Most hopeful, John;

MISTRESS BLOUNT.

But not in the shape thou wishest hope to come in,
With sleek comb'd hair and pondrous busy brow,
Scanning a bodkin to resolve him whether
"Tis gold or pinchbeck !—I forgot!-Thy hope
Hath comely apron on !-Now look at mine!
A youth of standard height! proportioned well
In trunk and limb! Of handsome face and bold!
Very! A cap and plume upon his head,
Across his field of breast a scarf and belt,
And in the belt a sword, as fits a man!

Thou knowest not thine own son, husband John!
I lose all patience with thee! Listen now!

Thou hast a son whom fortune meant to climb,
And thou would'st have to creep!-What use is he
In thy shop or workshop where thou cast'st him when
He came from school, as metal that is fused
Into the mould, thinking he'd take what shape
It pleased thee give him? Flesh and blood are not
So passive, John!-How little knowest thou,
Dear John, beyond thy trade! Nine months ago

Lapsed his apprenticeship of seven long years,
And earns he now the keep of journeyman?
No! do I blame him? No!-when thou get'st gold
To do the work of lead I'll blame him, John,

Thou hast him taught

The ways of gentlemen. Contents thee not
He learn our homely measures, he must skip
As courtiers do, so thou provid'st him with
A foreign dancing-master! Not enough
The jockey taught his brother should teach him,
Behoves him have a soldier's seat, and so
Thou get'st a regimental riding-master !

Dick Cottingham -I'd beat Dick Cottingham
At quarter-staff myself!-

A simple notion on't-he practises
Till he can beat his master.

Art not glad

MISTRESS BLOUNT.

Of that?-Art thou not glad on't, husband John?
The day will come, and mind my words it will,
When thou wilt chuckle at it!-chuckle, husband!
Thy boy can beat his master!-who'll beat him?
MASTER BLOUNT.

John is as good a boy!

Who cheapens John?

MISTRESS BLOUNT.

What loss to him his brother gets his due?
He likes the inside of the counter! Well,
He has it! Thomas likes the other side!
And yet thou know'st not John! Tho' he's my son,
He is cunning. 'Tis not natural in one
So young in years to be in acts so old.
The husbandman prefers a backward spring!
The fruit is doubted comes before its time!

Did John observe thee less, 'twould please me more!
What would'st thou say now should I tell thee plain
His fancies look a mile beyond the shop,

In which thou think'st his heart wrapp'd wholly up
'Tis so he'd laugh to throw the apron off
He smiles at putting on!

MASTER BLOUNT.

Thou wrong'st him, wife.

MISTRESS BLOUNT.

Believe so, as thou wilt-let me know Thomas.
He'll ne'er ply craft, but be a gentleman.
That time is come with you, and still you

toil.

The man who has a wife hath counsel, John,

At hand that's ever better than his own!"

Lady Anne describes the young jeweller, and Lady Blanche tells a story :

"A youth misused of fate to set him, where
Behoved his betters rather wait than he!

A lofty forehead, like a marble dome

For princely thoughts to dwell in! Eyes to court
Challenge of war or love, showing themselves
Frankly and boldly at their posts-a nose

Of the fine Grecian with a touch of Rome,

Elegance crown'd with strength; a mouth composed
Of lips were fashion'd after Cupid's bow,
And, like it, made to send his arrow home,
Wing'd with their dulcet twang! Ambitious chin
Dimpled and knobb'd like pattern Antinous !
There is his face, which well his neck and bust
Deserved as for the rest of him, you know
The counter hid him from us.

Counter like,

LADY BLANCHE.

In calculation of the drawback, doubtless,
His head and bust had suffer'd through the fault
Of his mis-shapen legs. I should not wonder
Had he clubb'd feet.

There, Blanche! Just now you could not find the shop!

LADY BLANCHE.

Well! things will jump into one's memory

When least we look for them. Why do you laugh?
Don't laugh, dear Anne, and I will tell you more!

I took the goldsmith to my milliner's

66

Nay!”

One day when he perforce would see me home: A yeoman's daughter could not well, you know, O'errule a goldsmith's son. Well, at the door In vain I dropp'd him court'sy after court'sy, In linsey-woolsey mode! He would not go. "He must have speech with me a minute!" "Indeed, he must." Then said I, " Nay," again. "He must in pity." Still did I say, "Nay." But what's the use of "nay," said fifty times, If "yes" at last will come-and come it did : "He might have speech a minute!" What's a minute? A portion of an hour! A portion gone,

The hour is broken! What's the value of

A broken thing?-as well he have the hour!

The hour he had! The goldsmith's son was smitten;

Love at first sight!-The arrow in the core!

Whereat the maid amused-it may be pleased;

Touch'd, will you have it so.-Well, she was touch'd!
Did after grant the goldsmith divers meetings,
Listening in silence to his rhapsodies

N. S.-VOL. VI.

3 B

In rustic cloak, with hood drawn o'er her head,
Her face but half revealing! Till, at length,
Feeling a something-nothing like a passion !—
Perhaps an interest-yes; like that one watches
The progress of a pleasant story with,
But which indulging is but waste of time;
Having a horror, too, of slavery-

No matter how far out of reach of it;
And, then, besides, admonish'd by my rank;
At last I took the resolution

To drop the masquerade-although, I own,
With some compunction.

Why, was he not a man ! He proved he was!
Made out his right and title. Took his leave
Without good-bye; by word or yet by missive;
Since when I ne'er have met him. "Twas as well,
Although it mortified me!-Nothing more."

Equally fine is Lady Anne's reproof of Sir Philip's foppery :"What shall I call thee now ?

Ware from the milliner's, the tailor's, or
The cordwainer's, or jeweller's, or what?
Thyself is the least part of thee! The man
Is trimmings to the dress.-Thou art a ruff
Of plaits elaborate and infinite;

Thy vest, for curiosity of style,
Armour of diamonds upon velvet plaited,
Were better given a cabinet to keep
As theme for wonderment to after time,
Than left provision for the hungry air
That's sure to eat it up! Thy jerkin runs
Enormous risk from thy ambition! trying
With satin slashes, ribbon-knots, and lace,
How close to woman's gear a man's may come.
And still appear a man's-thy trunks partake
Its divers sins; and for thy hose, who says,
In town or out of town, thou walk'st not in
A shrubbery, why let him own he is blind,
To save his credit for veracity!

Thy very rapier would abjure the man!
Its handle vouches for the laceman more
Than the cutler-nay, nor him beside alone;
'Twas plann'd in concert with a milliner!
Which of the precious metals has the honour
To help it to a blade? It cannot be
A thing so exquisitely delicate
Could pair with homely steel?