_Arth._ That sign! 'twas once the royal head of James; Some thirsty limner passing made it Charles; I've heard it said 'twas e'en our good Queen Bess, By curious folk that trac'd her high starch'd ruff In the quaint faded back of antique chair, Her stomacher in Charles's shrivell'd vest-- Who in his turn is gone. Well, take this letter, See the old knight; but not a word to him. Stay, I forgot, my little rosy cousin Should be a woman now; thus--full of wiles, Glancing behind the man that trusts her love To his best friend, and wanton with the girls She troops with, in such trifling, foolish sort, To turn the stomach of initiate man. Fie! I care not to hear of her; yet ask If she be well. Commend me to my brother; Thou wilt not tarry--he will give thee gold, And haste to welcome me--go! At the inn We'll meet some two hours hence. [_Exit R._] _Will._ Hem! I doubt much About this welcoming.--Sad human Nature! This brother was a careful, godly youth That kept accounts, and smiling pass'd a beggar, Saying, "Good-morrow, friend," yet never gave. Where head doth early ripen, heart comes late-- Therefore, I say, I doubt this welcoming. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. [_Last Cut._] [_2nd Grooves._] _An Apartment in a Manor House._ _Enter BASIL WALTON and FLORENCE, R._ _Basil._ [_following Florence._] I'll break thy haughty spirit! _Flor._ Will you, sir?-- 'Tis base, ungentle, and unmannerly, Because, forsooth, you covet my poor wealth, Which likes me not, as I care not for it, To persecute a helpless girl like me. _Basil._ I will protect thee; but accept my love. Nay, do not frown so. _Flor._ Love! say'st thou? Profane, Vile misuse of that sacred word. Away! Touch not my hand with your cold fingers--Off! _Basil._ Thou foolish child, wouldst throw thyself away Upon some beggar? were he here, perchance Thy cousin Arthur? Come, our lands unite, Be prudent-- _Flor._ Prudent! Oh, there is no match Half so imprudent, as when interest Makes two, in heart divided, one--no work So vain, so mean, so heartless, dull and void, As that of him who buys the hollow "yes" From the pale lips where Love sits not enthron'd, Nor fans with purple wing the bosom's fire. Prudence! to waste a life, lose self-respect, Or e'en the chance of love bestowed and met?-- _Basil._ Sweet cousin, wilt not love me? _Flor._ No! nor wish To hate thee, could I help it--therefore, go! _Basil._ Well then I must-- [_Seizes her hand._] _Flor._ For pity's sake; if not I'll fly thee and my home. _Basil._ Ha! leave your father, Desert the old man in his hour of need? Fine ethics, truly. [_Advances._] _Flor._ Heaven! Leave me, sir-- There something tells me Arthur will return, Whom you have cozen'd of his heritage, And then he'll aid me. _Basil._ [_Aside._] Hath she seen him then, Or heard? I must beware-- [_A Servant enters and beckons him out, L._]