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ACT the SECOND. SCENE the FIRST.
SMALL is the Bee, and makes with his small Sting the most grievous and painful Wounds. But what Thing is smaller than Love? in every little Space he enters, and hides himself in every little Space. Sometimes under the Shade of an Eye-lid, sometimes amongst the little Curls of beautiful Hair, sometimes within the Dimples, which a sweet Smile forms in a lovely Cheek, and yet he makes so deep, so mortal and incu∣rable Wounds. Alas! my Breast is all one bleeding Wound, and cruel Love hath a thousand Darts in the Eyes of Sylvia. Cruel Love, Sylvia Cruel, and more Savage than the Woods. Oh! how does that Name a∣gree with thee, how well did He foresee, that gave it thee.