MIR. More fool you! It may be, if you had, it needed not Ha' come to this. [_Aside._ NER. Yes, yes, you may remember, I blush to tell it you, when first my thoughts Were pure and simple--as I hope they are Still, and will so continue, whilst I fly Such company as you--- I thought you one Whom never any flame impure had touch'd: Then we convers'd without suspect together. HYL. And am I not so still? why do you now Fly from me thus? NER. The cause I shall tell you, Since you will not remember; though it be Unfit for me to speak, yet you shall know How just my anger is. HYL. Ah me most wretched! What have I done? NER. When tending of my flocks Under the shade of yonder myrtle-tree. Which bears the guilt of your foul misdemeanour, My maid Corisca cried out for my help, Because a bee had stung her in the face: You heard me speak in pity of her smart, A charm my mother taught me, that, being said Close to the place affected, takes away The pain: which gave her ease. But you, uncivil, Turning my courtesy to your vile ends, Feign'd you were stung too, and cried out your lips Had from the same sharp point receiv'd a wound: Pray'd me to say the same charm over there. I charitably lent my help to you, Mistrusting nothing of your purposes, When with ungentle hands you held me fast, And for my thanks gave me a lustful kiss. Canst thou remember this, and yet not blush? O impudence! HYL. You will excuse the heat Of my desires; still I feel that sting, But dare not ask the cure, nor did I then Do any hurt: but since you think it was A fault, I do repent it, and am sorry I did offend you so. MIR. Better and better! He'll cry anon, he has already ask'd Forgiveness of her. [_Aside._ NER. Well, shepherd, look You never see me more: I cannot love At all, or if at all, not you: let this Settle your thoughts. HYL. O, it distracts them more: But since my presence is offensive to you, I must obey, yet, if I thought you would, When I am dead--the martyr of your beauty, Shed one poor tear on my untimely grave, And say that Hylas was unfortunate, To love where he might not be lov'd again, My ashes would find rest. And so farewell: The fairest, but the cruel'st nymph alive! MIR. What, will you leave her thus? HYL. I prythee, come, The sentence of my banishment is pass'd, Never to be recall'd. MIR. Are these the hopes You fed upon? O, what a thing in nature Is a coy woman! or how great a fool The man is that will give her leave to rule! [_Exit_ HYLAS. SCENA III. NERINA.