In this vile spot; without an education
Suited to her fortunes, and friends unto her rank !

GRIMES.

Sir! she's a jewel, to be worn by one
Whom I have known through many a bitter year.
Then what are friends to her ?

SIR WILLIAM.

And who is he?

GRIMES—(they sit).
You were but now, Sir William, pleased to say,
That
you

had known me more than forty years !
My father was thy proud sire's steward;
And, in our early life, often we shared
One pillow.
As boyhood's day advanced, a line was drawn
O’er which we dared not leap! Clearly you saw it
As the light of morn—this made me feel
I was not such as thou. Sixteen years fled;
Yet still I loved you with an early love.
Our infant days, with all their little joys;
The intertwining of our tiny arms;
Our lightsome laughter, and our merry tears;
Forbad me to forget!
But manhood came! and with it-eye of fire
Which loves to quench itself on beauty's cheek !

siR WILLIAM (rising—Grimes detains him). I'll hear no more!

GRIMES.

Nay, good Sir William, start not thus away!
’T was you that gained the prize for which I ran !
Your heaps of gold-her father's influence !

(Very impassioned.)

SIR WILLIAM.
Peace-peace!

GRIMES (passionately).
Peace, sayest thou? No peace for me!
Oh! she was fair as morn—my best beloved !
You-you married her—by force—you did !
Gold murdered her!

SIR WILLIAM (starting).
Master Grimes !

GRIMES (with trembling, but passioned voice). And yet—although you've been the one sole cause Of all the anguish that has filled my soul I am your friend !—will fill your drainèd purse, Though all your vast estates, and all your wealth, Save Stanton House, have vanished as a dream !

SIR WILLIAM. Most noble ! Most generous !

GRIMES.

For even now you are the very man
Whom for the last ten years I've singled out
As bridegroom for our little lola!
Is this not well ?-

SIR WILLIAM.
I'm all amazement !

GRIMES.

—Though time has furrowed up your cheeks, Frosted your hair, and turned your heart to stone !

SIR WILLIAM. I cannot speak my thanks !

GRIMES.

Now go: prepare your wedding-suit;
Look fresh, and young, and gay, as lovers ought.
You're sure to please, for she has seen no other.

с

SIR WILLIAM. When shall I see my lovely bride?

GRIMES.
To-morrow, at eleven.

SIR WILLIAM.
I will not fail. Farewell, good Master Grimes.

(Exeunt Sir William R., Grimes L. Scene closes.)

SCENE III.- Another room in same house. Iola and Margaret are sitting at a table by a window in flat; the window open, the sea seen through it,

moon rising. A guitar, and work on the table. Discovered.

IOLA.

And so his London house is very fine,
And in the Chepe, you say. Oh, Margaret,
I long to see the Town ! I am so tired
Of looking at that sea (the Wash 't is called):
I would that it would wash our house away !
Well, I must bear it. But hast thou seen the King ?
The Merry Monarch?

MARGARET.

Ay, I believe you, Iola; and such a handsome one !
Oh, oftentimes King Charles does pass the Chepe,
On his white charger mounted, decked with gold
And crimson velvet, and white nodding plumes !
And then he smiles, and kisses his white hand,
And shakes his glossy curls, when some fair dame
Does peep with laughing eyes through lattice' blind!

IOLA.

D'ye think he'd kiss his hand to me?

MARGARET.

Ay, if a wreath of oak-leaves decked your hair.

IOLA.

Well, Margaret, tell me more, sweet nurse.

MARGARET. And then his train; oh, what a goodly show ! Such noble dames ! such gallant cavaliers ! Some with their white plumes dancing in the air, And jewelled mantles hanging on their arms ; Some with bright armour, that, good lack, does shine As 't would put out your eyes! Then ladies fair Come prancing gently on! With lannerets, Swift kestrils, or tiny merlins, on the hand ! Then trains of serving-men and yeomen brave; Greyhounds and lurchers, and all kinds of dogs. Oh, 't is a glorious sight!

IOLA.

Oh, say no more! Why does my father keep
Me here a prisoner ?

MARGARET.

'Tis for thy good, my pretty one !

IOLA.

Alas, that which you deem so good
Is very evil! I am very young !

MARGARET.
And therefore to be watched.

IOLA.

Look at the birds, how they enjoy the sun,
The summer air, the blue and boundless sky!
How they spread open, to the soft, warm breeze,
Their many-tinted plumes! Were I a bird,
I'd fly these garden walls, and leave thee, nurse!

MARGARET.

You must be content, my pretty pet.

IOLA.

Yet never to go out, except to mass ;
And then in such a dress as no young maid

с

Would dream of putting on? Oh, it is very sad
Never to see at any other time
Those good and happy faces which you say
Belong to men, Margaret !

MARGARET.
Did I say so? I'm sure I quite forget!
There is old Tromba, your music-master.

IOLA.
You know I don't like Master Tromba's face.
Oh, Margaret ! last Sunday noon, at mass,
I saw

MARGARET.

What?

IOLA.

His eyes were dark as night, and shone like stars !

MARGARET.

Ay, ay; so once I thought !

IOLA.

His long bright hair—a chesnut golden brown-
Rolled down his face like clouds, Margaret;
Those clouds we often see against the sun !
His face was pale as marble, and as clear.
A velvet mantle hung upon his arm.

MARGARET.
All men are deceivers !

IOLA.

Did they ever deceive you, Margaret ?

MARGARET. Cease thy foolish prattle!

IOLA.

Dear nurse,

As I was gazing on the waves, last eve,
I do declare, I saw him once again !