Mrs. Frampton. What did the calif to the offending boy That had so grossly err'd?
His sceptred hand
He forth in token of forgiveness stretch'd,
And clapp'd his cheeks, and courted him with gifts,
And he became once more his favourite page.
Mrs. Frampton. But for that other-
Selby.
He dismiss'd him straight,
From dreams of grandeur and of calif's love,
To the bare cottage on the withering moor,
Where friends turn'd fiends, and hollow confidants
And widows hide, who in a husband's ear
Pour baneful truths, but tell not all the truth;
And told him not that Robin Halford died
Some moons before his marriage-bells were rung.
Too near dishonour hast thou trod, dear wife,
And on a dangerous cast our fates were set;
But Heaven, that will'd our wedlock to be bless'd,
Hath interposed to save it gracious too.
Your penance is to dress your cheek in smiles,
And to be once again my merry Kate.
Your wager won makes me a happy man,
Though poorer, Heav'n knows, by a thousand pounds-
The sky clears up after a dubious day.
Widow, your hand. I read a penitence
In this dejected brow; and in this shame
Your fault is buried. You shall in with us,
And, if it please you, taste our nuptial fare:
For, till this moment, I can joyful say,
Was never truly Selby's Wedding Day.