And that its choice was not with your assent,
My task should be, to tear it thence for ever.
And, but I know lord Weston has a soul,
Possess'd of every virtue heav'n bestows,
I wou'd far rather wed in mine own rank,
Where truth and happiness are oft'ner found,
Than midst the glaring grandeur of the great.

ANDREWS. Come to thy father's arms, thou sweet resemblance
Of the perfections of your much-lov'd mother;
A loss each day felt more--yet, my Constantia,
What tho' your charms and virtue shou'd surpass
All that e'er center'd in a virgin frame,
To be the choice of this exalted youth
Causes a thousand fears in my fond heart.

CONSTANTIA. O sir! how you alarm me! heav'n! what fears?

ANDREWS. Constantia singled out, preferr'd to numbers
Of the first rank, who would exult to win him,
Will rouse up ev'ry baneful blast of envy,
Perfections such as thine ne'er 'scape malignity.

CONSTANTIA. The example of that honour to her sex,
My dear lost mother, with the wholesome lessons
Instill'd by you, will so direct my steps,
I may those blasts escape your fondness fears.

ANDREWS. Yet, should this change in your condition happen,
This also treasure in your mind; that man,