Scene 1

 

1807, Southwell - the Leacroft family dinner table

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​JL: Susan! - do not skimp on his Lordship's partridges! 

B: Not at all, Leacroft - I am off the partridges for the forseeable future

JL: Very well - Susan - fetch his Lordship a cruet of vinegar

Julia: Who would ascribe a regime of such acidity to so sweet a disposition, temper and eye

B: Why? How very charming

Julia: 'Tis not only myself who remarks on it - surely - and that your hair curls so outrageously bountiful

B: Ha - er

AH: Have

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since far from you I’ve ranged,

Our souls with fond affection glow not;

 JL:’tis you, not I, have changed,

I’d tell you why,–but yet I know not.

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B:Your polish’d brow no cares have crost;

And, Julia! we are not much older,

Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,

Or told my love, with hope grown bolder

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JL:Sixteen was then our utmost age,

Two years have lingering past away, love!

And now new thoughts our minds engage,

At least I feel disposed to stray, love!

 

‘Tis I that am alone to blame,

I, that am guilty of love’s treason;

Since your sweet breast is still the same,

Caprice must be my only reason.

 

I do not, love! suspect your truth,

With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;

Warm was the passion of my youth,

One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

 

No, no, my flame was not pretended,

For, Oh! I loved you most sincerely;

And–though our dream at last is ended–

My bosom still esteems you dearly.

 

No more we meet in yonder bowers;

Absence has made me prone to roving;

But older, firmer hearts than ours

Have found monotony in loving.

Your cheek’s soft bloom is unimpeair’d,

New beauties still are daily bright’ning,

Your eye for conquest beams prepared,

The forge of love’s resistless lightning.

Arm’d thus, to make their bosoms bleed,

Many will throng to sigh like me, love!

More constant they may prove, indeed;

Fonder, alas! they ne’er can be, love!

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SCENE 2

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JP: 'Twould appear you are a victim - nearly from affection - to certain very precious scheming

B: The still recurring recollection, Has cured my boyish soul of Dreaming.​

hese representations, which form a memorable era at Southwell, took place, about the latter end of September, in the house of Mr. Leacroft, whose drawing-room was converted into a neat theatre on the occasion, and whose family contributed some of the fair ornaments of its boards. The prologue, which Lord Byron furnished, and which may be seen in his “Hours of Idleness,” was written by him, between stages, on his

Your note was given me by Harry, at the play, whither I attended Miss L—— and Doctor S——; and now I have set down to answer it before I go to bed.

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SCENE 3

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END