_Lor._ I did not meete that noble entertainment, You were late pleasd to shew me. _Cel._ I observd No such defect in your Lorship, but a brave And noble fortitude. _Lor._ A noble folly I bring repentance fort, I know you have Madam a gentle faith, and wonot ruine What you have built to honour you. _Cel._ Whats that? _Lor._ If you can love, ile tell your Ladiship. _Cel._ I have a stubborne soule else. _Lor._ You are all Composd of harmony. _Cel._ What love de'e meane? _Lor._ That which doth perfect both, Madam you have heard I can be constant, and if you consent To grace it so, there is a spacious dwelling Prepar'd within my heart for such a Mistrisse. _Cel._ Your Mistris, my good Lord? _Lor._ Why my good Lady? Your sexe doth hold it no dishonour To become Mistris to a noble servant In the now court, Platonicke way, consider Who tis that pleades to you, my birth, and present Value can be no staine to your embrace, But these are shadowes when my love appeares, Which shall in his first miracle returne Me in my bloome of youth, and thee a Virgin, When I within some new _Elisium_ Of purpose made and meant for us, shall be In every thing _Adonis_, but in his Contempt of love, and court thee from a _Daphne_ Hid in the cold rinde of a bashfull tree, With such warme language, and delight, till thou Leape from that bayes into the queene of love, And pay my conquest with composing garlands Of thy owne mirtle for me. _Cel._ Whats all this? _Lor._ Consent to be my Mistris _Celestina_, And we will have it Spring-time all the yeare, Vpon whose invitations when we walke, The windes shall play soft descant to our feete, And breathe rich odors to repure the aire, Greene bowers on every side shall tempt our stay, And Violets stoope to have us treade upon em. The red rose shall grow pale, being neere thy cheeke, And the white blush orecome with such a forehead, Here laid, and measuring with our selves some banke, A thousand birds shall from the woods repaire, And place themselves so cunningly, behinde The leaves of every tree, that while they pay As tribute of their songs, thou shalt imagine The very trees beare musicke, and sweet voyces Doe grow in every arbour, here can we Embrace and kisse, tell tales, and kisse agen, And none but heaven our rivall. _Cel._ When we are Weary of these, what if we shift our Paradise? And through a grove of tall and even pine, Descend into a Vally, that shall shame All the delights of _Tempe_, upon whose Greene plush the graces shall be cald to dance To please us, and maintaine their Fairy revells, To the harmonious murmurs of a streame That gently falls upon a rocke of pearle, Here doth the Nimph forsaken Eccho dwell, To whom we'le tell the story of our love, Till at our surfet and her want of joy, We breake her heart with envy, not farre off A grove shall call us to a wanton river, To see a dying Swan give up the ghost, The fishes shooting up their teares in bubbles That they must lose the Genius of their waves,