e affects me, Lydia; so he may!
Now take a lesson from me--Jealousy
Had better go with open, naked breast,
Than pin or button with a gem. Less plague,
The plague-spot; that doth speedy make an end
One way or t'other, girl. Yet, never love
Was warm without a spice of jealousy.
Thy lesson now--Sir William Fondlove's rich,
And riches, though they're paste, yet being many,
The jewel love we often cast away for.
I use him but for Master Waller's sake.
Dost like my policy?

_Lydia_. You will not chide me?

_W. Green_. Nay, Lydia, I do like to hear thy thoughts,
They are such novel things--plants that do thrive
With country air! I marvel still they flower,
And thou so long in town! Speak freely, girl!

_Lydia_. I cannot think love thrives by artifice,
Or can disguise its mood, and show its face.
I would not hide one portion of my heart
Where I did give it and did feel 'twas right,
Nor feign a wish, to mask a wish that was,
Howe'er to keep it. For no cause except
Myself would I be loved. What were't to me,
My lover valued me the more, the more
He saw me comely in another's eyes,
When his alone the vision I would show
Becoming to? I have sought the reason oft,
They paint Love as a child, and still have thought,
It was because true love, like infancy,
Frank, trusting, unobservant of its mood,
Doth show its wish at once, and means no more!

_W. Green_. Thou'lt find out better when thy time doth come.
Now wouldst believe I love not Master Waller?
I never knew what love was, Lydia;
That is, as your romances have it. First,
I married for a fortune. Having that,
And being freed from him that brought it me,
I marry now, to please my vanity,
A man that is the fashion. O the delight
Of a sensation, and yourself the cause!
To note the stir of eyes, and ears, and tongues,
When they do usher Mistress Waller in,
Late Widow Green, her hand upon the arm
Of her young, handsome husband!--How my fan
Will be in requisition--I do feel
My heart begin to flutter now--my blood
To mount into my cheek! My honeymoon
Will be a month of triumphs!--"Mistress Waller!"
That name, for which a score of damsels sigh,
And but the widow had the wit to win!
Why, it will be the talk of east to west,
And north and south!--The children loved the man,
And lost him so--I liked, but there I stopped;
For what is it to love, but mind and heart
And soul upon another to depend?
Depend upon another? Nothing be
But what another wills? G