_The_. Far from me are these Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease; I have forgot what love and loving meant: Rhimes, Songs, and merry Rounds, that oft are sent To the soft Ears of Maids, are strange to me; Only I live t' admire a Chastitie, That neither pleasing Age, smooth tongue, or Gold, Could ever break upon, so pure a Mold Is that her Mind was cast in; 'tis to her I only am reserv'd; she is my form I stir By, breath and move, 'tis she and only she Can make me happy, or give miserie. _Clo_. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to know To whom this dear observance you do ow? _The_. You may, and by her Vertue learn to square And level out your Life; for to be fair And nothing vertuous, only fits the Eye Of gaudy Youth, and swelling Vanitie. Then know, she's call'd the Virgin of the Grove, She that hath long since bury'd her chaste Love, And now lives by his Grave, for whose dear Soul She hath vow'd her self into the holy Roll Of strict Virginity; 'tis her I so admire, Not any looser Blood, or new desire. _Clo_. Farewel poor Swain, thou art not for my bend, I must have quicker Souls, whose works may tend To some free action: give me him dare love At first encounter, and as soon dare prove. The SONG. _Come Shepherds, come, Come away without delay Whilst the gentle time dot[h] stay. Green Woods are dumb, And will never tell to any Those dear Kisses, and those many Sweet Embraces that are given Dainty Pleasures that would even Raise in coldest Age a fire, And give Virgin Blood desire, Then if ever, Now or never, Come and have it, Think not I, Dare deny, If you crave it._ _Enter_ Daphnis.