e_. Come! your defence?
Why show you ruth where there's least argument,
Deny it where there's most? You will not plead?
Oh, Master Waller, where we use to hunt
We think the sport no crime!

_Hum_. I give you joy,
You prosper in your chase.

_Wal_. Not so! The maid
In simple honesty I must pronounce
A miracle of virtue, well as beauty.

_Nev_. And well do I believe you, Master Waller;
Those know I who have ventured gift and promise
But for a minute of her ear--the boon
Of a poor dozen words spoke through a chink--
And come off bootless, save the haughty scorn
That cast their bounties back to them again.

_True_. That warrants her what Master Waller speaks her.
Is she so very fair?

_Nev_. Yes, Master Trueworth;
And I believe indeed an honest maid:
But Love's the coin to market with for love,
And that knows Master Waller. On pretence
Of sneaking kindness for gay Widow Green,
He visits her, for sake of her fair maid!
To whom a glance or word avails to hint
His proper errand; and--as glimpses only
Do only serve to whet the wish to see--
Awakens interest to hear the tale
So stintingly that's told. I know his practice--
Luck to you, Master Waller! If you win,
You merit it, who take the way to win!

_Wal_. Good Master Neville!

_True_. I should laugh to see
The poacher snared!--the maid, for mistress sought,
Turn out a wife.

_Nev_. How say you, Master Waller?
Things quite as strange have fallen!

Wed. Impossible!

_True_. Impossible! Most possible of things--
If thou'rt in love! Where merit lies itself,
What matters it to want the name, which weighed,
Is not the worth of so much breath as it takes
To utter it! If, but from Nature's hand,
She is all you could expect of gentle blood,
Face, form, mien, speech; with these, what to belong
To lady more behoves--thoughts delicate,
Affections generous, and modesty--
Perfectionating, brightening crown of all!--
If she hath these--true titles to thy heart--
What does she lack that's title to thy hand?
The name of lady, which is none of these,
But may belong without? Thou mightst do worse
Than marry her. Thou wouldst, undoing her,
Yea, by my mother's name, a shameful act
Most shamefully performed!

_Wal_. [Starting up and drawing.] Sir!

_Nev_. [And the others, interposing.] Gentlemen!

_True_. All's right! Sit down!--I will not draw again.
A word with you: If--as a man--thou sayest,
Upon thy honour, I have spoken wrong,
I'l