You're a mine of happy spirits!
Some women talk of such and such a style
Of features in a man. Give me good humour;
That lights the homeliest visage up with beauty,
And makes the face, where beauty is already,
Quite irresistible!
Sir Wil. That's hitting hard. [Aside.]
Dear Widow Green, don't say so! On my life
You flatter me. You almost make me blush.
W. Green. I durst not turn to Master Waller now,
Nor need I. I can fancy how he looks!
I warrant me he scowls on poor Sir William,
As he could eat him up. I must improve
His discontent, and so make sure of him.--[Aside.]
I flatter you, Sir William! O, you men!
You men, that talk so meek, and all the while
Do know so well your power! Who would think
You had a marriageable daughter! You
Did marry very young.
Sir Wil. A boy!--a boy!
Who knew not his own mind.
W. Green. Your daughter's twenty.
Come, you at least were twenty when you married;
That makes you forty.
Sir Wil. O dear! Widow Green.
W. Green. Not forty?
Sir Wil. You do quite embarrass me!
I own I have the feelings of a boy,
The freshness and the glow of spring-time, yet, -
The relish yet for my young schooldays' sports;
Could whip a top--could shoot at taw--could play
At prison-bars and leapfrog--so I might -
Not with a limb, perhaps, as supple, but
With quite as supple will.
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