_Clor_. Here whilst one patient takes his rest secure I steal abroad to doe another Cure. Pardon thou buryed body of my love, That from thy side I dare so soon remove, I will not prove unconstant, nor will leave Thee for an hour alone. When I deceive My first made vow, the wildest of the wood Tear me, and o're thy Grave let out my blood; I goe by wit to cure a lovers pain Which no herb can; being done, I'le come again. [_Exit_. _Enter_ Thenot. _The_. Poor Shepherd in this shade for ever lye, And seeing thy fair _Clorins_ Cabin, dye: 0 hapless love, which [being] answer'd, ends; And as a little infant cryes and bends His tender Brows, when rowling of his eye He hath espy'd some thing that glisters nigh Which he would have, yet give it him, away He throws it straight, and cryes afresh to play With something else: such my affection, set On that which I should loath, if I could get. _Enter_ Clorin. _Clor_. See where he lyes; did ever man but he Love any woman for her Constancie To her dead lover, which she needs must end Before she can allow him for her friend, And he himself must needs the cause destroy, For which he loves, before he can enjoy? Poor _Shepherd_, Heaven grant I at once may free Thee from thy pain, and keep my loyaltie: _Shepherd_, look up. _The_. Thy brightness doth amaze! So _Phoebus_ may at noon bid mortals gaze, Thy glorious constancie appears so bright, I dare not meet the Beams with my weak sight. _Clor_. Why dost thou pine away thy self for me? _The_. Why dost thou keep such spotless constancie? _Clor_. Thou holy _Shepherd_, see what for thy sake _Clorin_, thy _Clorin_, now dare under take. [_He starts up_. _The_. Stay there, thou constant _Clorin_, if there be Yet any part of woman left in thee, To make thee light: think yet before thou speak. _Clor_. See what a holy vow for thee I break. I that already have my fame far spread For being constant to my lover dead. _The_. Think yet, dear _Clorin_, of your love, how true, If you had dyed, he would have been to you. _Clor_. Yet all I'le lose for thee. _The_. Think but how blest A constant woman is above the rest. _Clor_. And offer up my self, here on this ground, To be dispos'd by thee. _The_. Why dost thou wound His heart with malice, against woman more, That hated all the Sex, but thee before? How much more pleasant had it been to me To dye, than to behold this change in thee? Yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway. _Clor_. Insult not on her now, nor use delay, Who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame. _The_. Thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame, Your Sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall, I see, once in your lives, light on you all. I hate thee now: yet turn. _Clor_. Be just to me: Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?