Even in the newness Of our first married loves 'twas sometimes so.
For solitude, I have heard my Selby say, Is to the mind as rest to the corporal functions; And he would call it oft, the _day's soft sleep._ _Mrs.F._ What is your drift?
and whereto tends this speech, Rhetorically labor'd?
_Kath._ That you would Abstain but from our house a month, a week; I make request but for a single day.
_Mrs.F._ A month, a week, a day! A single hour Is every week, and month, and the long year, And all the years to come! My footing here, Slipt once, recovers never.

From the state Of gilded roofs, attendance, luxuries, Parks, gardens, sauntering walks, or wholesome rides, To the bare cottage on the withering moor, Where I myself am servant to myself, Or only waited on by blackest thoughts-- I sink, if this be so.

No; here I sit.
_Kath_.

Then I am lost forever! [_Sinks at her feet--curtain drops._ SCENE--_An Apartment contiguous to the last._ SELBY, _as if listening_.
_Selby_.

The sounds have died away.