Abd. Roderigo!
Rod. My gracious Lord— [Roderigo whispers to Abd.
Abd. No more—the Prince observes us.
Phil. There’s no good towards when you are whisp’ring.
Ord. The Musick you commanded, Sir, is ready.
SONG.
Nymph.
Make haste, Amintas, come away,
The Sun is up and will not stay;
And oh how very short’s a Lover’s Day!
Make haste, Amintas, to this Grove,
Beneath whose Shade so oft I’ve sat,
And heard my dear lay’d Swain repeat,
How much he Galatea _lov’d;
Whilst all the listening Birds around,
Sung to the Musick of the blessed Sound.
Make haste, Amintas, come away,
The Sun is up and will not stay;
And oh how very short’s a Lover’s Day!
Swain enters, with Shepherds and Shepherdesses, and Pipes.