The Faithful Shepherdess by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
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Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher >> The Faithful Shepherdess
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_Amo_. Shepherd, what means this Riddle? who hath set
So strong a difference 'twixt my self and me
That I am grown another? look and see
The Ring thou gav'st me, and about my wrist
That curious Bracelet thou thy self didst twist
From those fair Tresses: knowst thou _Amoret_?
Hath not some newer love forc'd thee forget
Thy Ancient faith?
_Per_. Still nearer to my love;
These be the very words she oft did prove
Upon my temper, so she still would take
Wonder into her face, and silent make
Signs with her head and hand, as who would say,
Shepherd remember this another day.
_Amo_. Am I not _Amaret_? where was I lost?
Can there be Heaven, and time, and men, and most
Of these unconstant? Faith where art thou fled?
Are all the vows and protestations dead,
The hands [held] up, the wishes, and the heart,
Is there not one remaining, not a part
Of all these to be found? why then I see
Men never knew that vertue Constancie.
_Per_. Men ever were most blessed, till crass fate
Brought Love and Women forth, unfortunate
To all that ever tasted of their smiles,
Whose actions are all double, full of wiles:
Like to the subtil Hare, that 'fore the Hounds
Makes many turnings, leaps and many rounds,
This way and that way, to deceive the scent
Of her pursuers.
_Amo_. 'Tis but to prevent
Their speedy coming on that seek her fall,
The hands of cruel men, more Bestial,
And of a nature more refusing good
Than Beasts themselves, or Fishes of the Flood.
_Per_. Thou art all these, and more than nature meant,
When she created all, frowns, joys, content;
Extream fire for an hour, and presently
Colder than sleepy poyson, or the Sea,
Upon whose face sits a continual frost:
Your actions ever driven to the most,
Then down again as low, that none can find
The rise or falling of a Womans mind.
_Amo_. Can there be any Age, or dayes, or time,
Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crime
As wronging simple Maid? O _Perigot_,
Thou that wast yesterday without a blot,
Thou that wast every good, and every thing
That men call blessed; thou that wast the spring
From whence our looser grooms drew all their best;
Thou that wast alwayes just, and alwayes blest
In faith and promise; thou that hadst the name
Of Vertuous given thee, and made good the same
Ev'en from thy Cradle; thou that wast that all
That men delighted in; Oh what a fall
Is this, to have been so, and now to be
The only best in wrong and infamie,
And I to live to know this! and by me
That lov'd thee dearer than mine eyes, or that
Which we esteem'd our honour, Virgin state;
Dearer than Swallows love the early morn,
Or Dogs of Chace the sound of merry Horn;
Dearer than thou canst love thy new Love, if thou hast
Another, and far dearer than the last;
Dearer than thou canst love thy self, though all
The self love were within thee that did fall
With that coy Swain that now is made a flower,
For whose dear sake, Echo weeps many a shower.
And am I thus rewarded for my flame?
Lov'd worthily to get a wantons name?
Come thou forsaken Willow, wind my head,
And noise it to the world my Love is dead:
I am forsaken, I am cast away.
And left for every lazy Groom to say,
I was unconstant, light, and sooner lost
Than the quick Clouds we see, or the chill Frost
When the hot Sun beats on it. Tell me yet,
Canst thou not love again thy _Amoret_?
_Per_. Thou art not worthy of that blessed name,
I must not know thee, fling thy wanton flame
Upon some lighter blood, that may be hot
With words and feigned passions: _Perigot_
Was ever yet unstain'd, and shall not now
Stoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow.
_Amo_. Then hear me heaven, to whom I call for right,
And you fair twinkling stars that crown the night;
And hear me woods, and silence of this place,
And ye sad hours that move a sullen pace;
Hear me ye shadows that delight to dwell
In horrid darkness, and ye powers of Hell,
Whilst I breath out my last; I am that maid,
That yet untainted _Amoret_, that plaid
The careless prodigal, and gave away
My soul to this young man, that now dares say
I am a stranger, not the same, more wild;
And thus with much belief I was beguil'd.
I am that maid, that have delaid, deny'd,
And almost scorn'd the loves of all that try'd
To win me, but this swain, and yet confess
I have been woo'd by many with no less
Soul of affection, and have often had
Rings, Belts, and Cracknels sent me from the lad
That feeds his flocks down westward; Lambs and Doves
By young _Alexis; Daphnis_ sent me gloves,
All which I gave to thee: nor these, nor they
That sent them did I smile on, or e're lay
Up to my after-memory. But why
Do I resolve to grieve, and not to dye?
Happy had been the stroke thou gav'st, if home;
By this time had I found a quiet room
Where every slave is free, and every brest
That living breeds new care, now lies at rest,
And thither will poor _Amoret_.
_Per_. Thou must.
Was ever any man so loth to trust
His eyes as I? or was there ever yet
Any so like as this to _Amoret_?
For whose dear sake, I promise if there be
A living soul within thee, thus to free
Thy body from it. [_He hurts her again_.
_Amo_. So, this work hath end:
Farewel and live, be constant to thy friend
That loves thee next.
_Enter_ Satyr, Perigot _runs off_.
_Satyr_. See the day begins to break,
And the light shoots like a streak
Of subtil fire, the wind blows cold,
Whilst the morning doth unfold;
Now the Birds begin to rouse,
And the Squirril from the boughs
Leaps to get him Nuts and fruit;
The early Lark that erst was mute,
Carrols to the rising day
Many a note and many a lay:
Therefore here I end my watch,
Lest the wandring swain should catch
Harm, or lose himself.
_Amo_. Ah me!
_Satyr_. Speak again what e're thou be,
I am ready, speak I say:
By the dawning of the day,
By the power of night and _Pan_,
I inforce thee speak again.
_Amo_. O I am most unhappy.
_Satyr_. Yet more blood!
Sure these wanton Swains are wode.
Can there be a hand or heart
Dare commit so vile a part
As this Murther? By the Moon
That hid her self when this was done,
Never was a sweeter face:
I will bear her to the place
Where my Goddess keeps; and crave
Her to give her life, or grave. [_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ Clorin.
_Clor_. Here whilst one patient takes his rest secure
I steal abroad to doe another Cure.
Pardon thou buryed body of my love,
That from thy side I dare so soon remove,
I will not prove unconstant, nor will leave
Thee for an hour alone. 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.
_Clor_. Why dost thou pine away thy self for me?
_The_. Why dost thou keep such spotless constancie?
_Clor_. Thou holy _Shepherd_, see what for thy sake
_Clorin_, thy _Clorin_, now dare under take. [_He starts up_.
_The_. Stay there, thou constant _Clorin_, if there be
Yet any part of woman left in thee,
To make thee light: think yet before thou speak.
_Clor_. See what a holy vow for thee I break.
I that already have my fame far spread
For being constant to my lover dead.
_The_. Think yet, dear _Clorin_, of your love, how true,
If you had dyed, he would have been to you.
_Clor_. Yet all I'le lose for thee.
_The_. Think but how blest
A constant woman is above the rest.
_Clor_. And offer up my self, here on this ground,
To be dispos'd by thee.
_The_. Why dost thou wound
His heart with malice, against woman more,
That hated all the Sex, but thee before?
How much more pleasant had it been to me
To dye, than to behold this change in thee?
Yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway.
_Clor_. Insult not on her now, nor use delay,
Who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame.
_The_. Thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame,
Your Sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall,
I see, once in your lives, light on you all.
I hate thee now: yet turn.
_Clor_. Be just to me:
Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?
_The_. Thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good,
Was but thy appetite that sway'd thy blood
For that time to the best: for as a blast
That through a house comes, usually doth cast
Things out of order, yet by chance may come,
And blow some one thing to his proper room;
So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal,
Sway thee [by] chance to doe some one thing well.
Yet turn.
_Clor_. Thou dost but try me if I would
Forsake thy dear imbraces, for my old
Love's, though he were alive: but do not fear.
_The_. I do contemn thee now, and dare come near,
And gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace,
Austeritie, which sate upon that face
Is gone, and thou like others: false maid see,
This is the gain of foul inconstancie. [_Exit_.
_Clor_. 'Tis done, great _Pan_ I give thee thanks for it,
What art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit.
_Enter_ Thenot, _again_.
_The_. Will ye be constant yet? will ye remove
Into the Cabin to your buried Love?
_Clor_. No let me die, but by thy side remain.
_The_. There's none shall know that thou didst ever stain
Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be,
And I will lye again under this tree,
And pine and dye for thee with more delight,
Than I have sorrow now to know the light.
_Clor_. Let me have thee, and I'le be where thou wilt.
_The_. Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt.
Farewel all hope of that Sex, whilst I thought
There was one good, I fear'd to find one naught:
But since their minds I all alike espie,
Henceforth I'le choose as others, by mine eye.
_Clor_. Blest be ye powers that give such quick redress,
And for my labours sent so good success.
I rather choose, though I a woman be,
He should speak ill of all, than die for me.
_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima_.
_Enter_ Priest, _and old_ Shepherd.
_Priest_. Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep,
See the blushing Morn doth peep
Through the window, whilst the Sun
To the mountain tops is run,
Gilding all the Vales below
With his rising flames, which grow
Greater by his climbing still.
Up ye lazie grooms, and fill
Bagg and Bottle for the field;
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter North-east wind.
Call the Maidens up, and find
Who lay longest, that she may
Goe without a friend all day;
Then reward your Dogs, and pray
_Pan_ to keep you from decay:
So unfold and then away.
What not a Shepherd stirring? sure the grooms
Have found their beds too easie, or the rooms
Fill'd with such new delight, and heat, that they
Have both forgot their hungry sheep, and day;
Knock, that they may remember what a shame
Sloath and neglect layes on a Shepherds name.
_Old Shep_. It is to little purpose, not a swain
This night hath known his lodging here, or lain
Within these cotes: the woods, or some near town,
That is a neighbour to the bordering Down,
Hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lustie sport,
Or spiced Wassel-Boul, to which resort
All the young men and maids of many a cote,
Whilst the trim Minstrel strikes his merry note.
_Priest_. God pardon sin, show me the way that leads
To any of their haunts.
_Old Shep_. This to the meads,
And that down to the woods.
_Priest_. Then this for me;
Come Shepherd let me crave your companie. [_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ Clorin, _in her Cabin_, Alexis, _with her_.
_Clor_. Now your thoughts are almost pure,
And your wound begins to cure:
Strive to banish all that's vain,
Lest it should break out again.
_Alex_. Eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid:
I find my former wandring thoughts well staid
Through thy wise precepts, and my outward pain
By thy choice herbs is almost gone again:
Thy sexes vice and vertue are reveal'd
At once, for what one hurt, another heal'd.
_Clor_. May thy grief more appease,
Relapses are the worst disease.
Take heed how you in thought offend,
So mind and body both will mend.
_Enter_ Satyr, _with_ Amoret.
_Amo_. Beest thou the wildest creature of the wood,
That bearst me thus away, drown'd in my blood,
And dying, know I cannot injur'd be,
I am a maid, let that name fight for me.
_Satyr_. Fairest Virgin do not fear
Me, that do thy body bear,
Not to hurt, but heal'd to be;
Men are ruder far than we.
See fair _Goddess_ in the wood,
They have let out yet more blood.
Some savage man hath struck her breast
So soft and white, that no wild beast
Durst ha' toucht asleep, or wake:
So sweet, that _Adder, Newte_, or _Snake_,
Would have lain from arm to arm,
On her bosom to be warm
All a night, and being hot,
Gone away and stung her not.
Quickly clap herbs to her breast;
A man sure is a kind of beast.
_Clor_. With spotless hand, on spotless brest
I put these herbs to give thee rest:
Which till it heal thee, will abide,
If both be pure, if not, off slide.
See it falls off from the wound,
Shepherdess thou art not sound,
Full of lust.
_Satyr_, Who would have thought it,
So fair a face?
_Clor_. Why that hath brought it.
_Amo_. For ought I know or think, these words, my last:
Yet _Pan_ so help me as my thoughts are chast.
_Clor_. And so may _Pan_ bless this my cure,
As all my thoughts are just and pure;
Some uncleanness nigh doth lurk,
That will not let my Medicines work.
_Satyr_ search if thou canst find it.
_Satyr_. Here away methinks I wind it,
Stronger yet: Oh here they be,
Here, here, in a hollow tree,
Two fond mortals have I found.
_Clor_. Bring them out, they are unsound.
_Enter_ Cloe, _and_ Daphnis.
_Satyr_. By the fingers thus I wring ye,
To my _Goddess_ thus I bring ye;
Strife is vain, come gently in,
I scented them, they're full of sin.
_Clor_. Hold _Satyr_, take this Glass,
Sprinkle over all the place,
Purge the Air from lustfull breath,
To save this Shepherdess from death,
And stand you still whilst I do dress
Her wound for fear the pain encrease.
_Sat_. From this glass I throw a drop
Of Crystal water on the top
Of every grass, on flowers a pair:
Send a fume and keep the air
Pure and wholsom, sweet and blest,
Till this Virgins wound be drest.
_Clor. Satyr_, help to bring her in.
_Sat_. By _Pan_, I think she hath no sin,
She is so light: lye on these leaves.
Sleep that mortal sense deceives,
Crown thine Eyes, and ease thy pain,
Maist thou soon be well again.
_Clor. Satyr_, bring the Shepherd near,
Try him if his mind be clear.
_Sat_. Shepherd come.
_Daph_. My thoughts are pure.
_Sat_. The better trial to endure.
_Clor_. In this flame his finger thrust,
Which will burn him if he lust;
But if not, away will turn,
As loth unspotted flesh to burn:
See, it gives back, let him go,
Farewel mortal, keep thee so.
_Sat_. Stay fair _Nymph_, flye not so fast,
We must try if you be chaste:
Here's a hand that quakes for fear,
Sure she will not prove so clear.
_Clor._ Hold her finger to the flame,
That will yield her praise or shame.
_Sat._ To her doom she dares not stand,
But plucks away her tender hand,
And the Taper darting sends
His hot beams at her fingers ends:
O thou art foul within, and hast
A mind, if nothing else, unchaste.
_Alex._ Is not that _Cloe?_ 'tis my Love, 'tis she!
_Cloe_, fair _Cloe_.
_Clo._ My Alexis.
_Alex._ He.
_Clo._ Let me embrace thee.
_Clor._ Take her hence,
Lest her sight disturb his sence.
_Alex._ Take not her, take my life first.
_Clor._ See, his wound again is burst:
Keep her near, here in the Wood,
Till I ha' stopt these Streams of Blood.
Soon again he ease shall find,
If I can but still his mind:
This Curtain thus I do display,
To keep the piercing air away.
_Enter_ old Shepherd, _and_ Priest.
_Priest_. Sure they are lost for ever; 'tis in vain
To find 'em out with trouble and much pain,
That have a ripe desire, and forward will
To flye the Company of all but ill,
What shall be counsel'd now? shall we retire?
Or constant follow still that first desire
We had to find them?
_Old_. Stay a little while;
For if the Morning mist do not beguile
My sight with shadows, sure I see a Swain;
One of this jolly Troop's come back again.
_Enter_ Thenot.
_Pri._ Dost thou not blush young Shepherd to be known,
Thus without care, leaving thy flocks alone,
And following what desire and present blood
Shapes out before thy burning sense, for good,
Having forgot what tongue hereafter may
Tell to the World thy falling off, and say
Thou art regardless both of good and shame,
Spurning at Vertue, and a vertuous Name,
And like a glorious, desperate man that buys
A poyson of much price, by which he dies,
Dost thou lay out for Lust, whose only gain
Is foul disease, with present age and pain,
And then a Grave? These be the fruits that grow
In such hot Veins that only beat to know
Where they may take most ease, and grow ambitious
Through their own wanton fire, and pride delicious.
_The_. Right holy Sir, I have not known this night,
What the smooth face of Mirth was, or the sight
Of any looseness; musick, joy, and ease,
Have been to me as bitter drugs to please
A Stomach lost with weakness, not a game
That I am skill'd at throughly; nor a Dame,
Went her tongue smoother than the feet of Time,
Her beauty ever living like the Rime
Our blessed _Tityrus_ did sing of yore,
No, were she more enticing than the store
Of fruitful Summer, when the loaden Tree
Bids the faint Traveller be bold and free,
'Twere but to me like thunder 'gainst the bay,
Whose lightning may enclose but never stay
Upon his charmed branches; such am I
Against the catching flames of Womans eye.
_Priest_. Then wherefore hast thou wandred?
_The_. 'Twas a Vow
That drew me out last night, which I have now
Strictly perform'd, and homewards go to give
Fresh pasture to my Sheep, that they may live.
_Pri_. 'Tis good to hear ye, Shepherd, if the heart
In this well sounding Musick bear his part.
Where have you left the rest?
_The_. I have not seen,
Since yesternight we met upon this green
To fold our Flocks up, any of that train;
Yet have I walkt these Woods round, and have lain
All this same night under an aged Tree,
Yet neither wandring Shepherd did I see,
Or Shepherdess, or drew into mine ear
The sound of living thing, unless it were
The Nightingale among the thick leav'd spring
That sits alone in sorrow, and doth sing
Whole nights away in mourning, or the Owl,
Or our great enemy that still doth howl
Against the Moons cold beams.
_Priest_. Go and beware
Of after falling.
_The_. Father 'tis my care. [_Exit_ Thenot.
_Enter_ Daphnis.
_Old_. Here comes another Stragler, sure I see
A Shame in this young Shepherd. _Daphnis_!
_Daph_. He.
_Pri_. Where hast thou left the rest, that should have been
Long before this, grazing upon the green
Their yet imprison'd flocks?
_Daph_. Thou holy man,
Give me a little breathing till I can
Be able to unfold what I have seen;
Such horrour that the like hath never been
Known to the ear of Shepherd: Oh my heart
Labours a double motion to impart
So heavy tidings! You all know the Bower
Where the chast _Clorin_ lives, by whose great power
Sick men and Cattel have been often cur'd,
There lovely _Amoret_ that was assur'd
To lusty _Perigot_, bleeds out her life,
Forc'd by some Iron hand and fatal knife;
And by her young _Alexis_.
_Enter_ Amaryllis _running from her_ Sullen Shepherd.
_Amar_. If there be
Ever a Neighbour Brook, or hollow tree,
Receive my Body, close me up from lust
That follows at my heels; be ever just,
Thou god of Shepherds, _Pan_, for her dear sake
That loves the Rivers brinks, and still doth shake
In cold remembrance of thy quick pursuit:
Let me be made a reed, and ever mute,
Nod to the waters fall, whilst every blast
Sings through my slender leaves that I was chast.
_Pri_. This is a night of wonder, _Amaryll_
Be comforted, the holy gods are still
Revengers of these wrongs.
_Amar_. Thou blessed man,
Honour'd upon these plains, and lov'd of _Pan_,
Hear me, and save from endless infamie
My yet unblasted Flower, _Virginitie_:
By all the Garlands that have crown'd that head,
By the chaste office, and the Marriage bed
That still is blest by thee, by all the rights
Due to our gods; and by those Virgin lights
That burn before his Altar, let me not
Fall from my former state to gain the blot
That never shall be purg'd: I am not now
That wanton _Amaryllis_: here I vow
To Heaven, and thee grave Father, if I may
'Scape this unhappy Night, to know the Day,
To live a Virgin, never to endure
The tongues, or Company of men impure.
I hear him come, save me.
_Pri_. Retire a while
Behind this Bush, till we have known that vile
Abuser of young Maidens.
_Enter_ Sullen.
_Sul_. Stay thy pace,
Most loved _Amaryllis_, let the Chase
Grow calm and milder, flye me not so fast,
I fear the pointed Brambles have unlac'd
Thy golden Buskins; turn again and see
Thy Shepherd follow, that is strong and free,
Able to give thee all content and ease.
I am not bashful, Virgin, I can please
At first encounter, hug thee in mine arm,
And give thee many Kisses, soft and warm
As those the Sun prints on the smiling Cheek
Of Plums, or mellow Peaches; I am sleek
And smooth as _Neptune_, when stern _Eolus_
Locks up his surly Winds, and nimbly thus
Can shew my active Youth; why dost thou flye?
Remember _Amaryllis_, it was I
That kill'd _Alexis_ for thy sake, and set
An everlasting hate 'twixt _Amoret_
And her beloved _Perigot_: 'twas I
That drown'd her in the Well, where she must lye
Till Time shall leave to be; then turn again,
Turn with thy open arms, and clip the Swain
That hath perform'd all this, turn, turn I say:
I must not be deluded.
_Pri_. Monster stay,
Thou that art like a Canker to the State
Thou liv'st and breath'st in, eating with debate
Through every honest bosome, forcing still
The Veins of any that may serve thy Will,
Thou that hast offer'd with a sinful hand
To seize upon this Virgin that doth stand
Yet trembling here.
_Sull_. Good holiness declare,
What had the danger been, if being bare
I had embrac'd her, tell me by your Art,
What coming wonders would that sight impart?
_Pri_. Lust, and a branded Soul.
_Sull_. Yet tell me more,
Hath not our Mother Nature for her store
And great encrease, said it is good and just,
And wills that every living Creature must
Beget his like?
_Pri_. Ye are better read than I,
I must confess, in blood and Lechery.
Now to the Bower, and bring this Beast along,
Where he may suffer Penance for his wrong. [_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ Perigot _with his hands bloody_.
_Per_. Here will I wash it in this mornings dew,
Which she on every little grass doth strew
In silver drops against the Sun's appear:
'Tis holy water, and will make me clear.
My hands will not be cleans'd. My wronged Love,
If thy chaste spirit in the air yet move,
Look mildly down on him that yet doth stand
All full of guilt, thy blood upon his hand,
And though I struck thee undeservedly,
Let my revenge on her that injur'd thee
Make less a fault which I intended not,
And let these dew drops wash away my spot.
It will not cleanse. O to what sacred Flood
Shall I resort to wash away this blood?
Amid'st these Trees the holy _Clorin_ dwells
In a low Cabin of cut Boughs, and heals
All Wounds; to her I will my self address,
And my rash faults repentantly confess;
Perhaps she'll find a means by Art or Prayer,
To make my hand with chaste blood stained, fair:
That done, not far hence underneath some Tree,
I'll have a little Cabin built, since she
Whom I ador'd is dead, there will I give
My self to strictness, and like _Clorin_ live. [_Exit_.
_The Curtain is drawn_, Clorin _appears sitting in the Cabin,_ Amoret
_sitting on the one side of her_, Alexis _and_ Cloe _on the other, the_
Satyr _standing by._
_Clo_. Shepherd, once more your blood is staid,
Take example by this Maid,
Who is heal'd ere you be pure,
So hard it is lewd lust to cure.
Take heed then how you turn your eye
On each other lustfully:
And Shepherdess take heed lest you
Move his willing eye thereto;
Let no wring, nor pinch, nor smile
Of yours his weaker sense beguile.
Is your Love yet true and chaste,
And for ever so to last?
_Alex_. I have forgot all vain desires,
All looser thoughts, ill tempred fires,
True Love I find a pleasant fume,
Whose moderate heat can ne'r consume.
_Clo_. And I a new fire feel in me,
Whose chaste flame is not quencht to be.
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