 | Robin Hood |  |
7
SCENE IV.
Enter Glitter.Glitter.
O Nymph! far brighter than the noon-day Sun;
O Nymph! more fair than Rills that dimpling run;
Match'd with those Eyes, how white appears the Sloe
To that soft Skin, how black descending Snow!
AIR.
Op'ning Bud of matchless Beauty,
Blossom of the Month of May;
Adoration is my Duty,
At thy Shrine my Vows I pay.
Blossom of the Month of May;
Adoration is my Duty,
At thy Shrine my Vows I pay.
Coursing o'er each rival Feature,
Little wanton Cupids sport;
Venus, to so bright a Creature,
Would un-envying pay her Court.
Little wanton Cupids sport;
Venus, to so bright a Creature,
Would un-envying pay her Court.
Graspall.
A pretty Youth! and, take the Country round,
I think so good a Party can't be found.
Glitter.
We English are too like our native Main,
Boist'rous and loud, unsettled, fierce, and vain:
But I have polish'd each rough Part away,
And shine alike, all brillant and all gay:
8
Paris and Rome have taught me what I know.
Primrose
aside.
Of all the Wretches Fate could hither bring,
Your travell'd Coxcomb is the vilest thing.
Glitter.
I'll sing a Song I on Clarinda made;
The Thought is pretty, that must needs be said.
AIR.
My Heart's like an Anvil, the Hammer is Love,
And 'gainst my poor Breast it so knocks—
The Blows are so hard, that I'm sure I cou'd prove,
Less Force wou'd demolish an Ox.
The Godlin on me has exhausted his Quiver,
I feel the sharp Arrow pierce thorough my Liver:
None but you, pretty Maid, such a Conquest e'er boasted;
Take pity, or else I must die over-rosted.
And 'gainst my poor Breast it so knocks—
The Blows are so hard, that I'm sure I cou'd prove,
Less Force wou'd demolish an Ox.
The Godlin on me has exhausted his Quiver,
I feel the sharp Arrow pierce thorough my Liver:
None but you, pretty Maid, such a Conquest e'er boasted;
Take pity, or else I must die over-rosted.
Primrose.
Ah, would my Person could your Soul subdue,
I'm surely form'd to suit a Youth like you.
AIR.
Whene'er you talk, methinks I hear
The sweet-tongu'd Parrot sputter:
You move with all that Grace and Air,
That Crows do in a Gutter.
The Maid that views that lovely Face,
Resigns her Heart soon after;
And at your Wit and charming Mien
Expires in Fits of Laughter.
The sweet-tongu'd Parrot sputter:
You move with all that Grace and Air,
That Crows do in a Gutter.
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Resigns her Heart soon after;
And at your Wit and charming Mien
Expires in Fits of Laughter.
Graspall.
Primrose, that Tongue of thine will be thy bane;
Or hold thy Peace, or else behold this Cane.
Primrose.
I've done, I've done.
Glitter.
I take my leave a while, ah Nymph divine!
When torn from thee, bright Sun forget to shine.
[Exit.
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