During this song, the masquers presented their shields, and took forth their ladies to dance. After they had danced many measures, galliards, corantos, and levaltos, the night being much spent, whilst the masquers prepared themselves for their departing measure, Cynthia spake thus:-- _Cynth._ Now pleasing rest; for, see the night (Wherein pale Cynthia claims her right) Is almost spent; the morning grows, The rose and violet she strows Upon the high celestial floor, 'Gainst Phoebus rise from paramour. The Fairies, that my shades pursue, And bathe their feet in my cold dew, Now leave their ringlets and be quiet, Lest my brother's eye should spy it. Then now let every gracious star Avoid at sound of Phoebus' car; Into your proper place retire, With bosoms full of beauty's fire; Hence must slide the Queen of Floods, For day begins to gild the woods. Then whilst we sing, though you depart, I'll swear that here you leave your heart. The eclogue which a despairing shepherd spake to a nymph at my Lady's departure:-- Stay, fair Beliza, and, whilst Heaven throws On the crack'd earth His burning breath, O hear thy Dorus' woes, Whose cause and cure only Beliza knows. See now the god of flames in full pomp rides, And now each lass On flowery grass By the cool fountain sides With quiet bosom and soft ease abides. Do you so too, for see this bounteous spring: Pray thee sit down, Then shall I crown Thy brows with flowery ring, Whilst thus with shepherd's homely voice I sing. He sang a passionate ditty; which done, he spake thus:-- _Shep._ Now, fairest, deign once to impart, Did ever live so coy a lass Who unto love was never moved? _Nymph._ Yes, shepherd, she that hath the heart And is resolved her life to pass Neither to love or be beloved. _Shep._ She senseless lives without affection. _Nymph._ Yet happy lives without subjection. _Shep._ To be pluck'd are roses blown, To be mow'd are meadows grown [sown?], Gems are made but to be shown, And woman's best-- _Nymph._ To keep her own. _Shep._ Well, shepherdess, still hate to love me; No scorn from my fix'd vow shall move me. When sheep to finest grass have loathing, When courtiers shall disdain rich clothing, When shepherds shun their mayday's sports, Green sickness when 'tis rife in courts,-- O then, and not till then, I'll hate Beliza, my sole love and fate. _Nymph._ When love in daughters shall ascend For simple Piety's sole end, When any child her mother graces With all she can, yet all defaces In her fair thought the faith she oweth (Though what she can she freely showeth); Then, shepherd, mayst thou hope attend, For then my hate shall have an end.