Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 1.pdf/139

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COUNT BASIL: A TRAGEDY.
137

Such merry little songs she teaches me—
Sly riddles too, and when I'm laid to rest
Oft times on tip-toe near my couch she steals,
And lifts the cov'ring so, to look upon me.
And often times I feign as tho' I slept;
For then her warm lips to my cheek she lays,
And pats me softly with her fair white hands;
And then I laugh, and thro' mine eye-lids peep,
And then she tickles me, and calls me cheat;
And then we do so laugh, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Bas. What, does she even so, thou happiest child?
And have those rosy cheeks been press'd so dearly?
Delicious urchin! I will kiss thee too.

(Takes him eagerly up in his arms, and kisses him.)


Mir. No, let me down, thy kisses are so rough,
So furious rough—she doth not kiss me so.

Bas. Sweet boy, where is thy chamber? by Victoria's?

Mir. Hard by her own.

Bas. Then will I come beneath thy window soon,
And, if I could, some pretty song I'd sing
To lull thee to thy rest.

Mir. O! no, thou must not; 'tis a frightful place,
It is the church-yard of the neighb'ring dome.
The princess loves it for the lofty trees,