Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 1.pdf/141

Rh

 Ah Love! our weal, our woe, our bliss, our bane, A restless life have they who wear thy chain! Ah Love! our weal, our woe, our bliss, our bane, More hapless still are they who never felt thy pain. All the masks dance round Cupid, Then enter a band of satyrs, who frighten away Love and his votaries, and conclude the scene, dancing in a grotesque manner.

 

''Ros. speaking as he enters.'' Unless we find him quickly, all is lost.

''1st. Off.'' His very guards, methinks, have left their post To join the mutiny.

''Ros. (knocking very loud.)'' Holla! who's there within? confound this door! It will not ope. O! for a Giant's strength. Holla, holla, within! will no one hear?

Ros, eagerly to the Porter. Is he return'd, is he return'd? not yet! Thy face doth tell me so.

Port.Not yet, my lord.

Ros. Then let him ne'er return 