_Peri_. Fair Shepherdess, much pity I can lend To your Complaints: but sure I shall not love: All that is mine, my self, and my best hopes Are given already; do not love him then That cannot love again: on other men Bestow those heats more free, that may return You fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn. _Ama_. Shall I rewarded be so slenderly For my affection, most unkind of men! If I were old, or had agreed with Art To give another Nature to my Cheeks, Or were I common Mistress to the love Of every Swain, or could I with such ease Call back my Love, as many a Wanton doth; Thou might'st refuse me, Shepherd; but to thee I am only fixt and set, let it not be A Sport, thou gentle Shepherd to abuse The love of silly Maid. _Peri_. Fair Soul, ye use These words to little end: for know, I may Better call back that time was Yesterday, Or stay the coming Night, than bring my Love Home to my self again, or recreant prove. I will no longer hold you with delays, This present night I have appointed been To meet that chaste Fair (that enjoys my Soul) In yonder Grove, there to make up our Loves. Be not deceiv'd no longer, chuse again, These neighbouring Plains have many a comely Swain, Fresher, and freer far than I e'r was, Bestow that love on them, and let me pass. Farewel, be happy in a better Choice. [_Exit_. _Ama_. Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy Voice Than if the angry Heavens with their quick flames Had shot me through: I must not leave to love, I cannot, no I must enjoy thee, Boy, Though the great dangers 'twixt my hopes and that Be infinite: there is a Shepherd dwells Down by the Moor, whose life hath ever shown More sullen Discontent than _Saturns_ Brow, When he sits frowning on the Births of Men: One that doth wear himself away in loneness; And never joys unless it be in breaking The holy plighted troths of mutual Souls: One that lusts after [every] several Beauty, But never yet was known to love or like, Were the face fairer, or more full of truth, Than _Phoebe_ in her fulness, or the youth Of smooth _Lyaeus_; whose nigh starved flocks Are always scabby, and infect all Sheep They feed withal; whose Lambs are ever last, And dye before their waining, and whose Dog Looks like his Master, lean, and full of scurf, Not caring for the Pipe or Whistle: this man may (If he be well wrought) do a deed of wonder, Forcing me passage to my long desires: And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose, As my quick thoughts could wish for. _Enter_ Shepherd. _Shep_. Fresh Beauty, let me not be thought uncivil, Thus to be Partner of your loneness: 'twas My Love (that ever working passion) drew Me to this place to seek some remedy For my sick Soul: be not unkind and fair, For such the mighty Cupid in his doom Hath sworn to be aveng'd on; then give room To my consuming Fires, that so I may Enjoy my long Desires, and so allay Those flames that else would burn my life away.