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　　SCENE.—Mrs. Selby's Chamber.

　　MRS. FRAMPTON, KATHERINE, working.

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　I am thinking, child, how contrary our fates

　　Have traced our lots through life. Another needle,

　　This works untowardly. An heiress born

　　To splendid prospects, at our common school

　　I was as one above you all, not of you;

　　Had my distinct prerogatives; my freedoms,

　　Denied to you. Pray, listen—

　　KATHERINE

　　I must hear

　　What you are pleased to speak!—How my heart sinks here!

　　[Aside.]

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　My chamber to myself, my separate maid,

　　My coach, and so forth.—Not that needle, simple one,

　　With the great staring eye fit for a Cyclops!

　　Mine own are not so blinded with their griefs

　　But I could make a shift to thread a smaller.

　　A cable or a camel might go through this,

　　And never strain for the passage.

　　KATHERINE

　　I will fit you.—

　　Intolerable tyranny! [Aside.]

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　Quick, quick;

　　You were not once so slack.—As I was saying,

　　Not a young thing among ye, but observed me

　　Above the mistress. Who but I was sought to

　　In all your dangers, all your little difficulties,

　　Your girlish scrapes? I was the scape-goat still,

　　To fetch you off; kept all your secrets, some,

　　Perhaps, since then—

　　KATHERINE

　　No more of that, for mercy,

　　If you'd not have me, sinking at your feet,

　　Cleave the cold earth for comfort. [Kneels.]

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　This to me?

　　This posture to your friend had better suited

　　The orphan Katherine in her humble school-days

　　To the then rich heiress, than the wife of Selby,

　　Of wealthy Mr. Selby,

　　To the poor widow Frampton, sunk as she is.

　　Come, come,

　　'Twas something, or 'twas nothing, that I said;

　　I did not mean to fright you, sweetest bed-fellow!

　　You once were so, but Selby now engrosses you.

　　I'll make him give you up a night or so;

　　In faith I will: that we may lie, and talk

　　Old tricks of school-days over.

　　KATHERINE

　　Hear me, madam—

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　Not by that name. Your friend—

　　KATHERINE

　　My truest friend,

　　And saviour of my honour!

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　This sounds better;

　　You still shall find me such.

　　KATHERINE

　　That you have graced

　　Our poor house with your presence hitherto,

　　Has been my greatest comfort, the sole solace

　　Of my forlorn and hardly guess'd estate.

　　You have been pleased

　　To accept some trivial hospitalities,

　　In part of payment of a long arrear

　　I owe to you, no less than for my life.

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　You speak my services too large.

　　KATHERINE

　　Nay, less;

　　For what an abject thing were life to me

　　Without your silence on my dreadful secret!

　　And I would wish the league we have renew'd

　　Might be perpetual—

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　Have a care, fine madam! [Aside.]

　　KATHERINE

　　That one house still might hold us. But my husband

　　Has shown himself of late—

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　How Mistress Selby?

　　KATHERINE

　　Not, not impatient. You misconstrue him.

　　He honours, and he loves, nay, he must love

　　The friend of his wife's youth. But there are moods

　　In which—

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　I understand you;—in which husbands,

　　And wives that love, may wish to be alone,

　　To nurse the tender fits of new-born dalliance,

　　After a five years' wedlock.

　　KATHERINE

　　Was that well

　　Or charitably put? do these pale cheeks

　　Proclaim a wanton blood? this wasting form

　　Seem a fit theatre for Levity

　　To play his love-tricks on; and act such follies,

　　As even in Affection's first bland Moon

　　Have less of grace than pardon in best wedlocks?

　　I was about to say, that there are times,

　　When the most frank and sociable man

　　May surfeit on most loved society,

　　Preferring loneness rather—

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　To my company—

　　KATHERINE

　　Ay, your's, or mine, or any one's. Nay, take

　　Not this unto yourself. Even in the newness

　　Of our first married loves 'twas sometimes so.

　　For solitude, I have heard my Selby say,

　　Is to the mind as rest to the corporal functions;

　　And he would call it oft, the day's soft sleep.

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　What is your drift? and whereto tends this speech,

　　Rhetorically labour'd?

　　KATHERINE

　　That you would

　　Abstain but from our house a month, a week;

　　I make request but for a single day.

　　MRS. FRAMPTON

　　A month, a week, a day! A single hour

　　In every week, and month, and the long year,

　　And all the years to come! My footing here,

　　Slipt once, recovers never. From the state

　　Of gilded roofs, attendance, luxuries,

　　Parks, gardens, sauntering walks, or wholesome rides,

　　To the bare cottage on the withering moor,

　　Where I myself am servant to myself,

　　Or only waited on by blackest thoughts—

　　I sink, if this be so. No; here I sit.

　　KATHERINE

　　Then I am lost for ever!

　　[Sinks at her feet—curtain drops.] The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 4