WHY JESUS WEPT
MOLLY.
O sir!
GLENSTRAE.
Tam the Marquis of Glenstrae, my pretty
wench. If my name and fortune can serve
you—there, there! I never could bear to
see a pretty lass cry.
MOLLY.
O my lord! JI am the most unhappy girl
A the world.
GLENSTRAF.
Vell me about it—there, there, don’t cry!
MOoLLy.
*Y was but yestreen s’ennight.
GLENSTRAE.
A green wound is easiest cured.
MOLLy.
My lord, yestreen s‘ennight I was wooed
and won, and ere the moonrise he deserted
me.
GLENSTRAE.
Dear, dear! That’s bad, bad, bad,
There, there, no doubt we shall be able to
do something.
MOLLY.
My father thinks it is worse—oh, far
worse! Iam to go away into service—oh !
oh!
GLENSTRAE.
and so you shall, my dear, so you shall.
Come and live with my wife as her com-
panion, and we will try and find your lover
for you. No doubt the arts of this—er—
designing female will soon lose their power
—there, there, no thanks, I beg! I never
could bear to see a pretty wench cry—there,
there !
AIOLLY.
O sir, my lord, how can I thank you?
GLENSTRAE.
Come in, my dear, and let us see your
father about it... . Can you spare an old
man a kiss?
MOLLY.
O my lord!
GLENSTRAE (4issing her).
There, there! Where is your father? -
[ Zhey go tn.
SCENE X.
Farts. Night. SiR PERCY azd ANGELA
on bed, the latter asleep.
SiR PERCY.
O Rose of dawn! O star of evening!
O glory ofthe soul oflight!
Let my bright spirit speed on urgent wing !
Let me be silent, and my silence sing
Throughout the idle, the luxurious night !
[Tow soft she breathes! Elow tender
Her eyes beam down on me! How slender
[fer pale, her golden body lies!
Even asleep the dark long lashes move,
And the eyes see. She dreams of me, of love,
Of all these bridal ecstasies
That have been ours this month, this month
of joy.
I am a foolish boy ;
Did not the golden starred Ambassador
Come like a father to me and implore
I would look straight on truth?
‘“ This is no love-sick youth !”
He cried, ‘she is nigh sixty years of age;
Her lovers are a mangied multitude ;
You are one duckling of an infinite brood
This vixen hath up-gobbled!”” Am I mage?
Ay, for I grant the aged diplomat
His truth—the truth for him! To me she is
The rosy incarnation of a kiss,
The royal rapture of a young delight,
The mazy music of virginity,
Sun of the day, moon of the night,
All, all to me!
Angela, angel! Thou hast made me map,