No sooner were the Tables withdrawne, and all risen: but they fetcht a few turnings about the vally, because the Sunne was not (as yet) quite set. Then in the coole evening, according to the Queenes appointment: in a soft and gentle pace, they walked homeward: devising on a thousand occasions, as well those which the dayes discourses had yeelded, as others of their owne inventing beside. It was almost darke night, before they arrived at the Pallace; where, with variety of choice Wines, and abounding plenty of rare Banquetting, they out-wore the little toile and wearinesse, which the long walke had charged them withall. Afterward, according to their wonted order, the Instruments being brought and played on, they fell to dancing about the faire Fountaine; _Tindaro_ intruding (now and then) the sound of his Bagpipe, to make the musicke seeme more melodious. But in the end, the Queene commanded Madame _Philomena_ to sing; whereupon the Instruments being tuned fit for the purpose, thus she began. The Song. The Chorus Sung by the whole Company. _Wearisome is my life to me, Because I cannot once againe returne; Unto the place which made me first to mourne._ _Nothing I know, yet feele a powerfull fire, Burning within my brest, Through deepe desire; To be once more where first I felt unrest, Which cannot be exprest. O my sole good! O my best happinesse! Why am I thus restrainde? Is there no comfort in this wretchednesse? Then let me live content, to be thus painde. Wearisome is my life to me, &c._ _I cannot tell what was that rare delight, Which first enflamde my soule, And gave command in spight, That I should find no ease by day or night, But still live in controule. I see, I heare, and feele a kinde of blisse, Yet find no forme at all: Other in their desire, finde blessednesse, But I have none, nor thinke I ever shall. Wearisome is my life to me, &c._ _Tell me if I may hope in following dayes, To have but one poore sight, Of those bright Sunny rayes, Dazeling my sence, did o'recome me quite, Bequeath'd to wandring wayes. If I be posted off and may not prove. To have the smallest grace: Or but to know, that this proceeds from love, Why should I live despisde in every place? Wearisome is my life to me, &c._