Strange weakness—thus my beams so bright to dim!
I should be more myself—not beam o'er him.
The gods all mock my silvery splendour paling;
Not silvery, but irony, their railing.
Paling and railing!—what dread fears that calls up,
Their bitter raillery suggesting All's up!
Before Endymion has seen Diana, he is asked by Actæon whether he is in love; to which he replies:-
Oh, no! We men of fashion
Have long ago forsworn the tender passion.
We can't afford it.
Actæ. Why not?
Endym. Well, a wife
May suit folks in the lower walks of life;
But in our station, what girls seek in marriage
Is not a walk in life;—they want a carriage.
Then, what with dress and crinoline extensive,
The sex which should be dear becomes expensive.
Once hearts were trumps;—that suit no more we follow;
Since a good suit of diamonds beats them hollow.
Here he drops into a parody of "Our Hearts are not our Own to Give":—
Our hearts we've not alone to give,
When we to wed incline;
In lowly cots on love to live,
In poetry sounds fine.
But folks to live on love have ceased;
Our hearts when we'd bestow,
Some hundreds sterling, at the least,
Should with the fond hearts go.
When, again, Actæon asks Endymion whether he ever shoots, he replies, "No, I don't care about it":—
Actæ. Not care for shooting, man? What's life without it?
All nature shoots. Say, what's the earliest thing
Boys learn at school? Why, shooting in the ring.
The seed you sow must shoot before it grows;
We feel the very corns shoot on our toes.
We shoot our bolts, our game, our foes—what not?
We're told where even rubbish may be shot.
The stars shoot in the sky—nay, I've heard say,
Folks sometimes shoot the moon on quarter-day.