Do you observe
The hollow in my back? That's natural.
As now I stand, so stood I when a child,
A rosy, chubby boy!--I am youthful to
A miracle! My arm is firm as 'twas
At twenty. Feel it!
True. [Feeling SIR WILLIAM'S arm.] It is deal!
Sir Wil. Oak--oak,
Isn't it, Master Trueworth? Thou hast known me
Ten years and upwards. Thinkest my leg is shrunk?
True. No.
Sir Wil. No! not in the calf?
True. As big a calf
As ever!
Sir Wil. Thank you, thank you--I believe it!
When others waste, 'tis growing-time with me!
I feel it, Master Trueworth! Vigour, sir,
In every joint of me--could run!--could leap!
Why shouldn't I marry? Knife and fork I play
Better than many a boy of twenty-five -
Why shouldn't I marry? If they come to wine,
My brace of bottles can I carry home,
And ne'er a headache. Death! why shouldn't I marry?
True. I see in nature no impediment.
Sir Wil. Impediment? She's all appliances! -
And fortune's with me, too! The Widow Green
Gives hints to me. The pleasant Widow Green
Whose fortieth year, instead of autumn, brings,
A second summer in. Odds bodikins,
How young she looks! What life is in her eyes!
What ease is in her gait!--while, as she walks,
Her waist, still tapering, takes it pliantly!
How lollingly she bears her head withal:
On this side now--now that! When enters she
A drawing-room, what worlds of gracious things
Her curtsey says!--she sinks with such a sway,
Greeting on either hand the company,
Then slowly rises to her state again!
She is the empress of the card-table!
Her hand and arm!--Gods, did you see her deal -
With curved and pliant wrist dispense the pack,
Which, at the touch of her fair fingers fly!
How soft she speaks--how very soft! Her voice
Comes melting from her round and swelling throat,
Reminding you of sweetest, mellowest things -
Plums, peaches, apricots, and nectarines -
Whose bloom is poor to paint her cheeks and lips.
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