* * * * * The seat of amorous passion was traditionally the liver. This concept is exemplified in _The Faithful Shepherdess_, by John Fletcher: Amoret: Dear friend, you must not blame me, if I make A doubt of what the silent night may do, Coupled with this day’s heat, to move your blood. Maids must be fearful. Sure you have not been Wash’d white enough, for yet I see a stain Stick in your liver: go and purge again. Perigot: Oh, do not wrong my honest simple truth! Myself and my affections are as pure As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine Of the great Dian; only my intent To drag you thither was to plight our troths, With interchange of mutual chaste embraces, And ceremonious tying of our souls. For to that holy wood is consecrate A virtuous well, about whose flowery banks The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds By the pale moonshine, dipping oftentimes Their stolen children, so to make them free From dying flesh and dull mortality. By this fair fount hath many a shepherd sworn, And given away his freedom, many a troth Been plight, which neither envy nor old time Could ever break, with many a chaste kiss given In hope of coming happiness; by this Fresh fountain many a blushing maid Hath crown’d the head of her long-loved shepherd With gaudy flowers, whilst he happy sung Lays of his love and dear captivity. There grow all herbs fit to cool looser flames Our sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods, And quenching by their power those hidden sparks That else would break out, and provoke our sense To open fires; so virtuous is that place. Then, gentle shepherdess, believe and grant. In troth, it fits not with that face to scant Your faithful shepherd of those chaste desires He ever aim’d at, and ... Amoret: Thou hast prevail’d; farewell. This coming night Shall crown thy chaste hopes with long-wish’d delight. Perigot: Our great god Pan reward thee for that good Thou hast given thy poor shepherd! * * * * * A medieval song, that appears in _The Maid’s Tragedy_, by Beaumont and Fletcher, suggests that restraint in lust may occasionally be a desideratum: I could never have the power To love one above an hour, But my heart would prompt mine eye On some other man to fly. Venus, fix mine eyes fast, Or, if not, give me all that I shall see at last! * * * * *