Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/32

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THE MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
To curb the torrent of maternal fondness!
You shall be beggar'd, that the saint your mother
May, by cowl'd sycophants and canting juglers,
Be hail'd, be canoniz'd a new Teresa.
Pray be not seen here: let's again to th' wars.

EDMUND.
No, Florian; my dull'd soul is sick of riot:
Sick of the thoughtless jollity of camps,
Where revelry subsists on desolation,
And shouts of joy contend with dying groans.
Our sports are fleeting; snatch'd, perhaps, not granted.
'Tis time to bid adieu to vagrant pleasure,
And fix the wanderer love. Domestic bliss—

FLORIAN.
Yes, your fair pensioner, young Adeliza,
Has sober'd your inconstancy. Her smiles
Were exquisite—to rule a family! [Ironically.

So matron-like an air—She must be fruitful.

EDMUND.
Pass we this levity—'Tis true, the maiden
Is beauty's type renew'd. Like blooming Eve
In nature's young simplicity, and blushing
With wonder at creation's opening glow,
She charms, unknowing what it is to charm.

FLORIAN.
This is a lover's language—Is she kind?

EDMUND.
Cold as the metal bars that part her from me;
She listens, but replies not to my purpose.

FLORIAN.
How gain'd you then admittance?

EDMUND.
How gain'd you then admittanceThis whole month,

While

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