PELOPAEA

GOod morrow. Think you so? I pray can you define me Thought? But can you guess what I think? Pity it's, oh fair a body, and so sweet a soul hold be so foully dealt with. Her false Lover nkindely hath forsook her. You say well. to as no worms breed where they feel no warmth, oh Vultures watch where they can find no prey; oh Pirate roves but where he Hope's for spoil: none of these false servants wait, but where heigh find a yielding Mistress. But Amphrisa Is held to be the wisest shepherdess That lives in our Arcadia. You're sad, Amphrisa: Sweet may we know the cause? Amphrisa. You have prevented A strange conceit which somewhat troubled me; But by your interruption almost lost. Nay recollect your self, pray let us hear't. You're stung then. But I was thinking on Praxiteles, Who drew his mistress thus: Look on her one way, She laughed upon him: Strait before, she wept: But change the side, and cast your eye adverse, And then she appeared sleeping. And so you, Fit but your fancies unto such a face, You'll never complain of servant. There's none so marble breasted, but does melt To hear of your disaster. By patience. It is the best receipt that can be took Both against love and fortune (Crossed in both.) The only remedy for injuries, is By patience to forget them. And more noble It is to yield your self in triumph to't Then to be drawn by force. Imagine first, You never had a servant. Or say she had, Think that he never played false. Well, Mistress Doctor I'll give way to you. You are our Queen. Imposition That comes from you is unto us a Law, Which ought to be kept sacred. Those that delight in dainties store, One stomach feed at once, no more. And when with homely fare we feast, With us it does as well digest: And many times we better speed; For our wild fruits no surfeits breed, Now let me help you: Men's thoughts Like Courtiers cloaks are often shifted, And change as oft as they are truly sifted. But 'twere sin In us, not to be answered, thus to suffer her To pale the cheerful blood in her far cheeks, Through wilful passion. Which I'll not endure. Without feeling Your pulse, I know the nature of your grief: You have and heat, on which a coldness waits, A pain that is endured with pleasantness, And makes those sweets you eat have bitter taste: puts eyes in your thoughts, ears in your heart: It by desire first bred, by delight nursed, And hath of late been weaned by jealousy. And moreover; What cannot be redressed with peevishness, Ought to be born with patience. So we thought There might no jarring discords grow from us, To spoil your better music. But amongst these, Amphrisa had no place. What news in our Arcadia?