 | The Rover ; Or, Happiness at Last |  |
7
SCENE VI.
To him, Colin.RECITATIVE.
Colin.
Ha! Strephon! how! wrapt up in Thought profound?
Has cruel Cupid given the fatal Wound?
Streph.
What is the Chance makes Colin come this Way?
Is any of your fleecy Care astray?
Colin.
No, Strephon, faith I've better Sport in view,
Which, wert thou not in Love, I'd tell thee too.
Come say—the Charmer—how begins her Name?
Nay, tell your Friend the Object of your Flame.
Streph.
If Signs of Passion stand in me confess'd,
Know, that a Lover can't abide a Jest;
Tho' yet you've scap'd, you may a Victim fall,
For Love, like Death, is sure to visit all.
Colin.
Ha! ha! no I defy the brightest Fair
To give my easy Heart an Hour's Care;
What Love so strong but with Possession ends?
A Maxim that, on which it fix'd depends.
AIR.
When e'er a beauteous Nymph I spy
My Fancy's all on fire;
I long to her Embrace to fly,
And revel in Desire.
My Faith I swear, and sigh my Pain,
Tho' much for both too wise:
For Conquest ne'er attends the Swain,
Who can't himself disguise.
My Fancy's all on fire;
I long to her Embrace to fly,
And revel in Desire.
My Faith I swear, and sigh my Pain,
Tho' much for both too wise:
For Conquest ne'er attends the Swain,
Who can't himself disguise.
Then shou'd the Fair-one haughty prove,
And my fond Suit disdain;
When Arts, nor bold, nor tender move,
She's soon forgot again:
But, if to crown me with Success
She kindly does comply,
I of the Nymph require, but this;
To love as long as I.
And my fond Suit disdain;
When Arts, nor bold, nor tender move,
She's soon forgot again:
But, if to crown me with Success
She kindly does comply,
I of the Nymph require, but this;
To love as long as I.
8
Streph.
O, never style it by so great a Name!
'Tis Lust, mere Lust, a mean and dang'rous Flame:
Love is divine! its Joys are never ceas'd,
And what you think the greatest, I deem the least.
Colin.
Poor Youth! enraptur'd, past Recovery quite,
Who wou'd but pity such a woful Plight!
Young Strephon, dancing on the flow'ry Green,
The other Morn, a pretty Maid was seen;
Not far from hence, her little Flock she 'tends,
On whom my present Happiness depends:
Just now I'm going to attack the Fair,
Sigh out my Soul and die away in Air:
And tho' I'm conscious she was made for me,
Quit this unseemly Mood, I'll yield her up to thee.
Streph.
Why really, Colin, now you're wond'rous kind,
Pray keep your Favour, I'm to Fate resign'd.
Colin.
But prithee sigh and sob a little, do,
That I may learn, when wounded, how to woo.
Streph.
My Ear I to such Fool'ry can't incline.
Colin.
He must be soft who gives himself to thine.
Strephon, farewell, indulge your Melancholly,
And may the scornful She correct your Folly.
[Exeunt seperately.
| The Rover ; Or, Happiness at Last | |