THE DYNASTS ACT n
Don't cry, my cherished; It is not really amiable of you, Or prudent, my good little Josephine, With so much in the balance.
How—know you— What may not happen! Waifa—little longer!
NAPOLEON (playfully pinching her arm)
0 come, now, my adored! Haven't I already! Nature's a dial whose shade no hand puts back, Trick as we may! My friend, you are forty-three This very year in the world—
(JOSEPHINE breaks out sobbing again,)
And vain it is
To think of waiting longer ; pitiful To dream of coaxing shy fecundity To an unlikely freak by physicking With superstitious drugs and quackeries That work you harm, not good. The fact being* so,
1 have looked it squarely down—against my heart! Solicitations voiced repeatedly
At length have shown the soundness of their shape, And left me no denial. You, at times, My dear one, have been used to handle it. My brother Joseph, years back, frankly gave His honest view that something should be done ; And he, you well may know, shows no ill tinct In his regard of you.
And what princess ?
For wiving with? No thought was given to that, She shapes as vaguely as the Veiled—