_Lat._ But you know I love music immoderately. How do you dispose your entertainment? Let 'em begin. _Y. Book._ Well, give me but leave. The fiddles will certainly attract the ladies, I mean the nymphs who have grottos round this enchanted forest. In the first place, you intelligences that move this vehicle--how the fellows stare! _Chair._ Good your honour, speak to us in English. _Y. Book._ Why then, you chairmen, wherever I move, you are to follow me; for I mean to strut, shine through the dusk of the evening, and look as like a lazy town-fool as I can, to charm 'em. _Lat._ Well, but the music? _Y. Book._ But remember, ye sons of Phœbus, brethren of the string and lyre, that is to say, ye fiddlers--Let me have a flourish as I now direct. When I lift up my cane, let it be martial. If I but throw myself just forward on it, or but raise it smoothly, sigh all for love, to show, as I think fit, that I would die or fight for her you see me bow to. Well, then, strike up:-- _Song, by_ MR. LEVERIDGE.[66] I. Venus has left her Grecian isles, With all her gaudy train Of little loves, soft cares and smiles, In my larger breast to reign. II. Ye tender herds and list'ning deer, Forget your food, forget your fear, The bright Victoria will be here. III. The savages about me throng, Moved with the passion of my song, And think Victoria stays too long. _Y. Book._ There's for you, Jack; is not that like a fine gentleman that writes for his own diversion? _Lat._ And nobody's else. _Y. Book._ Now I warrant one of your common sparks would have stamped, fretted, and cried, what the devil! fooled! jilted! abused!--while I, in metre, to show you how well nothing at all may be made to run-- The savages about me throng, Moved with the passion of my song, And think Victoria stays too long. _Lat._ I begin to be one of those savages. _Enter_ VICTORIA, PENELOPE, LETTICE, _and_ BETTY. _Vict._ We had better have stayed where we were, and listened to that charming echo, than have come in search of that liar. _Lat._ Do you see yonder? _Y. Book._ [_Gives the sign and sings himself._] Thus, madam, have I spent my time almost ever since I saw you, repeated your name to the woods, the dales, and echoing groves. _Pen._ Prithee observe him. Now he begins. _Y. Book._ I had not time to carve your name on every tree, but that's a melancholy employment, not for those lovers that are favoured with assignation. _Vict._ Prithee, cousin, do you talk to him in my name. I'll be silent till I see farther.[67] _Pen._ The spring is now so forward, that it must indeed be attributed to your passion that you are not in the field.