The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 1 (of 8)Wordsworth, William
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The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 1 (of 8)
Wordsworth, William
English poetry -- 18th century; English poetry -- 19th century
OSWALD Heaven forbid!--
There was a circumstance, trifling indeed--
It struck me at the time--yet I believe
I never should have thought of it again
But for the scene which we by chance have witnessed.
MARMADUKE What is your meaning?
OSWALD Two days gone I saw,
Though at a distance and he was disguised,
Hovering round Herbert's door, a man whose figure
Resembled much that cold voluptuary,
The villain, Clifford. He hates you, and he knows
Where he can stab you deepest.
MARMADUKE Clifford never
Would stoop to skulk about a Cottage door--
It could not be.
OSWALD And yet I now remember,
That, when your praise was warm upon my tongue,
And the blind Man was told how you had rescued
A maiden from the ruffian violence
Of this same Clifford, he became impatient
And would not hear me.
MARMADUKE No--it cannot be--
I dare not trust myself with such a thought--
Yet whence this strange aversion? You are a man
Not used to rash conjectures--
OSWALD If you deem it
A thing worth further notice, we must act
With caution, sift the matter artfully.
[Exeunt MARMADUKE and OSWALD.]
SCENE--The door of the Hostel
HERBERT, IDONEA, and Host
HERBERT (seated)
As I am dear to you, remember, Child!
This last request.
IDONEA You know me, Sire; farewell!
HERBERT And are you going then? Come, come, Idonea,
We must not part,--I have measured many a league
When these old limbs had need of rest,--and now
I will not play the sluggard.
IDONEA Nay, sit down.
[Turning to Host.
Good Host, such tendance as you would expect
From your own Children, if yourself were sick,
Let this old Man find at your hands; poor Leader,
[_Looking at the dog_.
We soon shall meet again. If thou neglect
This charge of thine, then ill befall thee!--Look,
The little fool is loth to stay behind.
Sir Host! by all the love you bear to courtesy,
Take care of him, and feed the truant well.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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