Part 5 (1/2)

ROLFE. Good Walter look to the barge, see it be ready By earliest dawn.

WALTER. I shall, sir.

ROLFE. And be careful, This misadventure be not buzz'd abroad, Where 't may breed mutiny and mischief. Say We've left the captain waiting our return, Safe with the other three; meantime, choose out Some certain trusty fellows, who will swear Bravely to find their captain or their death.

WALTER. I'll hasten, sir, about it.

LARRY. Good lieutenant, Shall I along?

ROLFE. In truth, brave Irishman, We cannot have a better. Pretty Alice, Will you again lose Walter for a time?

ALICE. I would I were a man, sir, then, most willingly I'd lose myself to do our captain service.

ROLFE. An Amazon!

WALTER. Oh, 'tis a valiant dove.

LARRY. But come; Heaven and St. Patrick prosper us.

[_Exeunt WALTER, LARRY, ALICE._

ROLFE. Now, my sad friend, cannot e'en this arouse you?

Still bending with the weight of shoulder'd Cupid?

Fie! throw away that bauble, love, my friend: That glist'ning toy of listless laziness, Fit only for green girls and growing boys T' amuse themselves withal. Can an inconstant, A fickle changeling, move a man like Percy?

PERCY. Cold youth, how can you speak of that you feel not?

You never lov'd.

ROLFE. Hum! yes, in mine own way; Marry, 'twas not with sighs and folded arms; For mirth I sought in it, not misery.

Sir, I have ambled through all love's gradations Most jollily, and seriously the whilst.

I have sworn oaths of love on my knee, yet laugh'd not; Complaints and chidings heard, but heeded not; Kiss'd the cheek clear from tear-drops, and yet wept not; Listen'd to vows of truth, which I believed not; And after have been jilted--

PERCY. Well!

ROLFE. And car'd not.

PERCY. Call you this loving?

ROLFE. Aye, and wisely loving.

Not, sir, to have the current of one's blood Froz'n with a frown, and molten with a smile; Make ebb and flood under a lady Luna, Liker the moon in changing than in chasteness.

'Tis not to be a courier, posting up To the seventh heav'n, or down to the gloomy centre, On the fool's errand of a wanton--pshaw!

Women! they're made of whimsies and caprice, So variant and so wild, that, ty'd to a G.o.d, They'd dally with the devil for a change.-- Rather than wed a European dame, I'd take a squaw o' the woods, and get papooses.

PERCY. If Cupid burn thee not for heresy, Love is no longer catholic religion.

ROLFE. An' if he do, I'll die a st.u.r.dy martyr.