ΙΟΙ

You well at college. With another man
My lips would be in danger! Hang the ruff!

Mod. Nay, give it up, nor plague thyself, dear cousin.
Helen. Dear fool!

[Throws the ruff on the ground.]

I swear the ruff is good for just

As little as its master! There !-'T is spoil'd—
You'll have to get another! Hie for it,
And wear it in the fashion of a wisp,
Ere I adjust it for thee! Farewell, cousin!
You'd need to study Ovid's Art of Love!

[HELEN goes out.

I will follow her,-
love my cousin !
Why did she taunt me
What could she mean?

Mod. Went she in anger?
No, I will not! Heigho! I
O would that she loved me!
With backwardness in love?
Sees she I love her, and so laughs at me,
Because I lack the front to woo her? Nay,
I'll woo her, then! Her lips shall be in danger,
When next she trusts them near me !
To-day, as never did she look before!

Look'd she at me

A bold heart, Master Modus! 'T is a saying,
A faint one never won fair lady yet!

I'll woo my cousin, come what will on 't. Yes:

[Begins reading again, throws down the book. Hang Ovid's Art of Love! I'll woo my cousin!

Enter HELEN.

Helen. Why, cousin Modus? What, will you stand by And see me forced to marry? Cousin Modus?

Have you not got a tongue?

Have you not eyes?

Do you not see I'm very-very ill,
And not a chair in all the corridor?
Mod. I'll find one in the study.
Helen. Hang the study!

Mod. My room's at hand. I'll fetch one thence.
Helen. You shan't!

I'd faint ere you came back!

Mod. What shall I do?

Helen. Why don't you offer to support me? Well?

Give me your arm-be quick!

Is that the way

To help a lady when she's like to faint?
I'll drop unless you catch me !

That will do.

[MODUS offers his arm.

[MODUS supports her.

I'm better now- [MODUS offers to leave her] don't leave me!

Is one well

Because one's better? Hold my hand. Keep so.

I'll soon recover, so you move not. Loves he [Aside.
Which I'll be sworn he does, he'll own it now.

Well, cousin Modus ?

Mod. Well, sweet cousin!

Helen. Well?

You heard what Master Walter said?

Mod. I did.

Helen. And would you have me marry? Can't you speak? Say yes, or no.

Mod. No, cousin!

Helen. Bravely said!

And why, my gallant cousin?

Mod. Why?

Helen. Ay, why?

Women, you know, are fond of reasons- Why
Would you not have me marry ? How you blush!
Is it because you do not know the reason?
You mind me of a story of a cousin

Who once her cousin such a question ask'd—
He had not been to college, though-for books,
Had pass'd his time in reading ladies' eyes,
Which he could construe marvellously well,
Though writ in language all symbolical.
Thus stood they once together, on a day-
As we stand now-discours'd as we discourse,—
But with this difference,-fifty gentle words
He spoke to her, for one she spoke to him!-
What a dear cousin! Well, as I was saying,
As now I question'd thee, she question'd him.
And what was his reply? To think of it
Sets my heart beating-T was so kind a one!
So like a cousin's answer-a dear cousin!

A gentle, honest, gallant, loving cousin!
What did he say ?—A man might find it out
Though never read he Ovid's Art of Love-
What did he say? He'd marry her himself!
How stupid are you, cousin! Let me go!
Mod. You are not well yet?

Helen. Yes.

Mod. I'm sure you're not!
Helen. I'm sure I am.

Mod. Nay, let me hold you, cousin !
I like it.

Helen. Do you? I would wager you You could not tell me why you like it.

Well?

You see how true I know you! How you stare!
What see you in my face to wonder at?
Mod. A pair of eyes!

Helen. At last he'll find his tongue

And saw you ne'er a pair of eyes before?
Mod. Not such a pair.

Helen. And why?

Mod. They are so bright!

You have a Grecian nose.

Helen. Indeed.

Mod. Indeed!

Helen. What kind of mouth have I?

Mod. A handsome one.

I never saw so sweet a pair of lips!

I ne'er saw lips at all till now, dear cousin!

[Aside.

Helen. Cousin, I'm well,-You need not hold me now. Do you not hear? I tell you I am well!

I need your arm no longer-take 't away!

So tight it locks me, 't is with pain I breathe!

Let me go, cousin! Wherefore do you hold

Your face so close to mine? What do you mean?

Mod. You've question'd me, and now I'll question you. Helen. What would you learn?

Mod. The use of lips.

Helen. To speak.

Mod. Nought else?

Helen. How bold my modest cousin grows!

Why, other use know you?

Mod. I do!

Helen. Indeed!

You're wondrous wise! And pray what is it?

Mod. This!

[Attempts to kiss her. Helen. Soft! my hand thanks you, cousin--for my lips I keep them for a husband!—Nay, stand off!

I'll not be held in manacles again!

Why do

you follow me?

Mod. I love you, cousin.

'T is out at last.

Helen. You love me!

O cousin, mean you so?

Love me, cousin!

That's passing strange!

Falls out most crossly-is a dire mishap-
A thing to sigh for, weep for, languish for,

And die for!

Mod. Die for!

Helen. Yes, with laughter, cousin,

For, cousin, I love you!

Mod. And you'll be mine?

Helen. I will.

Mod. Your hand upon it.

Helen. Hand and heart.

Hie to thy dressing-room, and I'll to mine-
Attire thee for the altar-so will I.

Whoe'er may claim me, thou'rt the man shall have me.
Away! Despatch! But hark you, ere you go,

Ne'er brag of reading Ovid's Art of Love!

Mod. And cousin! stop-One little word with you.

[Aside.

[She returns-he snatches a kiss.

The Rivals.

LYDIA LANGUISH.-From ACT I., SCENE I.

Enter MRS. MALAPROP and SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUte. Mrs. Mal. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling.

Lyd. Madam, I thought you once

Mrs. Mal. You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all-thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow-to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory.

Lyd. Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget.

Mrs. Mal. But I say it is, miss; there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he had never existed—and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman.

Sir Anth. Why sure she won't pretend to remember what she's ordered not!-ay, this comes of her reading!

Lyd. What crime, madam, have I committed to be treated thus?

Mrs. Mal. Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it.— But tell me, will you promise to do as you're bid? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing?

Lyd. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion.

Mrs. Mal. What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion? They don't become a young woman; and you ought to know, that as both always wear off, 'tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before marriage as if he'd been a blackamoor—and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife I made!—and when it pleased Heaven to release me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed!-But suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley?

Lyd. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words.

Mrs. Mal. Take yourself to your room.-You are fit company for nothing but your own ill-humours.

Lyd. Willingly, ma'am-I cannot change for the worse.

[Exit.