Louisa_. You will be more surprised when I tell you, that I have
run away from my father.
_Don. Clara_. Surprised indeed! and I should certainly chide you most
horridly, only that I have just run away from mine.
_Don. Louisa_. My dear Clara! [_Embrace_.]
_Don. Clara_. Dear sister truant! and whither are you going?
_Don. Louisa_. To find the man I love, to be sure; and, I presume, you
would have no aversion to meet with my brother?
_Don. Clara_. Indeed I should: he has behaved so ill to me, I don't
believe I shall ever forgive him.
AIR.
When sable night, each drooping plant restoring,
Wept o'er the flowers her breath did cheer,
As some sad widow o'er her babe deploring,
Wakes its beauty with a tear;
When all did sleep whose weary hearts did borrow
One hour from love and care to rest,
Lo! as I press'd my couch in silent sorrow,
My lover caught me to his breast!
He vow'd he came to save me
From those who would enslave me!
Then kneeling, Kisses stealing,
Endless faith he swore;
But soon I chid him thence,
For had his fond pretence
Obtain'd one favour then,
And he had press'd again,
I fear'd my treacherous heart might grant him more.
_Don. Louisa_. Well, for all this, I would have sent him to plead his
pardon, but that I would not yet awhile have him know of my flight.
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