a tear,
And then thou art a piece expressing fully
The _Carthage_ Queen, when from a cold Sea Rock,
Full with her sorrow, she tyed fast her eyes
To the fair _Trojan_ ships, and having lost them,
Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear, _Antiphila_;
What would this Wench do, if she were _Aspatia_?
Here she would stand, till some more pitying God
Turn'd her to Marble: 'tis enough my Wench;
Shew me the piece of Needle-work you wrought.

_Ant_. Of _Ariadne_, Madam?

_Asp_. Yes that piece.
This should be _Theseus_, h'as a cousening face,
You meant him for a man.

_Ant_. He was so Madam.

_Asp_. Why then 'tis well enough, never look back,
You have a full wind, and a false heart _Theseus_;
Does not the story say, his Keel was split,
Or his Masts spent, or some kind rock or other
Met with his Vessel?

_Ant_. Not as I remember.

_Asp_. It should ha' been so; could the Gods know this,
And not of all their number raise a storm?
But they are all as ill. This false smile was well
exprest;
Just such another caught me; you shall not go
so _Antiphila_,
In this place work a quick-sand,
And over it a shallow smiling Water.
And his ship ploughing it, and then a fear.
Do that fear to the life Wench.

_Ant_. 'Twill wrong the story.

_Asp_. 'Twill make the story wrong'd by wanton Poets
Live long and be believ'd; but where's the Lady?

_Ant_. There Madam.

_Asp_. Fie, you have mist it here _Antiphila_,
You are much mistaken Wench;
These colours are not dull and pale enough,
To shew a soul so full of misery
As this sad Ladies was; do it by me,
Do it again by me the lost _Aspatia_,
And you shall find all true but the wild Island;
I stand upon the Sea breach now, and think
Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind,
Wild as that desart, and let all about me