William Wordsworth
MARMADUKE (going on)
And should he make the Child
An instrument of falsehood, should he teach her
To stretch her arms, and dim the gladsome light
Of infant playfulness with piteous looks
Of misery that was not--
LACY
Troth, 'tis hard--
But in a world like ours--
MARMADUKE (changing his tone)
This self-same Man--
Even while he printed kisses on the cheek
Of this poor Babe, and taught its innocent tongue
To lisp the name of Father--could he look
To the unnatural harvest of that time
When he should give her up, a Woman grown,
To him who bid the highest in the market
Of foul pollution--
LACY The whole visible world
Contains not such a Monster!
And should he make the Child
An instrument of falsehood, should he teach her
To stretch her arms, and dim the gladsome light
Of infant playfulness with piteous looks
Of misery that was not--
LACY
Troth, 'tis hard--
But in a world like ours--
MARMADUKE (changing his tone)
This self-same Man--
Even while he printed kisses on the cheek
Of this poor Babe, and taught its innocent tongue
To lisp the name of Father--could he look
To the unnatural harvest of that time
When he should give her up, a Woman grown,
To him who bid the highest in the market
Of foul pollution--
LACY The whole visible world
Contains not such a Monster!
