Lydia. Nay! -

W. Green. Girl, but I tell thee "yea." That gown of thine -
And thou art slender--would have hung about me!
There's something of me now! good sooth, enough!
Lydia, I'm quite contented with myself;
I'm just the thing, methinks, a widow should be.
So, Master Waller, you believe, affects me?
But, Lydia, not enough to hook the fish;
To prove the angler's skill, it must be caught;
And lovers, Lydia, like the angler's prey -
Which, when he draws it near the landing-place,
Takes warning and runs out the slender line,
And with a spring perchance jerks off the hold
When we do fish for them, and hook, and think
They are all but in the creel, will make the dart
That sets them free to roam the flood again!

Lydia. Is't so?

W. Green. Thou'lt find it so, or better luck
Than many another maid! Now mark me, Lydia:
Sir William Fondlove fancies me. 'Tis well!
I do not fancy him! What should I do
With an old man?--Attend upon the gout,
Or the rheumatics! Wrap me in the cloud
Of a darkened chamber--'stead of shining out,
The sun of balls, and routs, and gala-days!
But he affects me, Lydia; so he may!