WOOER. ‘His shackles will betray him, hee’l be taken, And what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy, A hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe, With Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies, With cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses, And all wee’l daunce an Antique fore the Duke, And beg his pardon.’ Then she talk’d of you, Sir; That you must loose your head to morrow morning, And she must gather flowers to bury you, And see the house made handsome: then she sung Nothing but ‘Willow, willow, willow,’ and betweene Ever was, ‘Palamon, faire Palamon,’ And ‘Palamon was a tall yong man.’ The place Was knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses A wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke Thousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors, That me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph That feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris Newly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke The prettiest posies: ‘Thus our true love’s tide,’ ‘This you may loose, not me,’ and many a one: And then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh’d, And with the same breath smil’d, and kist her hand. 2. FRIEND. Alas, what pitty it is! WOOER. I made in to her. She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav’d her, And set her safe to land: when presently She slipt away, and to the Citty made, With such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me, Shee left me farre behinde her; three or foure I saw from farre off crosse her, one of ’em I knew to be your brother; where she staid, And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter Brother, Daughter, and others.] And hether came to tell you. Here they are. DAUGHTER. [sings.] May you never more enjoy the light, &c. Is not this a fine Song? BROTHER. O, a very fine one. DAUGHTER. I can sing twenty more. BROTHER. I thinke you can. DAUGHTER. Yes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome, And Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour? BROTHER. Yes. DAUGHTER. Wher’s my wedding Gowne? BROTHER. Ile bring it to morrow. DAUGHTER. Doe, very rarely; I must be abroad else To call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels, For I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light; Twill never thrive else. [Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c. BROTHER. You must ev’n take it patiently. IAILOR. Tis true. DAUGHTER. Good ev’n, good men; pray, did you ever heare Of one yong Palamon? IAILOR. Yes, wench, we know him. DAUGHTER. Is’t not a fine yong Gentleman? IAILOR. Tis Love. BROTHER. By no meane crosse her; she is then distemperd Far worse then now she showes. 1. FRIEND. Yes, he’s a fine man. DAUGHTER. O, is he so? you have a Sister? 1. FRIEND. Yes. DAUGHTER. But she shall never have him, tell her so, For a tricke that I know; y’had best looke to her, For if she see him once, she’s gone, she’s done, And undon in an howre. All the young Maydes Of our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at ’em And let ’em all alone; Is’t not a wise course? 1. FRIEND. Yes.