Tagg. Think no more of it.
Can love be controll’d by advice,
Will Cupid our mother’s obey.
Oh then consent my angel to join our hearts in one, or give me my death in a bumper.
Miss P. (aside) Can I refuse any thing to such a lover?—but were I, my dear friend to consent to our tender union, how could we contrive to escape, my brother’s vigilance would overtake us and you might have reason to repent of his anger.
Tagg. Oh, he’s a Goth, a mere Vandyke, my love.
But fear makes the danger seem double,
Say Hymen what mischiefs can trouble.
I have contrived the plot and every scene of the elopement, but in this shady blest retreat will I unfold it all—lets sit down like Jessica and the fair Lorenzo here.
Would you taste the noon tide air,