She. _You say, 'Tis love creates the pain, Of which so sadly you complain; And yet would fain engage my heart In that uneasy cruel part; But how, alas! think you, that I Can bear the wound of which you die?_ He. _'Tis not my passion makes my care, But your indifference gives despair; The lusty sun begets no spring, Till gentle showers assistance bring; So love, that scorches and destroys, Till kindness aids, can cause no joys._ She. _Love has a thousand ways to please, But more to rob us of our ease; For wakeful nights, and careful days, Some hours of pleasure he repays; But absence soon, or jealous fears, O'erflow the joys with flood of tears._ He. _By vain and senseless forms betrayed, Harmless love's the offender made; While we no other pains endure, Than those, that we ourselves procure; But one soft moment makes amends For all the torment that attends._ Chorus of both. _Let us love, let us love, and to happiness haste. Age and wisdom come too fast; Youth for loving was designed._ He alone. _I'll be constant, you'll be kind._ She alone. _You'll be constant, I'll be kind._ Both. _Heaven can give no greater blessing Than faithful love, and kind possessing._ [After the Dialogue, a Warlike Concert: The SCENE opens above, and discovers the Order of the Garter. _Enter_ HONOUR, _attended by Heroes_. _Merl._ These, who last entered, are our valiant Britons, Who shall by sea and land repel our foes. Now, look above, and in heaven's high abyss, Behold what fame attends those future heroes. Honour, who leads them to that steepy height, In her immortal song shall tell the rest. HONOUR _sings_. _St George, the patron of our isle, A soldier, and a saint, On that auspicious order smile, Which love and arms will plant._ _Our natives not alone appear To court this martial prize; But foreign kings, adopted here, Their crowns at home despise._ _Our sovereign high, in awful state, His honours shall bestow; And see his sceptered subjects wait On his commands below._ [A full Chorus of the whole Song: After which, the grand Dance. _Arth._ [_To_ MERL.] Wisely you have, whate'er will please, revealed: What would displease, as wisely have concealed: Triumphs of war and peace, at full ye show, But swiftly turn the pages of our woe. Rest we contented with our present state; 'Tis anxious to enquire of future fate.[24] That race of heroes is enough alone, For all unseen disasters to atone. Let us make haste betimes to reap our share, And not resign them all the praise of war; But set the example, and their souls inflame, To copy out their great forefathers' name. [_Exeunt omnes._ EPILOGUE SPOKEN BY MRS BRACEGIRDLE.