When honour calls to guard his throne, My life I dare not call my own; My life I yield without a groan For him whom I adore. In lasting glory shall he reign, 'Tis he shall conquer France and Spain, Tho' I perhaps may ne'er again Behold my native shore. _Maj. Andre._ You sing charmingly, Lucinda. The poor fellow's resolution pleases me. He engages to give his life, if necessary, for his king and country, and yet perhaps he feels the ingratitude of both every hour in the day. It must, however, be so. Nature has formed us with a principle of love to our native land. What say you, Lucinda? _Lucinda._ It may be so, sir; and yet that love need not carry us to such an idolatrous extravagance as is manifested in the little stanzas I had the pleasure of singing to you. _Maj. Andre._ Indeed you are in the right, but we are slaves to custom. _Lucinda._ I have sung to please you, my love; now, if you have leisure, I would beg your attention a moment to a little ditty that pleases myself. _Maj. Andre._ Most gladly, my angel; I can prolong half an hour yet in your agreeable company. [_Looking at his watch_ _Lucinda sings_[36] You chide me and tell me I must not complain To part a few days from my favourite swain. He is gone to the battle and leaves me to mourn, And say what you please, he will never return. When he left me he kissed me, and said, my sweet dear, In less than a month I again will be here; With anguish and sorrow my bosom did burn, And I wept, being sure he would never return. I said, my dear creature, I beg you would stay, But he with his soldiers went strutting away. Then why should I longer my sorrows adjourn, For I know in my heart he will never return. Whenever there's danger he loves to be there, He fights like a hero when others despair. In this expedition he goes to his urn; You call me a fool if he ever return. _Maj. Andre._ The application of this I must take to myself, I suppose. Fie upon you, lady; you need to divert me with merry jokes and a strain of wit peculiar to yourself. You now are pensive, demure, and melancholy. You make me so, too. _Lucinda._ Yonder comes Sir Henry. I suppose he has some private business with you. I must retire. [_Exit Lucinda. Enter Sir Henry and others_ _Maj. Andre._ How do your Excellencies? Will you please to sit? _Sir Henry._