To yon fragrant bower repair.
[They sit in the bower.
Since musick is the food of love, we’ll to the Nightingale’s complaining notes, tune our distresses and accord our woes.
While Tagg is singing in Burlesque, Little Pickle steals round the Stage and gets behind the Bower, and sews their cloaths together, and then goes out behind unperceived by them.
Miss P. Oh! I could listen thus for ever to the united charms of love and harmony—but how are we to plan our escape.
Tagg. In a mean and low attire, muffled up in a great cloak and disguised with a large hat, will I await you in this happy spot—but why my soul—why not this instant fly—this moment will I seize my tender bit of lamb—d——m me, there I had her as dead as mutton. (aside)
Miss P. No, I am not yet equipped for an elopement, and what is of more consequence still, I have got with me a casket of jewels I have prepared, rather too valuable to leave behind.
Tagg. That is of some consequence, indeed, to me.
My diamond my pearl,
Then be a good girl