VIII. THE WEDDING. TRAVELLER. I PRAY you, wherefore are the village bells WOMAN. A wedding, Sir, . . Two of the village folk. And they are right TRAVELLER. An ill-match'd pair, So I conceive you. Youth perhaps and age? WOMAN. No,..both are young enough. TRAVELLER. Perhaps the man then, A lazy idler,.. one who better likes The alehouse than his work? WOMAN. Why, Sir, for that He always was a well-condition'd lad, One who'd work hard and well; and as for drink, Save now and then mayhap at Christmas time, Sober as wife could wish. TRAVELLER. Then is the girl A shrew, or else untidy; . . one to welcome WOMAN. She's notable enough; and as for temper I've heard her singing as she milk'd her cows And was as cheerful too. But she would marry, TRAVELLER. Why Mistress, if they both are well inclined, Why should not both be happy? WOMAN. They've no money. TRAVELLER. But both can work; and sure as cheerfully She'd labour for herself as at the farm. And he wo' n't work the worse because he knows That she will make his fire-side ready for him, And watch for his return. A little while. WOMAN. All very well, TRAVELLER. And what if they are poor? Riches can't always purchase happiness; WOMAN. All this I have heard at church! And when I walk in the church-yard, or have been But when I hear my children cry for hunger, Well will it be for them to know no worse. Than her wedding-peal, Sir, if I thought her fate TRAVELLER. Sure, sure, good woman, You look upon the world with jaundiced eyes! Has his own comforts. WOMAN. Sir d'ye see that horse Turn'd out to common here by the way-side? On his gall❜d shoulder! There's just grass enough You see his comforts, Sir! TRAVELLER. A wretched beast! Hard labour and worse usage he endures From some bad master. But the lot of the poor Is not like his. WOMAN. In truth it is not, Sir! For when the horse lies down at night, no cares He knows no quarter-day, and when he gets Of his half meal! TRAVELLER. 'Tis idleness makes want, And idle habits. If the man will go And spend his evenings by the alehouse fire, WOMAN. Aye! idleness! the rich folks never fail |