Enter Agatha, dressed as a Page.
Agatha.
There goes my lady, drest and arm'd so like Sir Valentine, that if he were to meet her, he'd think it were a second self. She bade me follow at some distance to avoid suspicion, and mislead any who might pursue her—I fear she will prove but a weak defender of the poor Lady Florimonda, who, if Sir Valentine do not quickly overtake us, must, of force, be married to the pagan sorcerer.
ROMANCE.
'Tis far away o'er yonder plains,
A cruel pagan tyrant reigns,
And holds a christian maid in chains,
Ah, well-a-day, poor lady!
II.
And ev'ry day some gallant knight,
Who strives to win this lady's right,
Is by the pagan slain in fight.
Ah, well-a-day, poor lady!
III.
And ere the sun forsake the sky,
Unless more powerful aid is nigh,
The pagan she must wed, or die.
Ah, well-a-day, poor lady!