_Strem._ I'le be straight for him. [_Exit_ Stremon. _Enter_ Eumenes, _and Captains_. _Ser._ How sad he looks and sullen! [_Stand close._ Here are the Captains: my fear's past now. _Mem._ Put case i'th' other world She do not love me neither? I am old 'tis certain. _Eumen._ His spirit is a little quieter. _Mem._ My blood lost, and limbs stiff; my embraces Like the cold stubborn bark, hoarie, and heatless, My words worse: my fame only and atchievements Which are my strength, my blood, my youth, my fashion, Must wooe her, win her, wed her; that's but wind, And women are not brought to bed with shadows: I do her wrong, much wrong; she is young and blessed, Sweet as the spring, and as his blossoms tender, And I a nipping North-wind, my head hung With hails, and frostie Isicles: are the souls so too When they depart hence, lame and old, and loveless? No sure, 'tis ever youth there; Time and Death Follow our flesh no more: and that forc'd opinion That spirits have no sexes, I believe not. _Enter_ Stremon, _like_ Orpheus. There must be love, there is love: what art thou? SONG. Stre. _Orpheus I am, come from the deeps below,_ _To thee fond man the plagues of love to show:_ _To the fair fields where loves eternal dwell_ _There's none that come, but first they pass through hell:_ _Hark and beware unless thou hast lov'd ever,_ _Belov'd again, thou shalt see those joyes never._ _Hark how they groan that dy'd despairing,_ _O take heed then:_ _Hark how they howl for over-daring,_ _All these were men._ _They that be fools, and dye for fame_ _They lose their name;_ _And they that bleed_ _Hark how they speed._ _Now in cold frosts, now scorching fires_ _They sit, and curse their lost desires:_ _Nor shall these souls be free from pains and fears,_ _Till Women waft them over in their tears._ _Mem._ How should I know my passage is deni'd me? Or which of all the Devils dare? _Eumen._ This Song Was rarely form'd to fit him. SONG. Orph. _Charon O Charon,_ _Thou wafter of the souls to bliss or bane._ Cha. _Who calls the Ferry-man of Hell?_ Orph. _Come near,_ _And say who lives in joy, and who in fear._ Cha. _Those that dye well, Eternal joy shall follow;_ _Those that dye ill, their own foul fate shall swallow._ Orph. _Shall thy black Bark those guilty spirits stow_ _That kill themselves for love?_ Cha. _O no, no,_ _My cordage cracks when such great sins are near,_ _No wind blows fair, nor I myself can stear._ Orph. _What lovers pass and in Elyzium raign?_ Cha. _Those Gentle loves that are belov'd again._