Actus Primus. Scena Prima. Enter Dinant, a[n]d Cleremont. Din. Disswade me not.Clere. It will breed a brawl.Din. I care not, I wear a Sword.Cler. And wear discretion with it,Or cast it off, let that direct your arm,'Tis madness else, not valour, and more baseThan to receive a wrong.Din. Why would you have meSit down with a disgrace, and thank the doer?We are not Stoicks, and that passive courageIs only now commendable in Lackies,Peasants, and... more...

Actus Primus. Scena Prima. Enter Clorin a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour. Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbraceThe truest man that ever fed his flocksBy the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly,Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I payMy early vows, and tribute of mine eyesTo thy still loved ashes; thus I freeMy self from all insuing heats and firesOf love: all sports, delights and jolly gamesThat Shepherds hold full dear, thus... more...