Enter Rowena.
Row. (Kneeling.) O! joy once more to see my father’s face.
Heng. Rise, rise, my child!
Row. First with my kisses let me dew this hand,
And round a father’s neck these arms entwine.
Enter Soldier.
Sold. From London, Vortigern is on his march;
And comes, in haste, to greet your late success.
Heng. ’Tis well! go straight, put all in readiness.
Retire! I would be private with my daughter.