Jul. To wait upon myself! Must I bear this? I could tear out my eyes, that bade you woo me, And bite my tongue in two, for saying yes ! Duke. And, if you should, 'twould grow again. I think, to be an honest yeoman's wife (For such, my would-be duchess, you will find me) You were cut out by nature. Jul. You will find, then, That education, sir, has spoilt me for it. Duke. I think 'twill happen, wife. Jul. What! Rub and scrub Your noble palace clean? Duke. Those taper fingers Will do it daintily. Jul. And dress your victuals? (If there be any).-O! I could go mad! Duke. And mend my hose, and darn my nightcaps neatly; Wait, like an echo, till you're spoken to Jul. Or, like a clock, talk only once an hour? Duke. Or, like a dial; for that quietly Performs its work, and never speaks at all. Jul. To feed your poultry and your hogs!-0, monstrous! And, when I stir abroad, on great occasions, Carry a squeaking tithe-pig to the vicar; Or jolt with higgler's wives the market trot, To sell your eggs and butter! Duke. Excellent! How well you sum the duties of a wife! Duke. When they talk of you and me, Ju Shall we? Duke. Wondrous happy! V, you will make au admirable wife! Jul. I'll not bear it! I'll to my father's! Duke. Gently; you forget You are a perfect stranger to the road. Jul. My wrongs will find a way, or make one! Duke. Softly! You stir not hence, except to take the air; And then I'll breathe it with you. Jul. What!-confine me? Duke. "Twould be unsafe to trust you yet abroad. Jul. Am I a truant schoolboy? Duke. Nay, not so; But you must keep your bounds. Jul. And, if I break them, The man that lays his hand upon a woman, Jul. Well, if I may not travel to my father, Duke. You will find them In the next room. A word before you go. Jul. Your fortune! Duke. Peace!-No fooling, idle woman! Beneath the attesting eye of Heaven I've sworn To love, to honor, cherish, and protect you. No human power can part us. What remains, then? And give a keener edge to our hard fate, (Waked from a dream of grandeur, to depend To soothe the taste of fortune's lowliness With sweet consent, and mutual fond endearment? Jul. Why, what a patient worm you take me for! Jul. You shall know me For a right woman, full of her own sex; Who, when she suffers wrong, will speak her anger; By the proud reason of superior man, To be taught patience, when her swelling heart Duke. Why, let the flood rage on! There is no tide in woman's wildest passion But, if she send it !-'Twill divert her spleen, [Exit. Perchance she may have fits!—They are seldom mortal Though I have heard some husbands say, and wisely, Yet there's some virtue in a lock and key. [Locks the door Of storm and sunshine; and, when that is past, She will break glorious as unclouded May; And, where the thorns grew bare, the spreading blossoms Meet with no lagging frost to kill their sweetness. Whilst others, for a month's delirious joy, Buy a dull age of penance, we, more wisely, EXERCISE LXV. The story so charmingly told in the following lines of Tennyson, is said to have had a foundation in the actual history of an old English family. It presents a scene the exact opposite of that in the Exercise preceding; seeing that here an humble, unaspiring spirit is suddenly surprised into social position and circumstances undesired and overpowering. For a Note on Tennyson, see Exercise LVIII. THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. I. In her ear he whispers gayly,- Presses his, without reproof; And they leave her father's roof. TENNESON. "I can make no marriage present; II. They, by parks and lodges going, Hears him lovingly converse, Lay betwixt his home and hers; Parks with oak and chestnut shady, Parks and ordered gardens great; Ancient homes of lord and lady, Built for pleasure and for state. III. All he shows her makes him dearer; Where they twain will spend their days. O, but she will love him truly; He shall have a cheerful home; She will order all things duly, When beneath his roof they come Thus her heart rejoices greatly, |