_Sir Wil_. Impediment? She's all appliances!-- And fortune's with me, too! The Widow Green Gives hints to me. The pleasant Widow Green Whose fortieth year, instead of autumn, brings, A second summer in. Odds bodikins, How young she looks! What life is in her eyes! What ease is in her gait!--while, as she walks, Her waist, still tapering, takes it pliantly! How lollingly she bears her head withal: On this side now--now that! When enters she A drawing-room, what worlds of gracious things Her curtsey says!--she sinks with such a sway, Greeting on either hand the company, Then slowly rises to her state again! She is the empress of the card-table! Her hand and arm!--Gods, did you see her deal-- With curved and pliant wrist dispense the pack, Which, at the touch of her fair fingers fly! How soft she speaks--how very soft! Her voice Comes melting from her round and swelling throat, Reminding you of sweetest, mellowest things-- Plums, peaches, apricots, and nectarines-- Whose bloom is poor to paint her cheeks and lips. By Jove, I'll marry! _True_. You forget, Sir William, I do not know the lady. _Sir Wil_. Great your loss. By all the gods I'll marry!--but my daughter Must needs be married first. She rules my house; Would rule it still, and will not have me wed. A clever, handsome, darling, forward minx! When I became a widower, the reins Her mother dropped she caught,--a hoyden girl; Nor, since, would e'er give up; howe'er I strove To coax or catch them from her. One way still Or t'other she would keep them--laugh, pout, plead; Now vanquish me with water, now with fire; Would box my face, and, ere I well could ope My mouth to chide her, stop it with a kiss! The monkey! What a plague she's to me! How I love her! how I love the Widow Green! _True_. Then marry her! _Sir Wil_. I tell thee, first of all Must needs my daughter marry. See I not A hope of that; she nought affects the sex: Comes suitor after suitor--all in vain. Fast as they bow she curtsies, and says, "Nay!" Or she, a woman, lacks a woman's heart, Or hath a special taste which none can hit. _True_. Or taste, perhaps, which is already hit. _Sir Wil_. Eh!--how? _True_. Remember you no country friend, Companion of her walks--her squire to church, Her beau whenever she went visiting-- Before she came to town? _Sir Wil_. No! _True_. None?--art sure? No playmate when she was a girl? _Sir Wil_. O! ay! That Master Wildrake, I did pray thee go And wait for at the inn; but had forgotten. Is he come? _True_. And in the house. Some friends that met him, As he alighted, laid strong hands upon Him, And made him stop for dinner. We had else Been earlier with you. _Sir Wil_. Ha! I am glad he is come. _True_. She may be smit with him. _Sir Wil_. As cat with dog! _True_. He heard her voice as we did mount the stairs, And darted straight to join her. _Sir Wil_. You shall see What wondrous calm and harmony take place, When fire meets gunpowder!