That perverse, imperturbable, golden-hair'd elf--
Your Will-o'-the-wisp--that has led you and me Such a dance through these hills--
ALFRED.
Who, Matilda?
JOHN.
Yes! she, Of course! who but she could contrive so to keep One's eyes, and one's feet too, from falling asleep For even one half-hour of the long twenty-four?
ALFRED.
What's the matter?
JOHN.
Why, she is--a matter, the more I consider about it, the more it demands An attention it does not deserve; and expands Beyond the dimensions which ev'n crinoline, When possess'd by a fair face, and saucy Eighteen, Is entitled to take in this very small star, Already too crowded, as I think, by far.
You read Malthus and Sadler?
ALFRED.
Of course.
JOHN.
To what use, When you countenance, calmly, such monstrous abuse Of one mere human creature's legitimate space In this world? Mars, Apollo, Virorum! the case Wholly passes my patience.
ALFRED.
My own is worse tried.
JOHN.
Yours, Alfred?
ALFRED.
Read this, if you doubt, and decide, JOHN (reading the letter).
"I hear from Bigorre you are there. I am told You are going to marry Miss Darcy. Of old--"
What is this?
ALFRED.
Read it on to the end, and you'll know.
JOHN (continues reading).
"When we parted, your last words recorded a vow--
What you will" . . .
Hang it! this smells all over, I swear, Of adventurers and violets. Was it your hair You promised a lock of?
ALFRED.
Read on. You'll discern.
JOHN (continues).
"Those letters I ask you, my lord, to return." . . .
Humph! . . . Letters! . . . the matter is worse than I guess'd;
I have my misgivings--
ALFRED.
Well, read out the rest, And advise.
JOHN.
Eh? . . . Where was I?
(continues.)
"Miss Darcy, perchance, Will forego one brief page from the summer romance Of her courtship." . . .
Egad! a romance, for my part, I'd forego every page of, and not break my heart!
ALFRED.
Continue.