L. Fan. Is safe, from any fear of interrupting us.
Come—these Delays do ill consist with Love
And our Desires; at least if they are equal.
Lod. Death, ’tis the charming Mother!
What lucky Star directed me to night?
O my fair Dissembler, let us haste
To pay the mighty Tributes due to Love.
L. Fan. Follow me then with careful Silence,—for Isabella’s Chamber joins to this, and she may hear us.
Lod. Not Flowers grow, nor smooth Streams glide away,
Not absent Lovers sigh, nor breaks the Day,