ny thing;
A Sheep-hook I could prize above a Sword;
An Army I would quit to lead a Flock,
And more esteem that Chaplet wreath'd by thee,
Than the victorious Bays:
All this I could, but, Dear, I have a Father,
Whom for thy sake, to make thee great and glorious,
I would not lose my Int'rest with.
But, _Cloris_, see, the unkind day approaches,
And we must kiss and part.

_Clo._ Unkind it is indeed, may it prove so
To all that wish its presence,
And pass as soon away,
That welcome Night may re-assume its place,
And bring you quickly back.

_Fred._ With great impatience I'll expect that Hour,
That shall conduct me in its Shades to thee;
Farewel.

_Clo._ Farewel, Sir, if you must be gone. [Sighs.

_Fred._ One Kiss, and then indeed I will be gone. [Kisses her.
A new blown Rose kist by the Morning Dew,
Has not more natural Sweetness.
Ah _Cloris_! can you doubt that Heart,
To whom such Blessings you impart?
Unjustly you suspect that Prize,
Won by such Touches and such Eyes.
My Fairest, turn that Face away,
Unless I could for ever stay;
Turn but a little while I go.

_Clo._ Sir, I must see the last of you.

_Fred._ I dare not disobey; adieu till Evening. [Exit.

Enter _Lucia_.

_Clo._ How now, _Lucia_; is my Father up?

_Luc._ No, not a Mouse stirs yet; I have kept a true
Watch all this Night, for I was cruelly afraid
Lest we should have been surpriz'd--
Is the Prince gone? but why do I ask,
That may read it in your sad Looks?

_Clo._ Yes, he is gone, and with him too has taken-- [Sighs.

_Luc._ What has he taken? I'll swear you frighten me.

_Clo._ My heart, _Lucia_.

_Luc._ Your Heart, I am glad 'tis no worse.

_Clo._ Why, what dost think he should have taken?

_Luc._ A thing more hard to have been
Recovered again.

_Clo._ What thing, prithee?

_Luc._ Your Maiden-head.

_Clo._ What's that?

_Luc._ A thing young Gallants long extremely for,
And when they have it too, they say
They care not a Daisy for the Giver.

_Clo._ How comest thou so wise, _Lucia_?

_Luc._ Oh, the fine Gentleman that comes a-nights
With the Prince, told me so much, and bid me
Be sure never to part with it for fine Words;
For Men would lye as often as they swore;
And so bid me tell you too.

_Clo._ Oh _Lucia_!

_Luc._ Why do you sigh?

_Clo._ To think if Princes were like common Men,
Ho