Sir Wil. Impediment? She's all appliances! -
And fortune's with me, too! The Widow Green
Gives hints to me. The pleasant Widow Green
Whose fortieth year, instead of autumn, brings,
A second summer in. Odds bodikins,
How young she looks! What life is in her eyes!
What ease is in her gait!--while, as she walks,
Her waist, still tapering, takes it pliantly!
How lollingly she bears her head withal:
On this side now--now that! When enters she
A drawing-room, what worlds of gracious things
Her curtsey says!--she sinks with such a sway,
Greeting on either hand the company,
Then slowly rises to her state again!
She is the empress of the card-table!
Her hand and arm!--Gods, did you see her deal -
With curved and pliant wrist dispense the pack,
Which, at the touch of her fair fingers fly!
How soft she speaks--how very soft! Her voice
Comes melting from her round and swelling throat,
Reminding you of sweetest, mellowest things -
Plums, peaches, apricots, and nectarines -
Whose bloom is poor to paint her cheeks and lips.
By Jove, I'll marry!

True. You forget, Sir William,
I do not know the lady.

Sir Wil. Great your loss.
By all the gods I'll marry!--but my daughter