Act 2 — Scene IV.

Lacy:

[As Shakespeare passes.] Ho, Ho! Master Shakespeare doth fly from yon miracle of Nature, as from a dire portent. Methought her most brave strain of wit, and peremptory grace, would have charmed your nice fastidity.

Shakespeare:

One may admire stars, my lord, at a distance.

Lacy:

Do we adorate because of the distance? Ha! Ha! [Bows with gesture. Shakespeare bows and goes out. Lacy turns to Miss Fitton.] So the Queen of gipsies has enslaved the player-poet, and violet eyes will lose their blue with weeping.

78Miss Fitton:

Violet eyes?

Lacy:

Violet eyes and honey-coloured hair—a nymph of the morning!

Miss Fitton:

Whom are you talking about?

Lacy:

Is it a secret? The dark lady, then, has her rival in the fair maid, and courage and wit on the one side contend with downcast eyes and shrinking modesty on the other.

Miss Fitton:

Do you jest, or am I to believe you? Who is she—a lady?

Lacy:

Her name—Violet. Her rank—youth and beauty. I know no more; put the culprit to the question.

Miss Fitton:

Where did you see them?—When?

Lacy:

At the playhouse, one afternoon.

79Miss Fitton:

Ha, ha! Now, if I had believed a man’s oaths how I should hate myself. But, thank Heaven! I was not befooled by his vows and protestations. The player may go to his trull, some orange-girl, I suppose, and brag; but, thank God! I am not his dupe. Violet, indeed! [Laughs.]

Lacy:

Do not be hasty-rash: I know nothing; she may be but his friend and genteelly propagated: I only saw them together once.

Miss Fitton:

You would have me a credulous fool: a laughing-stock for the player and his patch. No, no! I am schooled in time. Who stoops, suffers: the man who would win me, must have no Violet.

Lacy:

It is nobler to trust too much than too little.

Miss Fitton:

I do wrong to be angry. Let us join the others, my lord, and take my thanks for your warning. [Walking towards the others.] Violet is a pretty name!

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