Part 4 (2/2)

_Evad_. What wilt thou do?

_Dul_. Madam, we'l do't, and make'm leave play too.

_Evad_. _Aspatia_, take her part.

_Dul_. I will refuse it.

She will pluck down a side, she does not use it.

_Evad_. Why, do.

_Dul_. You will find the play Quickly, because your head lies well that way.

_Evad_. I thank thee _Dula_, would thou could'st instill Some of thy mirth into _Aspatia_: Nothing but sad thoughts in her breast do dwell, Methinks a mean betwixt you would do well.

_Dul_. She is in love, hang me if I were so, But I could run my Country, I love too To do those things that people in love do.

_Asp_. It were a timeless smile should prove my cheek, It were a fitter hour for me to laugh, When at the Altar the Religious Priest Were pacifying the offended powers With sacrifice, than now, this should have been My night, and all your hands have been imployed In giving me a spotless offering To young _Amintors_ bed, as we are now For you: pardon _Evadne_, would my worth Were great as yours, or that the King, or he, Or both thought so, perhaps he found me worthless, But till he did so, in these ears of mine, (These credulous ears) he pour'd the sweetest words That Art or Love could frame; if he were false, Pardon it heaven, and if I did want Vertue, you safely may forgive that too, For I have left none that I had from you.

_Evad_. Nay, leave this sad talk Madam.

_Asp_. Would I could, then should I leave the cause.

_Evad_. See if you have not spoil'd all _Dulas_ mirth.

_Asp_. Thou think'st thy heart hard, but if thou beest caught, remember me; thou shalt perceive a fire shot suddenly into thee.

_Dul_. That's not so good, let'm shoot any thing but fire, I fear'm not.

_Asp_. Well wench, thou mayst be taken.

_Evad_. Ladies good night, I'le do the rest my self.

_Dul_. Nay, let your Lord do some.

_Asp_. Lay a Garland on my Hea.r.s.e of the dismal Yew.

_Evad_. That's one of your sad songs Madam.

_Asp_. Believe me, 'tis a very pretty one.

_Evad_. How is it Madam?

SONG.

Asp_. Lay a Garland on my Hea.r.s.e of the dismal yew; Maidens, Willow branches bear; say I died true: My Love was false, but I was firm from my hour of birth; Upon my buried body lay lightly gentle earth_.

_Evad_. Fie on't Madam, the words are so strange, they are able to make one Dream of Hobgoblins; _I could never have the power_, Sing that _Dula_.

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