Your Emmeline, to Oswald's vows refused,
You made my plighted bride:
Your charming daughter, who, like Love, born blind,
Unaiming hits, with surest archery,
And innocently kills.
Con. Remember, son,
You are a general; other wars require you,
For, see, the Saxon gross begins to move.
Arth. Their infantry embattled, square and close,
March firmly on, to fill the middle space,