Lord Scroop, solus,
A lucky errand to this peerless beauty!
I mark'd her in the midst of her distress,
And of her snowy neck and heaving breasts
Caught a side-glance, that fir'd my eager heart,
And kindled all the ardours of desire.
That she should turn out Harry's mistress too;
And thence we make no doubt an easy conquest,
Whate'er his princely vanity suggests;
This too is fortunate; nor less his pride,
That churlishly devotes those charms to heav'n,
On which himself has feasted till he's tir'd.
Sure a kind beauty sooner will retreat
Into a lover's arms than to a cloister!
And yet I may not long detain her thence.

Love's a repast, so cloying at the best
That appetite soon leaves the keenest guest;
To me the banquet of her charms be given,
And, sated once, I'll yield them too to heav'n. [Exit.

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