The very same. And Romeo did not love his Juliet more Than your son loves this charming Isabelle; And she, like Juliet, loves him in return.
Thank Heaven for this! (_Enter_ HENRY BOLTON.) Ah! here he comes! Now, Henry, What says your lady-love? Is she inclined To trust your constancy for one long year?
I cannot wait the term; and I have come To ask your pardon, and retract my word. Isabelle has no home; Professor Olney Is not her father.
Ay, I've heard the story. And you resign her now?
Not while I live! I mean to marry her at once--to-day; Before this only father she has known Is dead:--he will die soon.
Wed her! this unknown! Ah! Henry, this to me! Why, you are mad!
My father, I have told you my resolve; You've heard me own my love for Isabelle; To have your approbation of my choice Would fill my cup of earthly happiness; But I shall marry her e'en though the act Bring banishment from you.
And so I would have done. To gain your favor, I would suffer this Delay and cross of love. But now I feel That duty, honor, manly sentiment Compel me to the side of Isabelle. She is alone; I must and will protect her.
She shall have mine: a name My father has made honorable.
Henry, You have no fortune. How support your wife?
I'll work. I have been flattered for my talents, But never yet have had an aim or motive To test their worth and energy. I'll work. The rich man's son may live in idleness, The great man's son reflects his father's light, And thus their genius and their noblest powers Are often unemployed, obscured, and lost. 'Tis better I should have to make my way; And with my guiding angel, Isabelle, And the example of my noble father, I surely shall succeed.
Give me your hand. You are God's noblest work, an honest man; True to the witness your own spirit bears; And so does every man's, would they but hear And follow as you do--that worth is won, And not inherited. 'Tis circumstance That makes the difference in our mortal lot; And Providence arranges this at will. How kind the lot that gives you Isabelle!
My son! my son! may you be worthy of her, And love her alway. Know she is the one That, in your boyhood, was your "little wife!" The Isabelle De Vere we mourned as dead. You stand amazed; but all shall be explained.