Collected Works (Vol. III)

WHY JESUS WEPT MOLLY. O sir! GLENSTRAE. Tam the Marquis of Glenstrae, my pretty wench. If my name and fortune can serve you—there, there! I never could bear to see a pretty lass cry. MOLLY. O my lord! JI am the most unhappy girl A the world. GLENSTRAF. Vell me about it—there, there, don’t cry! MOoLLy. *Y was but yestreen s’ennight. GLENSTRAE. A green wound is easiest cured. MOLLy. My lord, yestreen s‘ennight I was wooed and won, and ere the moonrise he deserted me. GLENSTRAE. Dear, dear! That’s bad, bad, bad, There, there, no doubt we shall be able to do something. MOLLY. My father thinks it is worse—oh, far worse! Iam to go away into service—oh ! oh! GLENSTRAE. and so you shall, my dear, so you shall. Come and live with my wife as her com- panion, and we will try and find your lover for you. No doubt the arts of this—er— designing female will soon lose their power —there, there, no thanks, I beg! I never could bear to see a pretty wench cry—there, there ! AIOLLY. O sir, my lord, how can I thank you? GLENSTRAE. Come in, my dear, and let us see your father about it... . Can you spare an old man a kiss? MOLLY. O my lord! GLENSTRAE (4issing her). There, there! Where is your father? - [ Zhey go tn. SCENE X. Farts. Night. SiR PERCY azd ANGELA on bed, the latter asleep. SiR PERCY. O Rose of dawn! O star of evening! O glory ofthe soul oflight! Let my bright spirit speed on urgent wing ! Let me be silent, and my silence sing Throughout the idle, the luxurious night ! [Tow soft she breathes! Elow tender Her eyes beam down on me! How slender [fer pale, her golden body lies! Even asleep the dark long lashes move, And the eyes see. She dreams of me, of love, Of all these bridal ecstasies That have been ours this month, this month of joy. I am a foolish boy ; Did not the golden starred Ambassador Come like a father to me and implore I would look straight on truth? ‘“ This is no love-sick youth !” He cried, ‘she is nigh sixty years of age; Her lovers are a mangied multitude ; You are one duckling of an infinite brood This vixen hath up-gobbled!”” Am I mage? Ay, for I grant the aged diplomat His truth—the truth for him! To me she is The rosy incarnation of a kiss, The royal rapture of a young delight, The mazy music of virginity, Sun of the day, moon of the night, All, all to me! Angela, angel! Thou hast made me map,