_Sullen_. I do not love this wench that I should meet, For ne'r did my unconstant eye yet greet That beauty, were it sweeter or more fair, Than the new blossoms, when the morning air Blows gently on the[m], or the breaking light, When many maiden blushes to our sight Shoot from his early face: were all these set In some neat form before me, 'twould not get The least love from me; some desire it might, Or present burning: all to me in sight Are equal, be they fair, or black, or brown, Virgin, or careless wanton, I can crown My appetite with any; swear as oft And weep, as any, melt my words as soft Into a maiden[s] ears, and tell how long My heart has been her servant, and how strong My passions are: call her unkind and cruel, Offer her all I have to gain the Jewel Maidens so highly prize: then loath, and fly: This do I hold a blessed destiny. _Enter_ Amaryllis. _Amar_. Hail Shepherd, _Pan_ bless both thy flock and thee, For being mindful of thy word to me. _Sul_. Welcom fair Shepherdess, thy loving swain Gives thee the self same wishes back again, Who till this present hour ne're knew that eye, Could make me cross mine arms, or daily dye With fresh consumings: boldly tell me then, How shall we part their faithful loves, and when? Shall I bely him to her, shall I swear His faith is false, and he loves every where? I'le say he mockt her th' other day to you, Which will by your confirming shew as true, For he is of so pure an honesty, To think (because he will not) none will lye: Or else to him I'le slander _Amoret_, And say, she but seems chaste; I'le swear she met Me 'mongst the shady Sycamores last night And loosely offred up her flame and spright Into my bosom, made a wanton bed Of leaves and many flowers, where she spread Her willing body to be prest by me; There have I carv'd her name on many a tree, Together with mine own; to make this show More full of seeming, _Hobinall_ you know, Son to the aged Shepherd of the glen, Him I have sorted out of many men, To say he found us at our private sport, And rouz'd us 'fore our time by his resort: This to confirm, I have promis'd to the boy Many a pretty knack, and many a toy, As gins to catch him birds, with bow and bolt, To shoot at nimble Squirrels in the holt; A pair of painted Buskins, and a Lamb, Soft as his own locks, or the down of swan; This I have done to win ye, which doth give Me double pleasure. Discord makes me live. _Amar_. Lov'd swain, I thank ye, these tricks might prevail With other rustick Shepherds, but will fail Even once to stir, much more to overthrow His fixed love from judgement, who doth know Your nature, my end, and his chosens merit; Therefore some stranger way must force his spirit, Which I have found: give second, and my love Is everlasting thine. _Sul_. Try me and prove.