CHAR. We never durst keep company with women, Nor they with us: each one did carefully Attend his charge. And when the time was come, That we grew ripe in years, and were staid youths, Our fathers would provide us wives: we did not Carve for ourselves, as nowadays they do. But now our children think themselves as wise, Nay, wiser than their fathers, and will rule 'em: They can no sooner peep out of the shell, But they must love, forsooth. I would fain know, Whether 'twere fit a maid should be in love-- I speak now of that skittish girl, my daughter-- Before she ask her father's leave and liking? DAPH. Tis true, Charinus, 'twere not fit indeed. Who should bestow the daughter but the father? MIR. But, shepherds, did you never hear that once There was an age, the nearest to the gods: An age we rather praise than imitate; When no man's will nor woman's was enforc'd To any bent but its own motion? Each follow'd nature's laws, and by instinct Did love the fairest, and enjoy their wishes: Love then, not tied to any interest Of blood or fortune, hasten'd to his end Without control, nor did the shepherd number Her sheep that was his choice, but every grace That did adorn her beauteous mind or face. Riches with love then were not valued-- Pure, uncompounded love--that could despise The whole world's riches for a mistress' eyes. Pray tell me, Daphnis--you are young and handsome, The lover of our fairest nymph Nerina-- Would you, for all that fruitful Sicily Can yield, or all the wealth of Persia, Change one poor lock of your fair mistress' hair, Whilst she is yours, and you her shepherd are? DAPH. Would she were mine, I'd ask no portion. MIR. Spoke like a lover of the ancient stamp! CHAR. Son, son, she shall be yours: why, am not I Her father, she my daughter? May not I Bestow her where I please? MIR. Yes, if she like The man, she will bestow herself, ne'er fear it. CHAR. What! she bestow herself without my leave? No, no, Mirtillus, you mistake my daughter. I cannot get her once to think of marriage, And truly I do muse to see a wench, That in all other things (although I say it) Has wit at will: can pin her sheep in fold As well as any: knows when to drive them home; And there she can do twenty things as well: Yet when I speak to her of marriage, She turns the head: she'll be a Dryad, she, Or one of those fond nymphs of Dian's train. MIR. Old man, believe her not, she means not so; She loves to keep the thing for which she is So much belov'd--I mean her maidenhead-- Which, whilst she has, she knows to play the tyrant, And make us slaves unto her scornful looks: For beauty then itself most justifies, When it is courted; if not lov'd, it dies.