be
Yet any part of woman left in thee,
To make thee light: think yet before thou speak.

_Clor_. See what a holy vow for thee I break.
I that already have my fame far spread
For being constant to my lover dead.

_The_. Think yet, dear _Clorin_, of your love, how true,
If you had dyed, he would have been to you.

_Clor_. Yet all I'le lose for thee.

_The_. Think but how blest
A constant woman is above the rest.

_Clor_. And offer up my self, here on this ground,
To be dispos'd by thee.

_The_. Why dost thou wound
His heart with malice, against woman more,
That hated all the Sex, but thee before?
How much more pleasant had it been to me
To dye, than to behold this change in thee?
Yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway.

_Clor_. Insult not on her now, nor use delay,
Who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame.

_The_. Thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame,
Your Sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall,
I see, once in your lives, light on you all.
I hate thee now: yet turn.

_Clor_. Be just to me:
Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?

_The_. Thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good,
Was but thy appetite that sway'd thy blood
For that time to the best: for as a blast
That through a house comes, usually doth cast
Things out of order, yet by chance may come,
And blow some one thing to his proper room;
So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal,
Sway thee [by] chance to doe some one thing well.
Yet turn.

_Clor_. Thou dost but try me if I would
Forsake thy dear imbraces, for my old
Love's, though he were alive: but do not fear.

_The_. I do contemn thee now, and dare come near,
And gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace,
Austeritie, which sate upon that face
Is gone, and thou like others: false maid see,
This is the gain of foul inconstancie. [_Exit_.

_Clor_. 'Tis done, great _Pan_ I give thee thanks for it,
What art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit.

_Enter_ Thenot, _again_.

_The_. Will ye be constant yet? will ye remove
Into the Cabin to your buried Love?

_Clor_. No let me die, but by thy side remain.

_The_. There's none shall know that thou didst ever stain
Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be,
And I will lye again under this tree,
And pine and dye for thee with more delight,
Than I have sorrow now to know the light.

_Clor_. Let me have thee, and I'le be where thou wilt.

_The_. Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt.
Farewel