In three years there would be no glory in the face of Constance, and I should be--what?
My fortunes, broken as they are, can support me alone, and with my few wants.

But if married! the haughty Constance my wife! Nay, nay, nay! this must not be thought of! I, the hero of Paris! the pupil of Saville! I, to be so beguiled as even to _dream_ of such a madness! "Yet I have that within me that might make a stir in the world--I might rise.

Professions are open; the Diplomacy, the House of Commons.

What! Percy Godolphin be ass enough to grow ambitious! to toil, to fret, to slave, to answer fools on a first principle, and die at length of a broken heart for a lost place! Pooh, pooh! I, who despise your prime ministers, can scarcely stoop to their apprenticeship.

Life is too short for toil.