child, wouldst throw thyself away
Upon some beggar? were he here, perchance
Thy cousin Arthur? Come, our lands unite,
Be prudent--

_Flor._ Prudent!
Oh, there is no match
Half so imprudent, as when interest
Makes two, in heart divided, one--no work
So vain, so mean, so heartless, dull and void,
As that of him who buys the hollow "yes"
From the pale lips where Love sits not enthron'd,
Nor fans with purple wing the bosom's fire.
Prudence! to waste a life, lose self-respect,
Or e'en the chance of love bestowed and met?--

_Basil._ Sweet cousin, wilt not love me?

_Flor._ No! nor wish
To hate thee, could I help it--therefore, go!

_Basil._ Well then I must-- [_Seizes her hand._]

_Flor._ For pity's sake; if not
I'll fly thee and my home.

_Basil._ Ha! leave your father,
Desert the old man in his hour of need?
Fine ethics, truly. [_Advances._]

_Flor._ Heaven! Leave me, sir--
There something tells me Arthur will return,
Whom you have cozen'd of his heritage,
And then he'll aid me.

_Basil._ [_Aside._] Hath she seen him then,
Or heard? I must beware--

[_A Servant enters and beckons him out, L._]

Nay! none can know.
[_Aside._] Doubtless a message from him--I must see
That they meet not, or else--
[_Aloud._] Adieu! fair cousin;
I trust you'll find your senses yet ere long.

[_Exit BASIL, L._]

_Flor._ Once more he's gone--O world! indeed thou art
Too oft the bad man's friend.

_Sir Sim._ [_Within._] Ho! nephew Basil,
Ho! Basil!

[_Enter SIR SIMON, R._]
Where's my nephew? [_To Florence._]

_Flor._ He has left
This moment, sir!
O listen, he is rude.
I cannot wed him,--Father! make me not
Unhappy--

_Sir Sim._ Nay! Thou know'st, indeed, my child,
How I do love thee. 'Tis a good young man,
And wealthy--no fool, like his brother. Fool,
Said I?--a madman, ape, dolt, idiot, ass,
An honourable ass to give the land
His weak sire left him, to our Basil--Ha!
_He'll_ give none back, I think !--no! no!
Come, girl!
Wouldst thou be foolish, too? I would not marry
For money only, understand--no! no!
That I abhor, detest, but in my life
I never saw a sweeter, properer youth.
You like him not? Tush! marriage doth bring liking.
Ay! love too--you are young!

_Flor._ But, I've enough--
Why wed at all?

_Sir Sim._ Girl! girl! I say, would'st drive
Thy father mad! A very handsome man,
A healthy fine young man--lands joining too!
Nay! I could curse you, wench! Not have hi