The. Thou hadst no fame; that which thou didst like good
Was but thy appetite that swayed 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 do some one thing well.
Yet turn!

Clo. Thou dost but try me, if I would
Forsake thy dear embraces 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 methinks that grace,
Austerity, which sate upon that face,
Is gone, and thou like others. False maid, see,
This is the gain of foul inconstancy!

[Exit.

Clo. ’Tis done:—great Pan, I give thee thanks for it!—
What art could not have cured is healed by wit.

Re-enter Thenot.

The. Will you be constant yet? will you remove
Into the cabin to your buried love?

Clo. No, let me die, but by thy side remain.

The. There’s none shall know but thou didst ever stain
Thy worthy strictness, but shalt honoured be,
And I will lie again under this tree,
And pine and die for thee with more delight
Than I have sorrow now to know thee light.

Clo. Let me have thee, and I’ll be where thou wilt.

The. Thou art of women’s race, and full of guilt.
Farewell all hope of that sex! Whilst I thought
There was one good, I feared to find one naught:
But since their minds I all alike espy,
Henceforth I’ll choose, as others, by mine eye.

[Exit.

Clo. Blest be ye powers that gave 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.

[Exit into the bower.