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Updated: May 8, 2025
ASTRAEA: If you like you may be as playful with me as the Lyra of our maiden days used to be. My dear, my dear, how glad I am to have you here! You remind me that I once had a heart. It will beat again with you beside me, and I shall look to you for protection. A novel request from me. From annoyance, I mean. It has entirely altered my character.
Or, again, has it ever entered his head that, if I accept him, I lay myself open to the shadow of a reproach or am in any sense rewarding or thanking him? I am harrowed by the hair-splitting casuistry of the heroines in Cyrus and Astraea, by all the subtle arguments of the court of love.
You are the bow that speeds the arrow: you The glass that brings the distance nigh. My world Is luminous through you, pure heavenly, But hangs upon the rose's outer leaf, Not next her heart. Astraea! my own beloved! ASTRAEA: We may be excellent friends. And I have faults. ARDEN: Name them: I am hungering for more to love. ASTRAEA: I waver very constantly: I have No fixity of feeling or of sight.
Her attractions are acknowledged, and the house is not a convent. Yet, Mr. Arden, I must remind you that all of you are upon an enterprise held to be profane by the laws of this region. Can you again forget that Astraea is a widow? ARDEN: She was a wife two months; she has been a widow two years.
WINIFRED: Spiral paid his most happy tribute to the memory of her late husband, the renowned Professor Towers. VIRGINIA: But his look was at dear Astraea. ARDEN: At Astraea? Why? VIRGINIA: For her sanction doubtless. ARDEN: Ha! WINIFRED: He said his pride would ever be in his being received as the successor of Professor Towers. ARDEN: Successor! SWITHIN: Guardian was it not? OSIER: Tutor.
Oh! good husband! good kind of man! whatever you please; only some peace, I do pray, for the husband-haunted wife. I like him, I like him, of course, but I want to breathe. Why, an English boy perpetually bowled by a Christmas pudding would come to loathe the mess. ASTRAEA: His is surely the excess of a merit. LYRA: Excess is a poison. Excess of a merit is a capital offence in morality.
He had come to London for a literary life, and when the Royalists were again in power he placed himself promptly on the winning side. His "Astraea Redux," a poem of welcome to Charles II, and his "Panegyric to his Sacred Majesty," breathe more devotion to "the old goat," as the king was known to his courtiers, than had his earlier poems to Puritanism.
Fragments of the Millepora alcicornis and of an Astraea were also numerous; the former is found, but not in proportionate numbers, in the hollows on the reef; but the Astraea I did not see living.
I am not the frail creature you conceive. Between your vision of life's aim, and theirs Who presently will question me, I cling To theirs as light: and yours I deem a den Where souls can have no growth. HOMEWARE: But when we touched The point of hand-pressings, 'twas rightly time To think of wedding ties? ASTRAEA: Arden, adieu! ARDEN: Adieu! she said. With her that word is final.
The lark reels up with it; the nightingale Sobs bleeding; the flowers nod; I could believe A poet, though he praised me to my face. ARDEN: Never had poet so divine a fount To drink of! ASTRAEA: Have I given you more to love ARDEN: More!
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