MONTANUS

As good yield indeed submissively, and satisfy partly of our affections; as be stubborn without ability to resist, and enjoy none of them: I am in worst plighted, since I love a Nymph that mocks love. I this: Fructus abest fancies cum bona teste caret. Fair faces loose their favours, if they admit no lovers. Come, let us every one to our walks, it may be we shall meet them walking. Exeunt. Though thou hast overtaken me in love, yet have I overtaken thee in running: fair Celia, yield to love, to sweet love. The fairest Wolf chooseth the foulest, if he be faithfullest, and he that endureth most grief, nor he that hath most beauty. Fair faces should have smooth hearts. Women's beauty's will wain, and then no art can make them fair? To be amiable and not to love, is Like a painted Lady, to have colours, and no life. What call you deserts, what lovely Have not I and excellent wit? Fool? No, Celia, thou shalt find me as wise, as I do thee proud, and as little to digest thy taunts, as thou to brook my love. Sweet Celia, I will be patient and forget this. A hard choice, if I take all well, to be a fool, if find fault, then to want patience. Farewell, nay I will follow, and I know not how it comes to pass; disdain increases desire, and the farther possibility stands, the nearer approaches hope. Coy Celia, bred up in skoftes! Mine in pride intolerable, who bids me look for no other comfort then contempt. Here is the tree. Oh mischief scarce to be belee ved, in possible to be pardoned! And mine. You see their posies is as their hearts; and their hearts as their speeches, cruel, proud and wavering: let us all to the Temple of Cupid, and entreat his favour, if not to obtain their loves, yet to revenge their hates, Cupid is a kind God, who knowing our unsported thoughts, will punish them, or release us. We will study what re venge to have, that our pains proceeding of our own minds, then plagues may also proceed from theirs. Are you all agreed Then he is no God. I am ready. With this distaff have I spun, that my exerci ses may be as womanish as my affections, and so did Her cules: and with this halter will I hang my self, if my for tunes answer not my deserts, and so did Iphis. The thee, divine Cupid, I present not a bleeding, but a bloodless heart, dried only with sorrow, and worn with faithful service. This picture Toffer, carved with no other instrument then Love; pity poor Montanus. Mine most fair, but most proud. Too coy. Th'other, that he hath no ears, to hear those that call. All, that he hath no sense, because pains are pleasures, and pleasures pains, That affection could not be bought with gold, Nothing, but that they wished them death's. Mine being so fair and so proud, would I have turned into some flower, that she may know beauty is as fading as grass, which being fresh in the morning, is with red before night. Let us not now stand wishing, but presently seek them out, using as great speed in following revenge, as we did in pursuing our love: certainly we shall find them about Ceres tree, singing or sacrificing. Not I, left he eat us, that devoureth all things; his looks are of force to famish: let vsin, and let all La die beware to offend those in spite, that love them in honour, for when the Crow shall et his foot in their eye, and the black Ox tread on their foot, they shall find their misfortunes to be equal with their deformities, and men both to loath, and laugh at them. I did ever imagine, that true love would end with sweet joys, though oh was begun with deep sighs. Possess? Never doubt it, for Ceres hath restored Erisicthon, and therefore will persuade with them, nay, command them. Thou art worse then Silvestris, he not content without absolute love, thou with indifferent. I madame, if love would admit counsel. Divine Celia, fairer then ever she was! Happy Montanus. And mine. Which way shalt thou turn thy self, since no thing will turn her heart? Die, Montanus, with shame and grief, and both infinite. Fair Lady, in the Rose did I always behold thy colour, and resolved by continual gazing to perish, which I could not do when thou wast in thine own shape, thou wast so coy and swift in flying from me. Let me bleed every minute with the prickles of the Rose, so I may enjoy but one hour the savour: love, fair Celia, and at thy pleasure comfort, and confound. Fortunate Montanus. Thou knowest, Erisicthon, that lovers visit none but their Mistress's. I would thy words were, as thy looks are, lovely. Then let us prepare our selves for Cupid's sacrifice.