dam, pour not (too fast) joys on me,
But sprinkle 'em so gently I may stand 'em;
It is enough at first, you have laid aside
Those cruel angry looks out of your eyes,
With which (as with your lovely) you did strike
All your Beholders in an Ecstasie.

Erota:

_Philander_, you have long profest to love me.

Philander:

Have I but profest it, Madam?

Erota:

Nay, but hear me?

Philander:

More attentively than to an Oracle.

Erota:

And I will speak more truly, if more can be;
Nor shall my language be wrapt up in Riddles,
But plain as truth it self; I love this Gentleman,
Whose grief has made him so uncapable
Of Love, he will not hear, at least not understand it.
I, that have lookt with scornful eyes on thee,
And other Princes, mighty in their states,
And in their friends as fortunate, have now pray'd,
In a petitionary kind almost,
This man, this well-deserving man, (that I must say)
To look upon this beauty, yet you see
He casts his eyes rather upon the ground,
Than he will turn 'em this way; _Philander_,
You look pale; I'll talk no more.

Philander:

Pray go forward; I would be your Martyr,
To dye thus, were immortally to live.

Erota:

Will you go to him then, and speak for me?
You have loved longer, but not ferventer,
Know how to speak, for you have done it like
An Orator, even for your self; then how will you for me
Whom you profess to love above your self.

Philander:

The Curses of Dissemblers follow me
Unto my Grave, and if I do not so.

Erota:

You may (as all men do) speak boldlier, better
In their friends cause still, than in your own;
But speak your utmost, yet you cannot feign,
274] I will stand by, and blush to witness it.
Tell him, since I beheld him, I have lost
The happiness of this life, food, and rest;
A quiet bosome, and the state I went with.
Tell him how he has humbled the proud,
And made the living but a dead _Erota_.
Tell him withal, that she is better pleas'd
With thinking on him, than enjoying these.
Tell him--_Philander_, Prince; I talk in vain
To you, you do not mark me.

Philander:

Indeed I do.

Erota:

But thou dost look so pale,
As thou wilt spoil the story in relating.