Enters,
My longing eyes may hope at last,
Their only joy to see.
Thus most charming of her sex, do I prostrate myself before the shrine of your beauty. (kneels)
Miss P. Mr. Tagg, I fear I never can be yours.
Tagg. Adorable, lovely, the most beautified Ophelia.
Miss P. Indeed Mr Tagg, you make me blush with your compliments.
Tagg. Compliments! oh! call not by that hacknied term the voice of truth—lovely nymph, ah! deign to hear me, I’ll teach you what it is to love.
Miss P. Love—dear Mr. Tagg.—oh! moderate your transports—be advised, think no more of this fatal passion.