True. No.
Sir Wil. No! not in the calf?
True. As big a calf
As ever!
Sir Wil. Thank you, thank you—I believe it!
When others waste, ’tis growing-time with me!
I feel it, Master Trueworth! Vigour, sir,
In every joint of me—could run!—could leap!
Why shouldn’t I marry? Knife and fork I play
Better than many a boy of twenty-five—
Why shouldn’t I marry? If they come to wine,
My brace of bottles can I carry home,
And ne’er a headache. Death! why shouldn’t I marry?
True. I see in nature no impediment.
Sir Wil. Impediment? She’s all appliances!—
And fortune’s with me, too! The Widow Green
Gives hints to me. The pleasant Widow Green
Whose fortieth year, instead of autumn, brings,
A second summer in. Odds bodikins,
How young she looks! What life is in her eyes!
What ease is in her gait!—while, as she walks,
Her waist, still tapering, takes it pliantly!
How lollingly she bears her head withal:
On this side now—now that! When enters she
A drawing-room, what worlds of gracious things
Her curtsey says!—she sinks with such a sway,
Greeting on either hand the company,
Then slowly rises to her state again!
She is the empress of the card-table!
Her hand and arm!—Gods, did you see her deal—
With curved and pliant wrist dispense the pack,
Which, at the touch of her fair fingers fly!
How soft she speaks—how very soft! Her voice
Comes melting from her round and swelling throat,
Reminding you of sweetest, mellowest things—
Plums, peaches, apricots, and nectarines—
Whose bloom is poor to paint her cheeks and lips.
By Jove, I’ll marry!
True. You forget, Sir William,
I do not know the lady.
Sir Wil. Great your loss.
By all the gods I’ll marry!—but my daughter
Must needs be married first. She rules my house;
Would rule it still, and will not have me wed.
A clever, handsome, darling, forward minx!
When I became a widower, the reins
Her mother dropped she caught,—a hoyden girl;
Nor, since, would e’er give up; howe’er I strove
To coax or catch them from her. One way still
Or t’other she would keep them—laugh, pout, plead;
Now vanquish me with water, now with fire;
Would box my face, and, ere I well could ope
My mouth to chide her, stop it with a kiss!
The monkey! What a plague she’s to me! How
I love her! how I love the Widow Green!
True. Then marry her!
Sir Wil. I tell thee, first of all
Must needs my daughter marry. See I not
A hope of that; she nought affects the sex:
Comes suitor after suitor—all in vain.
Fast as they bow she curtsies, and says, “Nay!”
Or she, a woman, lacks a woman’s heart,
Or hath a special taste which none can hit.