A Dialogue betwixt a Nymph and a Shepheard.

WHy sigh you swain? this passion is not cōmon;
I'st for your kids, or Lambkins?

How …aire is shee that on so sage a brow
Prints lowring looks?

I know not
Saint-like shee lookes, a Syren if shee sing.
Her eyes are starres, her mind is every thing.

If shee be fickle, Shepheard leave to wooe
Or fancy mee.

Ah Love, and canst thou never loose the feild?
Where Cupid layes a seige, the towne must yeild.
Hee warmes the chiller blood with glowing fire,
And thaws the Icy frost of cold desire.