Bright Beauties, it was the discretion of your late Soveraigne & Queene, in regard of ease and recreation unto your tyred spirits, to grant you free liberty, for discoursing on whatsoever your selves best pleased: wherefore, having enjoyed such a time of rest, I am of opinion, that it is best to returne once more to our wonted Law, in which respect, I would have every one to speake in this manner to morrow. Namely, of those men or women, who have done any thing bountifully or magnificently, either in matter of amity, or otherwise. The relation of such worthy arguments, will (doubtlesse) give an addition to our very best desires, for a free and forward inclination to good actions, whereby our lives (how short soever they bee) may perpetuate an ever-living renowne and fame, after our mortall bodies are converted into dust, which (otherwise) are no better then those of bruite beasts, reason onely distinguishing this difference, that as they live to perish utterly, so we respire to reigne in eternity. The Theame was exceedingly pleasing to the whole Company; who being all risen, by permission of the new King, every one fel to their wonted recreations, as best agreed with their owne disposition; untill the houre for Supper came, wherein they were served very sumptuously. But being risen from the Table, they began their dances, among which, many sweet Sonnets were enterlaced, with such delicate Tunes as moved admiration. Then the King commanded Madam _Neiphila_, to sing a song in his name, or how her selfe stood best affected. And immediatly with a cleare and rare voice, thus she began. _THE SONG._ The Chorus sung by all the Companie. _In the Spring season, Maides have best reason, To dance and sing; With Chaplets of Flowers, To decke up their Bowers, And all in honour of the Spring._ _I heard a Nimph that sate alone, By a Fountaines side: Much her hard Fortune to bemone, For still she cride: Ah! Who will pitty her distresse, That findes no foe like ficklenesse? For truth lives not in men: Poore soule, why live I then? In the Spring season, &c._ _Oh, How can mighty Love permit, Such a faithlesse deed, And not in justice punish it As treasons meed? I am undone through perjury, Although I loved constantly: But truth lives not in men, Poore soule, why live I then? In the Spring season,&c._ _When I did follow Dyans traine, As a loyall Maide, I never felt oppressing paine, Nor was dismaide. But when I listened Loves alluring, Then I wandred from assuring. For truth lives not in men: Poore soule, why live I then? In the Spring season, &c._