16
Madam Pomeroy:
Cruel girl!
I swear that what Ralph drank was colourless
As purest water. Overheated men,
Sweating from Sun, or passion, or the two,
Who swill cold water, likely come to die!
Avis:
What you may do is no concern of mine;
I would not harm Sylvester, that is all.
Madam Pomeroy:
Why have you harsh words for poor Pomeroy,
Who loves you dearly; smile now! You to-day
Look sweetly, child, perhaps a thought too pale,
But I have Spanish wools, for white or red,
'Would set a rose-flush on a corpse's cheek,
Or blanch the face of fever.
