Now, Master Wildrake, mark and learn from me
How it behoves a bridegroom play his part.
[Enter Widow Green, supported by her Bridemaids, and followed by Amelia.]
W. Green. I cannot raise my eyes—they cannot bear
The beams of his, which, like the sun’s, I feel
Are on me, though I see them not enlightening
The heaven of his young face; nor dare I scan
The brightness of his form, which symmetry
And youth and beauty in enriching vie.
He kneels to me! Now grows my breathing thick,
As though I did await a seraph’s voice,
Too rich for mortal ear.
Sir Wil. My gentle bride!
W. Green. Who’s that! who speaks to me?
Sir Wil. These transports check.
Lo, an example to mankind I set
Of amorous emprise; and who should thrive
In love, if not Love’s soldier, who doth press
The doubtful siege, and will not own repulse.
Lo, here I tender thee my fealty,
To live thy duteous slave. My queen thou art,
In frowns or smiles, to give me life or death.
Oh, deign look down upon me! In thy face
Alone I look on day; it is my sun
Most bright; the which denied, no sun doth rise.
Shine out upon me, my divinity!
My gentle Widow Green! My wife to be;
My love, my life, my drooping, blushing bride!
W. Green. Sir William Fondlove, you’re a fool!
Sir Wil. A fool!
W. Green. Why come you hither, sir, in trim like this?
Or rather why at all?
Sir Wil. Why come I hither?
To marry thee!