Scena sexta.
MIRTILLO, CORISCA.
Mir.
HEar ye damn'd spirits that in hell lament,
Hear a new sort of pain and punishment.
See in a Turtles look a Tigers minde!
She, crueller then death, 'cause she did find
One death would not suffice her bloody will,
And that to live was to be dying still,
Enjoyns me, not to make my self away,
That I might die a thousand times a day.
Cor.
(I'le make as though I saw him not) I hear
A dolefull voice pierce my relenting ear,
Who should it be? Mirtillo, is it thou?
Mir.
I would it were my ghost.
Cor.
Well, well: but how
(And tell me true) thy self now dost thou find,
Since to thy dearest Nymph thou brak'st thy mind?
Mir.
As one who in a feaver cast,
Forbidden liquor long'd to taste,