But would he stop his carriage in Cheapside To shake a common fellow by the fist Whose name was ... Shakspeare? no. We draw a line, And if we stand not by our order, we In England, we fall headlong. Here’s a sight,— A hideous sight, a most indecent sight! My wife would come, sir, or I had kept her back. By heaven, sir, when poor Damiens’ trunk and limbs Were torn by horses, women of the court Stood by and stared, exactly as to-day On this dismembering of society, With pretty troubled faces.’ ‘Now, at last. She comes now.’ ‘Where? who sees? you push me, sir, Beyond the point of what is mannerly. You’re standing, madam, on my second flounce— I do beseech you.’ ‘No—it’s not the bride. Half-past eleven. How late. The bridegroom, mark, Gets anxious and goes out.’ ‘And as I said ... These Leighs! our best blood running in the rut! It’s something awful. We had pardoned him A simple misalliance, got up aside For a pair of sky-blue eyes; our House of Lords Has winked at such things, and we’ve all been young. But here’s an inter-marriage reasoned out, A contract (carried boldly to the light, To challenge observation, pioneer Good acts by a great example) ’twixt the extremes Of martyrised society,—on the left, The well-born,—on the right, the merest mob, To treat as equals!—’tis anarchical! It means more than it says—’tis damnable! Why, sir, we can’t have even our coffee good, Unless we strain it.’ ‘Here, Miss Leigh!’ ‘Lord Howe, You’re Romney’s friend. What’s all this waiting for?’ ‘I cannot tell. The bride has lost her head (And way, perhaps!) to prove her sympathy With the bridegroom.’ ‘What,—you also, disapprove!’