We'll live together, like two neighbour vines,
Circling our souls and loves in one another!
We'll spring together, and we'll bear one fruit;
One joy shall make us smile, and one grief mourn;
One age go with us, and one hour of death
Shall close our eyes, and one grave make us happy.
Kath. A precious boon, that would go far to reconcile one to old age—this love—if true! But is there any such true love?
Fri. I hope so.
Kath. But do you believe it?
Eliz. (eagerly). I am sure he does.
Fri. From a man turned of fifty, Katharine, I imagine, expects a less confident answer.
Kath. A more sincere one, perhaps.
Fri. Even though he should have obtained the nick-name of Improvisatore, by perpetrating charades and extempore verses at Christmas times?
Eliz. Nay, but be serious.
Fri. Serious! Doubtless. A grave personage of my years giving a Love-lecture to two young ladies, cannot well be otherwise. The difficulty, I suspect, would be for them to remain so. It will be asked whether I am not the 'elderly gentleman' who sate 'despairing beside a clear stream', with a willow for his wig-block.
