Lord W. The impiety was mine, my love! to rob Heaven of an angel—But how unlucky! here, my dear, you've got into the house of this Lapoche—the most busy little coxcomb!
Rosa. I wish, indeed, I had been any where else!
Lord W. Well, we may get from hence to-night: my death, from that rencontre with your brother, is every where believed.
Rosa. My dear lord! now only yours—I know no guide but your opinion.
Lord W. My sweet Rosa! though I wasn't to be threatened into a marriage, by the young Chamont, your brother, when he overtook us at Rochester; on my return to England, I shall, with pride, acknowledge my sweet Rosa to be Lady Winlove.
AIR.—LORD WINLOVE.
Flow'rs their beauties all surrender,
When the sun withdraws his ray;
Now they shine in borrow'd splendour,
Painted by the beam of day.
With each good fair Eden planted,
Ev'ry sweet that sense could move,
Passion, sighs, though all is granted,
No enjoyment without love.
Dearest maid! thy smiles bestowing,
Bright and gay, my hours shall be;
By this heart, with rapture glowing,
Thou art light and love to me.
Enter Nannette.
Nan. Oh, madam! madam! here my master has brought in a new lodger with him; the charmingest, beautifulest young officer—our countryman too!—
Lord W. Young officer!