DEL. I guess the cause, sweet madam, but that's pass'd And now forgotten: if you clear your looks, Your father will enlarge you, and ne'er think On what you did, but that you are his daughter. SYL. Alas, my Delia! thou dost mistake, My liberty is of no worth to me, Since that my love, I fear, will ne'er be free: Nor do I care what idle ladies talk Of my departure or my strange disguise, To colour my intents; I am above Their envy or their malice: But for th' unlucky chance that sent to me The over-curious eyes of him I hate-- Thou know'st the man. DEL. Yes, you mean Cleander, Son to Eubulus, who is now your keeper: What star directed him to find you out? SYL. His love, forsooth; for so he colour'd his Unseason'd boldness: told me he was not able To want my sight: and so, when every one Had given o'er their strict inquiry of me, He only, with too much officiousness, Observ'd me in the woods, walking alone: And when I would have shunn'd him, which perhaps Had I not done, he had not so well known me: He came and utter'd, as his manner was, His tedious complaints; until at length He brought me with him, making no resistance: And to ingratiate himself the more, He said he would convey me where my father Should have no knowledge of me. I refused it; Willing, however, to be rid of him. And now, you know, it is a full month since I did return to Court, but left my heart Behind me in those fields wherein I joy'd. DEL. Madam, has not the Court more pleasure in it Than the dull country, which can represent Nothing but what does taste of solitude? 'Twas something else that carried you away. SYL. 'Tis true, my Delia; for though thou wert Privy to my departure, yet the cause Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold; And think I trust my honour in thy hands, And maiden modesty: 'twas love that did it. DEL. Love, madam! Sure, it is impossible You should find anything there worth your love. SYL. Thou know'st the shepherds that do dwell about This place which, for their entertainments only, The king my father built, did use to come, As now they do, being sent for unto Court: I ever lik'd their sports, their harmless mirth, And their contentions, which were void of malice, And wish'd I had been born just such an one. DEL. Your state is better, madam, as you are.