Whose life is all
A simpering pretence of modesty?
A simpering pretence of modesty?
Lascelles Abercrombie - Emblems of Love
There are hours
A god might gladly take in these basking dunes,--
Nothing but summer and piping larks, and air
All a warm breath of honey, and a grass
All flowers--sweet thyme and golden heart's-ease here!
And under scent and song of flowers and birds,
Far inland out of the golden bays the air
Is charged with briny savour, and whispered news
Gentle as whitening oats the breezes stroke.
What good is all this health to you? You bring
Your own thoughts with you; and they are vinegar,
Endlessly rusting what should be clear steel.
_Francis_.
I do begin to doubt our enterprise,
The grand Escape from Woman. It lookt brave
And nobly hazardous afar off, to cease
All wenching, whether in deed or word or thought.
And yet I fear pride egged us. We had done
Better to be more humble, and bring here
A girl apiece.
_Valentine_.
Yes, Sylvan; you must think
The cloister were a thing more comfortable
With your Katrina in it?
_Sylvan_.
My Katrina!
And do you think, supposing I would love,
I'ld bank in such a crazy safe as that
Katrina? One of those soft shy-spoken maids,
Who are only maids through fear?
Whose life is all
A simpering pretence of modesty?
If it was love I wanted, 'twould not be
A dish of sweet stewed pears, laced with brandy.
But I can do without a woman's kisses.
_Valentine_.
Can you? --You know full well, in the truth of your heart,
That there's no man in all the world of men
Whose will woman's beauty cannot divide
Easily as a sword cuts jetting water.
_Sylvan_.
Have you not heard, that even jetting water
May have such spouting force, that it becomes
A rod of glittering white iron, and swords
Will beat rebounding on its speed in vain? --
Of such a force I mean to have my will.
[_He sits and stares moodily out to sea. His companions
whisper each other_.
_Valentine_.
Here, Francis! Look you yonder. O but this,
This is the joke of the world!
_Francis_.
A god might gladly take in these basking dunes,--
Nothing but summer and piping larks, and air
All a warm breath of honey, and a grass
All flowers--sweet thyme and golden heart's-ease here!
And under scent and song of flowers and birds,
Far inland out of the golden bays the air
Is charged with briny savour, and whispered news
Gentle as whitening oats the breezes stroke.
What good is all this health to you? You bring
Your own thoughts with you; and they are vinegar,
Endlessly rusting what should be clear steel.
_Francis_.
I do begin to doubt our enterprise,
The grand Escape from Woman. It lookt brave
And nobly hazardous afar off, to cease
All wenching, whether in deed or word or thought.
And yet I fear pride egged us. We had done
Better to be more humble, and bring here
A girl apiece.
_Valentine_.
Yes, Sylvan; you must think
The cloister were a thing more comfortable
With your Katrina in it?
_Sylvan_.
My Katrina!
And do you think, supposing I would love,
I'ld bank in such a crazy safe as that
Katrina? One of those soft shy-spoken maids,
Who are only maids through fear?
Whose life is all
A simpering pretence of modesty?
If it was love I wanted, 'twould not be
A dish of sweet stewed pears, laced with brandy.
But I can do without a woman's kisses.
_Valentine_.
Can you? --You know full well, in the truth of your heart,
That there's no man in all the world of men
Whose will woman's beauty cannot divide
Easily as a sword cuts jetting water.
_Sylvan_.
Have you not heard, that even jetting water
May have such spouting force, that it becomes
A rod of glittering white iron, and swords
Will beat rebounding on its speed in vain? --
Of such a force I mean to have my will.
[_He sits and stares moodily out to sea. His companions
whisper each other_.
_Valentine_.
Here, Francis! Look you yonder. O but this,
This is the joke of the world!
_Francis_.
