[Retires disconcerted.
Rolfe and Percy come forward.
Rolfe. Tell me, in sooth, didst ever mark such sweetness!
Such winning—such bewitching gentleness!
Percy. What, caught, my flighty friend, love-lim'd at last?
O Cupid, Cupid! thou'rt a skilful birder.
Although thou spread thy net, i' the wilderness,
Or shoot thy bird-bolt from an Indian bow,
Or place thy light in savage ladies' eyes,
Or pipe thy call in savage ladies' voices,
Alas! each tow'ring tenant of the air
Must fall heart pierc'd—or stoop, at thy command,
To sigh his sad notes in thy cage, O Cupid!
Rolfe. A truce; a truce! O friend, her guiltless breast
Seems Love's pavilion, where, in gentle sleep,
The unrous'd boy has rested. O my Percy!
Could I but wake the slumb'rer—
Percy. Nay, i' faith,
Take courage; thou hast given the alarm:
Methinks the drowsy god gets up apace.
Rolfe. Say'st thou?
Smith. Come, gentlemen, we'll toward the town.
Nantaquas. My sister, you will now return to our father.
Princess. Return, my brother?