[_To them_] MINCING.
MINC. The gentlemen stay but to comb, madam, and will wait on you.
MILLA. Desire Mrs. — that is in the next room, to sing the song I would
have learnt yesterday. You shall hear it, madam. Not that there’s any
great matter in it—but ’tis agreeable to my humour.
SONG.
Set by Mr. JOHN ECCLES.
I
Love’s but the frailty of the mind
When ’tis not with ambition joined;
A sickly flame, which if not fed expires,
And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires.
II
’Tis not to wound a wanton boy
Or am’rous youth, that gives the joy;
But ’tis the glory to have pierced a swain
For whom inferior beauties sighed in vain.
III
Then I alone the conquest prize,
When I insult a rival’s eyes;
If there’s delight in love, ’tis when I see
That heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.