_Arth._ Most happy in that name! Your Emmeline, to Oswald's vows refused, You made my plighted bride: Your charming daughter, who, like Love, born blind, Unaiming hits, with surest archery, And innocently kills. _Con._ Remember, son, You are a general; other wars require you, For, see, the Saxon gross begins to move. _Arth._ Their infantry embattled, square and close, March firmly on, to fill the middle space, Covered by their advancing cavalry. By Heaven, 'tis beauteous horror: The noble Oswald has provoked my envy.-- _Enter_ EMMELINE, _led by_ MATILDA. Ha! now my beauteous Emmeline appears, A new, but oh, a softer flame inspires me: Even rage and vengeance slumber at her sight. _Con._ Haste your farewell; I'll cheer my troops, and wait ye. [_Exit_ CONON. _Em._ O father, father, I am sure you're here; Because I see your voice. _Arth._ No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight: He's gone, my Emmeline; And I but stay to gaze on those fair eyes, Which cannot view the conquest they have made. Oh star-like night, dark only to thyself, But full of glory, as those lamps of heaven, That see not, when they shine! _Em._ What is this heaven, and stars, and night, and day, To which you thus compare my eyes and me? I understand you, when you say you love: For, when my father clasps my hand in his, That's cold, and I can feel it hard and wrinkled; But when you grasp it, then I sigh and pant, And something smarts and tickles at my heart. _Arth._ Oh artless love, where the soul moves the tongue, And only nature speaks what nature thinks!-- Had she but eyes! _Em._ Just now you said, I had: I see them, I have two. _Arth._ But neither see. _Em._ I'm sure they hear you then: What can your eyes do more? _Arth._ They view your beauties. _Em._ Do not I see? You have a face like mine, Two hands, and two round, pretty, rising breasts, That heave like mine. _Arth._ But you describe a woman; Nor is it sight, but touching with your hands. _Em._ Then 'tis my hand that sees, and that's all one; For is not seeing, touching with your eyes? _Arth._ No; for I see at distance, where I touch not. _Em._ If you can see so far, and yet not touch, I fear you see my naked legs and feet Quite through my clothes. Pray do not see so well. _Arth._ Fear not, sweet innocence; I view the lovely features of your face, Your lips carnation, your dark-shaded eye-brows, Black eyes, and snow-white forehead; all the colours That make your beauty, and produce my love. _Em._ Nay, then, you do not love on equal terms; I love you dearly, without all these helps: I cannot see your lips carnation, Your shaded eye-brows, nor your milk-white eyes. _Arth._ You still mistake.