_Asp_. Then my good Girles, be more than Women, wise. At least be more than I was; and be sure you credit any thing the light gives light to, before a man; rather believe the Sea weeps for the ruin'd Merchant when he roars; rather the wind courts but the pregnant sails when the strong cordage cracks; rather the Sun comes but to kiss the Fruit in wealthy Autumn, when all falls blasted; if you needs must love (forc'd by ill fate) take to your maiden bosoms two dead cold aspicks, and of them make Lovers, they cannot flatter nor forswear; one kiss makes a long peace for all; but man, Oh that beast man! Come lets be sad my Girles; That down cast of thine eye, _Olympias_, Shews a fine sorrow; mark _Antiphila_, Just such another was the Nymph _Oenone_, When _Paris_ brought home _Helen_: now a tear, And then thou art a piece expressing fully The _Carthage_ Queen, when from a cold Sea Rock, Full with her sorrow, she tyed fast her eyes To the fair _Trojan_ ships, and having lost them, Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear, _Antiphila_; What would this Wench do, if she were _Aspatia_? Here she would stand, till some more pitying God Turn'd her to Marble: 'tis enough my Wench; Shew me the piece of Needle-work you wrought. _Ant_. Of _Ariadne_, Madam? _Asp_. Yes that piece. This should be _Theseus_, h'as a cousening face, You meant him for a man. _Ant_. He was so Madam. _Asp_. Why then 'tis well enough, never look back, You have a full wind, and a false heart _Theseus_; Does not the story say, his Keel was split, Or his Masts spent, or some kind rock or other Met with his Vessel? _Ant_. Not as I remember. _Asp_. It should ha' been so; could the Gods know this, And not of all their number raise a storm? But they are all as ill. This false smile was well exprest; Just such another caught me; you shall not go so _Antiphila_, In this place work a quick-sand, And over it a shallow smiling Water. And his ship ploughing it, and then a fear. Do that fear to the life Wench. _Ant_. 'Twill wrong the story. _Asp_. 'Twill make the story wrong'd by wanton Poets Live long and be believ'd; but where's the Lady? _Ant_. There Madam.