Enter Beaumond alone. Beau. Where can this Rascal, my
Page, be all this while? I waited in the Piazza so long, that I
believed he had mistook my Order, and gone directly to La Nuche's
House- but here's no sign of him- Feth. Hah- I hear no noise, I'll
venture down. [Goes halfway down and stops. Enter Abevile, Harlequin,
Musick and Willmore. Will. Whither will this Boy conduct me?- but
since to a Woman, no matter whither 'tis. Feth. Hah, more Company; now
dare not I stir up nor down, they may be Bravoes to cut my Throat.
Beau. Oh sure these are they- Will. Come, my Heart, lose no time, but
tune your Pipes. [Harlequin plays on his Guittar, and sings. Beau.
How, sure this is some Rival. [Goes near and listens. Will. Harkye,
Child, hast thou ne'er an amorous Ditty, short and sweet, hah- Abev.
Shall I not sing that you gave me, Sir? Will. I shall spoil all with
hard Questions- Ay, Child- that. [Abev. sings, Beau. listens, and
seems angry the while. SONG. A Pox upon this needless Scorn! Silvia,
for shame the Cheat give o'er; The end to which the fair are born, Is
not to keep their Charms in store, But lavishly dispose in haste, Of
Joys which none but Youth improve; Joys which decay when Beauty's
past: And who when Beauty's past will love? When Age those Glories
shall deface, Revenging all your cold Disdain, And Silvia shall
neglected pass, By every once admiring Swain; And we can only Pity
pay, When you in vain too late shall burn: If Love increase, and Youth
delay, Ah, Silvia, who will make return? Then haste, my Silvia, to the
Grove, Where all the Sweets of May conspire, To teach us every Art of
Love, And raise our Charms of Pleasure higher; Where, whilst imbracing
we should lie Loosely in Shades, on Banks of Flowers: The duller World
whilst we defy, Years will be Minutes, Ages Hours.
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