Thou art that Man whom Love has rais’d above him;
Whom every Grace and every Charm thou hast
Conspire to make thee mightier to my Soul;
And Oliver, illustrious Oliver,
Was yet far short of thee.
Lov. He was the Monarch then whose Spoils I triumph in.
L. Lam. They were design’d too for Trophies to the young and gay.
Ah, Loveless! that I cou’d reward thy Youth
With something that might make thee more than Man,
[As well as to give] the best of Women to thee— [Rises, takes him by the Hand, leads him to the Table. He starts.