_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 Hearse 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 Hearse 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