ch
Wonder doth grow on wonder! What a maid!
No mood but doth become her--yea, adorn her.
She turns unsightly anger into beauty!
Sour scorn grows sweetness, touching her sweet lips!
And indignation, lighting on her brow,
Transforms to brightness as the cloud to gold
That overhangs the sun! I love her! Ay!
And all the throes of serious passion feel
At thought of losing her!--so my light love,
Which but her person did at first affect,
Her soul has metamorphosed--made a thing
Of solid thoughts and wishes--I must have her!

[Enter WIDOW GREEN, unnoticed SIR WALLER, who continues abstracted.]

_W. Green_. What! Master Waller, and contemplative
Presumptive proof of love! Of me he thinks!
Revolves the point "to be or not to be!"
"To be!" by all the triumphs of my sex!
There was a sigh! My life upon't, that sigh,
If construed, would translate "Dear Widow Green!"

_Wal_. Enchanting woman!

_W. Green_. That is I!--most deep
Abstraction, sure concomitant of love.
Now, could I see his busy fancy's painting,
How should I blush to gaze upon myself.

_Wal_. The matchless form of woman! The choice calling
Of the aspiring artist, whose ambition
Robs Nature to outdo her--the perfections
Of her rare various workmanship combines
To aggrandise his art at Nature's cost,
And make a paragon!

_W. Green_. Gods! how he draws me!
Soon as he sees me, at my feet he falls!--
Good Master Waller!

_Wal_. Ha! The Widow Green!

_W. Green_. He is confounded! So am I. O dear!
How catching is emotion. He can't speak!
O beautiful confusion! Amiable
Excess of modesty with passion struggling!
Now comes he to declare himself, but wants
The courage. I must help him.--Master Waller!

[Enter SIR WILLIAM FONDLOVE.]

_Sir Wil_. Dear Widow Green!

_W. Green_. Sir William Fondlove!

_Wal_. Thank
My lucky stars! [Aside.]

_W. Green_. I would he had the gout,
And kept his room! [Aside.]--You're welcome, dear Sir William!
'Tis very, very kind of you to call.
Sir William Fondlove--Master Waller. Pray
Be seated, gentlemen.--He shall requite me
For his untimely visit. Though the nail
Be driven home, it may want clinching yet
To make the hold complete! For that, I'll use him.--[Aside.]
You're looking monstrous well, Sir William! and
No wonder. 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