When I deceive
My first made vow, the wildest of the wood
Tear me, and o're thy Grave let out my blood;
I goe by wit to cure a lovers pain
Which no herb can; being done, I'le come again. [_Exit_.
_Enter_ Thenot.
_The_. Poor Shepherd in this shade for ever lye,
And seeing thy fair _Clorins_ Cabin, dye:
0 hapless love, which [being] answer'd, ends;
And as a little infant cryes and bends
His tender Brows, when rowling of his eye
He hath espy'd some thing that glisters nigh
Which he would have, yet give it him, away
He throws it straight, and cryes afresh to play
With something else: such my affection, set
On that which I should loath, if I could get.
_Enter_ Clorin.
_Clor_. See where he lyes; did ever man but he
Love any woman for her Constancie
To her dead lover, which she needs must end
Before she can allow him for her friend,
And he himself must needs the cause destroy,
For which he loves, before he can enjoy?
Poor _Shepherd_, Heaven grant I at once may free
Thee from thy pain, and keep my loyaltie:
_Shepherd_, look up.
_The_. Thy brightness doth amaze!
So _Phoebus_ may at noon bid mortals gaze,
Thy glorious constancie appears so bright,
I dare not meet the Beams with my weak sight.
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