_Riv._ Yes, I fondly thought Not all the tales which malice might devise, Not all the leagues combined hell might form, Could shake her steady soul. _Guild._ What means my son? Where is thy bride? _Riv._ O name her not! _Guild._ Not name her? _Riv._ No; if possible, not think of her; Would I could help it:--Julia! oh, my Julia! Curse my fond tongue! I said I would not name her: I did not think to do it, but my heart Is full of her idea; her lov'd image So fills my soul, it shuts out other thoughts; My lips resolving not to frame the sound, Dwell on her name, and all my talk is Julia! _Guild._ 'Tis as it should be; ere the midnight bell Sound in thy raptur'd ear, this charming Julia Will be thy wife. _Riv._ No. _Guild._ How? _Riv._ She has refus'd. _Guild._ Say'st thou? _Riv._ She has. _Guild._ Why, who would be a father! Who that could guess the wretchedness it brings, But would entreat of Heaven to write him childless! _Riv._ 'Twas but a little hour ago we parted, As happy lovers should; but when again I sought her presence, with impatient haste, Told her the priest, the altar, all was ready; She blush'd, she wept, and vow'd it could not be; That reasons of importance to our peace Forbad the nuptial rites to be perform'd Before to-morrow. _Guild._ She consents to-morrow! She but defers the marriage, not declines it. _Riv._ Mere subterfuge! mere female artifice! What reason should forbid our instant union? Wherefore to-morrow? wherefore not to-night? What difference could a few short hours have made? Or if they could, why not avow the cause? _Guild._ I have grown old in camps, have liv'd in courts; The toils of bright ambition have I known, Woo'd greatness and enjoy'd it, till disgust Follow'd possession; still I fondly look'd Through the false perspective for distant joy; Hop'd for the hour of honourable ease, When, safe from all the storms and wrecks of fate, My shatter'd bark at rest, I might enjoy An old man's blessings, liberty and leisure, Domestic happiness, and smiling peace. The hour of age, indeed, is come! I feel it: Feel it in all its sorrows, pains, and cares; But where, oh, where's th' untasted peace it promis'd? [_Exit_ GUILDFORD.