SYL. No, they command it rather, that have made Our souls but one. Cleander, thou wert wont To be more courteous; and I do see Some pity in thee: if not for pity's sake, Yet for thine own good, spare his life, and take Mine; for thou know'st, when I am dead, this kingdom Thy father will inherit or thyself. 'Tis but the waiting of an old man's death, Who cannot long outlive me: will you do't? THYR. Sir, you are noble, I do see you are, You lov'd this lady once: by that dear love-- With me it was a conjuration To draw my soul out, whilst I was so happy-- I do beseech you spare her noble life, Her death will sit full heavy on your soul, And in your height of kingly dignities Disturb that head which crowns will give no rest to. To take my life is justice. SYL. Rather mine; I have offended in first loving him, And now betraying him unto his end. THYR. Be not so cruel, madam, to yourself And me, to envy me a death so noble. Sir, as you hope your love shall ever prosper, Your great designs, your fights, whate'er they are; As you do hope for peace in your last hour, And that the earth may lightly clothe your ashes, Despatch me quickly, send me to my death. CLE. A strange contention! Madam, will you please A little to retire: 'tis your honour That I do strive to save, as well as life. Pray, do not cross my purpose; I shall do Something that you may thank me for. SYL. Cleander, Save but the shepherd, and I'll crown thy merit. CLE. Will you be pleas'd to enter here? SYL. But swear That thou wilt save him. CLE. I shall do my best. I dare not swear; for 'tis not in my power To do what you command. SYL. But will you swear To let me know of it before he die? CLE. I will, by heaven. SYL. Then I take my leave. And, Thyrsis, be thou sure, whatever fate Attends thy life, the same does govern mine: One kiss I must not be denied. CLE. Fie, madam! How low is this in you? SYL. Then thus we part, To meet again, I hope. THYR. Down, stubborn heart, Wilt thou not break yet? In my death I find Nothing that's terrible; but this farewell Presents my soul with all the pains of hell. [_Exeunt._ SCENA IV. MIRTILLUS, _Chorus of_ SHEPHERDS. 1ST SHEP. I'm sorry that this business went not forward. 2D SHEP. So am not I; we're rid of so much trouble. 1ST SHEP. Yet it is strange the king should send for us, And when we were come, command us to return. MIR. No, 'tis not strange; it was his will to do so. But if you have an itch of dancing, friends, Next holiday we'll ha't amongst ourselves, And every man shall dance with his own sweetheart: What say you, shepherds? will't not be as well? 1ST SHEP. It will be very fine. But where is Thyrsis?