_Cl._ Ah liue, I praie you: this disastred woe Which racks my heart, alone to me belonges: My lott longs not to you: seruants to be No shame, no harme to you, as is to me. Liue sisters, liue, and seing his suspect Hath causlesse me in sea of sorowes drown’d, And that I can not liue, if so I would, Nor yet would leaue this life, if so I could, Without, his loue: procure me, _Diomed_, That gainst poore me he be no more incensd. Wrest out of his conceit that harmfull doubt, That since his wracke he hath of me conceiu’d Though wrong conceiu’d: witnesse you reuerent Gods, Barking _Anubis_, _Apis_ bellowing. Tell him, my soule burning, impatient, Forlorne with loue of him, for certaine seale Of her true loialtie my corpse hath left, T’ encrease of dead the number numberlesse. Go then, and if as yet he me bewaile, If yet for me his heart one sign fourth breathe Blest shall I be: and farre with more content Depart this world, where so I me torment. Meane season vs let this sadd tombe enclose, Attending here till death conclude our woes. _Diom._ I will obey your will. _Cl._ So the desert The Gods repay of thy true faithfull heart. _Diomed._ And is’t not pittie, Gods, ah Gods of heau’n! To see from loue such hatefull frutes to spring? And is’t not pittie that this firebrand so Laies waste the trophes of _Philippi_ fieldes? Where are those swete allurements, those swete lookes, Which Gods themselues right hart-sicke would haue made? What doth that beautie, rarest guift of heau’n, Wonder of earth? Alas! what doe those eies? And that swete voice all _Asia_ vnderstoode, And sunburnt _Afrike_ wide in deserts spred? Is their force dead? haue they no further power? Can not by them _Octauius_ be supriz’d? Alas! if _Ioue_ in middst of all his ire, With thunderbolt in hand some land to plague, Had cast his eies on my Queene, out of hande His plaguing bolte had falne out of his hande: Fire of his wrathe into vaine smoke should turne, And other fire within his brest should burne. Nought liues so faire. Nature by such a worke Her selfe, should seme, in workmanship hath past. She is all heau’nlie: neuer any man But seing hir was rauish’d with her sight. The Allablaster couering of hir face, The corall coullor hir two lipps engraines, Her beamie eies, two Sunnes of this our world, Of hir faire haire the fine and flaming golde, Her braue streight stature, and hir winning partes Are nothing else but fiers, fetters, dartes. Yet this is nothing th’e’nchaunting skilles Of her celestiall Sp’rite, hir training speache, Her grace, hir Maiestie, and forcing voice, Whither she it with fingers speach consorte, Or hearing sceptred kings embassadors Answer to eache in his owne language make. Yet now at nede she aides hir not at all With all these beauties, so hir sorowe stings. Darkned with woe hir only studie is