FRANCKE. TELL me, dearest! What is Love?

CLORA,

BOTH.

CLORA.

'Tis a lightning from above!
'Tis an arrow! 'Tis a fire!
'Tis a boy they call Desire!

'Tis a grave
Gapes to have

Those poor fools, that long to prove!

FRANCKE. Tell me more! Are women true? Yes, some are! and some as you! Some are willing! some are strange, Since you men first taught to change! And till troth

BOTH.

Be in both;

All shall love, to love anew!

FRANCKE. Tell me more yet! Can they grieve?

CLORA.

Вотн.

Yes, and sicken sore; but live!

And be wise, and delay;

When you men are as wise as they!

Then I see,

Faith will be

Never till they both believe!

COME, Shepherds! come!

Come away, without delay,

Whilst the gentle time doth stay! Green woods are dumb:

And will never tell to any

Those dear kisses; and those many
Sweet embraces that are given !
Dainty pleasures, that would even
Raise in coldest Age a fire;
And give virgin blood desire!
Then, if ever,

Now or never,

Come and have it!

Think not I

AWAY, delights! Go, seek some other dwelling! For I must die!

Farewell, false LOVE! Thy tongue is ever telling
Lie after lie!

For ever let me rest now from thy smarts!
Alas, for pity, go,

And fire their hearts

That have been hard to thee! Mine was not so!

Never again deluding Love shall know me!
For I will die!

And all those griefs, that think to overgrow me,
Shall be as I!

For ever will I sleep! while poor Maids cry,

'Alas, for pity, stay!

And let us die

With thee! Men cannot mock us in the clay!'

ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue!

Maiden Pinks, of odour faint!
Daisies smell-less; yet most quaint!
And sweet Time true!

Primrose, firstborn child of VER,
Merry Spring-time's Harbinger,
With her bells dim!

Oxlips, in their cradles growing!
Marigolds, on death-beds blowing!
Larks'-heels trim!

All dear Nature's children sweet- [Strew flowers!] Ly [strew] 'fore Bride and Bridegroom's feet; Blessing their sense.

Not an angel of the air,

Bird melodious, or bird fair,
Is absent hence!

The Crow, the sland'rous Cuckoo, nor
The boding Raven, nor Chough hoar,
Nor chattering Pie,

May on our Bride-House perch, or sing!
Or with them, any discord bring;

But from it fly!