That heartfelt love can weather unimpaired Custom, and Poverty, and Age, and Grief. Well, say it be so; possibly you’re right; But see the matter in another light. What _love_ is, no man ever told us—whence It issues, that ecstatic confidence That one life may fulfil itself in two,— To this no mortal ever found the clue. But _marriage_ is a practical concern, As also is betrothal, my good sir— And by experience easily we learn That we are fitted just for _her_, or _her_. But love, you know, goes blindly to its fate, Chooses a woman, not a wife, for mate; And what if now this chosen woman was No wife for you—? FALK [_in suspense_]. Well? GULDSTAD [_shrugging his shoulders_]. Then you’ve lost your cause. To make a happy bridegroom and a bride Demands not love alone, but much beside, Relations one can meet with satisfaction, Ideas that do not wholly disagree. And marriage? Why, it is a very sea Of claims and calls, of taxing and exaction, Whose bearing upon love is very small. Here mild domestic virtues are demanded, A kitchen soul, inventive and neat handed, Making no claims, and executing all;— And much which in a lady’s presence I Can hardly with decorum specify. FALK. And therefore—? GULDSTAD. Hear a golden counsel then. Use your experience; watch your fellow-men, How every loving couple struts and swaggers Like millionaires among a world of beggars. They scamper to the altar, lad and lass, They make a home and, drunk with exultation, Dwell for awhile within its walls of glass. Then comes the day of reckoning;—out, alas, They’re bankrupt, and their house in liquidation! Bankrupt the bloom of youth on woman’s brow, Bankrupt the flower of passion in her breast, Bankrupt the husband’s battle-ardour now, Bankrupt each spark of passion he possessed. Bankrupt the whole estate, below, above,— And yet this broken pair were once confessed A first-class house in all the wares of love! FALK [_vehemently_]. That is a lie! GULDSTAD [_unmoved_].