all measure,
Makes me faint away with pleasure;
Strength of cordial may destroy.
And the blessing
Of possessing,
Kills me with excess of joy._

Shepherdess.

_Thyrsis, how can I believe you!
But confess, and I'll forgive you;
Men are false, and so are you,
Never nature
Framed a creature
To enjoy, and yet be true._

Shepherd.

_Mine's a flame beyond expiring,
Still possessing, still desiring,
Fit for love's imperial crown;
Ever shining,
And refining,
Still the more 'tis melted down._

Chorus together.

_Mine's a flame beyond expiring.
Still possessing, still desiring,
Fit for love's imperial crown;
Ever shining,
And refining,
Still the more 'tis melted down._

_After a Song and Dance, loud knocking at the Door,_

_Enter a Servant._

_Mal._ What noise is that?

_Serv._ An ill-looked surly man,
With a hoarse voice, says he must speak with you.

_Mal._ Tell him I dedicate this day to pleasure.
I neither have, nor will have, business with him. [_Exit_ SERV.
What, louder yet? what saucy slave is this? [_Knock louder._

_Re-enter Servant._

_Serv._ He says you have, and must have, business with him.
Come out, or he'll come in, and spoil your mirth.

_Mal._ I will not.

_Serv._ Sir, I dare not tell him so; [_Knocking again more fiercely._
My hair stands up in bristles when I see him;
The dogs run into corners; the spay'd bitch
Bays at his back, and howls[20].

_Mal._ Bid him enter, and go off thyself. [_Exit Serv._

SCENE _closes upon the company._

_Enter_ MELANAX, _an hour-glass in his hand, almost empty._

How dar'st thou interrupt my softer hours?
By heaven, I'll ram thee in some knotted oak,
Where thou shalt sigh, and groan to whistling winds,
Upon the lonely plain.
Or I'll confine thee deep in the red sea, groveling on the sands,
Ten thousand billows rolling o'er thy head.

_Mel._ Hoh, hoh, hoh!

_Mal._ Laughest thou, malicious fiend?
I'll ope my book of bloody characters,
Shall rumple up thy tender airy limbs,
Like parchment in a flame.

_Mel._ Thou can'st not do it.
Behold this hour-glass.

_Mal._ Well, and what of that?

_Mel._ Seest thou these ebbing sands?
They run for thee, and when their race is run,
Thy lungs, the bellows of thy mortal breath,
Shall sink for ever down, and heave no more.

_Mal._ What,