_Flo._ And is hee gone? Letts goe & dye, sweet Cloris, For poets of our loves shall write the stories. _Enter_ CLINIAS, DORASTUS, _meeting them_. _Cli._ Well mett, faire Florida sweete, which way goe you? [430] _Flo._ In faith, sweete Clinias, I cannot knowe you. [F. 73v rev.] _Dor._ Noe, knowe, but did you see the white Narcisse? _Clo._ The whitest man alive a huntinge is; Hee that doth looke farre whiter then the vilett, Or moone at midday, or els skye at twilight. _Cli._ That is the same, even that is that Narcissus, Hee that hath love despis'd, & scorned vs. _Flo._ Not you alone hee scornes, but vs also; O doe not greive when maids part stakes in woe. O, that same youthe's the scummer of all skorne, [440] Of surquedry the very shooing horne, Piller of pride, casting topp of contempt, Stopple of statelines for takinge vente. Many youthes, many maids sought him to gaine, Noe youthes, noe maids could ever him obtaine: Then thus I pray, & hands to heaven vpp leave, So may hee love & neare his love atcheive. Looke you for maids no more, our parte is done, Wee come but to bee scornd, & so are gone. [_Exeunt_. _Dor._ But wee have more to doe, that have wee perdie, [450] Wee must a fish & hunt the hare so hardye, For even as after hare runnes swiftest beagle, So doth Narcissus our poore harts corneagle. [_Exeunt_. _Enter_ ECCHO. Who, why, wherfore, from whence or what I am, [F. 73r rev.] Knowe, if you aske, that Eccho is my name, That cannott speake a woord, nor halfe a sillable, Vnles you speake before so intelligible. But ho, the hobby horse, youle think 't absurde That I should of my selfe once speake a woord. 'Tis true; but lett your wisdomes tell me than [460] How'de you know Eccho from another man? I was a well toung'd nimphe, but what of that? My mother Juno still to hold in chatte, With tales of tubbes, from thence I ever strove, Whiles nimphes abroad lay allwaies vnder Jove. But oh, when drift was spied, my angry grammer Made ever since my tottering tongue to stammer; And now, in wild woods, & in moist mountaines, In high, tall valleys, & in steepye plaines, Eccho I live, Eccho, surnam'd the dolefull, [470] That, in remembrance, now could weepe a bowlfull; Or rather, if you will, Eccho the sorrowfull, That, in remembrance, now could weepe a barrowfull. (_Within. Yolp! yolpe!_) [_Exit clamans Yolpe!_ _Enter_ DORASTUS, NARCISSUS, CLINIAS. _Cantantes._ Harke, they crye, I heare by that The doggs have putt the hare from quatte, Then woe bee vnto little Watt, [F. 72v rev.] Yolp, yolp, yolp, yolp! Hollowe in the hind doggs, hollowe, So come on then, solla, solla, And lett vs so blithly followe, [480] Yolp, &c.