Ah, happy English home I sweet wife! what mad miser-
able Wisp of the Fancy led him away from you, high in
his conceit? Poor wretch 1 that thought to be he of the
hundred hands, and war against the absolute Gods. Joto
whispered a light commission to the Laughing Dame; she
met him; and how did he shake Olympus! with laughter!
Sure it were better to be Orestes, the Furies howling
in his ears, than one called to by a heavenly soul from
whom he is for ever outcast. He has not the obliyicm
of madness. Clothed in the lights of his first passion,
robed in the splendour of. old skies, she meets him
ererywhere; morning, evening, night, she shines above
him; waylays him suddenly in forest depths; drops palpa-
bly on his heart. At moments he forgets; he rushes to
embrace her; calls her his beloved, and lo, her innocent
kiss brings agony of shame to his face.
Daily ihe struggle endured. His father wrote to him,
begging him by tibe love he had for him to return. From
that hour Eichard burnt imread all the letters he received.
He knew too well how easily he could persuade himself:
words from without might tempt him and quite extinguish
the spark of honourable feeling that tortured him, and
that he dung to in desperate self-vindication.
To arrest young gentlemen on the downward slope is
both a dangerous and thankless office. It is, nevertheless,
one that fair women greatly prize, and certain of them
professionally follow. Lady Judith, as far as her sex
would permit, was also of the Titans in their battle
against the absolute Gods; for which purpose, mark you,
she had married a lord incapable in all save his acres.
