lecting only things to keep me waking.

_Flo._ I'le not stir from you, Madam, all this Night.

_Cael._ _Flora_, thy diligence deserves Reward,
And I'le not long be backward for to thank thee.
But prethee sing that Song I love so well,
That harmony, perhaps, will Charm my cares,
And give my senses Rest.

The Song.

1.

Flor. sings.
Ah, _Choridon_, in vain you boast,
You still do _Cloris_ Love;
For better 'tis your heart were lost,
Then thus suspitious prove:
You then would kill me by disdain,
But dying thus you blot my Name._
_For all will say
_Cloris_ was false, and went astray;
_Cloris_ was false, and did deserve her shame.

2.

For happy shepherd, well you know,
Your Fame does mine excell;
All Gen'rous _Choridons_ do know,
But none my Tale can tell:
_Cloris_, though true, must lose that Name,
But _Choridon_ will keep his Fame;
For all will say_
_Cloris_ was false, and went astray,
_Cloris_ was false, and did deserve her shame.

3.

But Cruel Shepherd, when you hear
That I am dead indeed,
I do believe you'l shed a tear,
Though new you have decreed,
That _Cloris_ true must lose that Name,
For _Choridon_ to keep his Fame;
And then you'l say
_Cloris _was true, and ne're did stray;
_Cloris_ was true, and I deserve her shame.

_Flora._ She's faln asleep, may none but happy Dreams
Possess her Fancy.

[The Scene shuts.

_Enter _Antonio_ and _Jasper_ in the Garden._

_Anto._ Your confidence in this doth much amaze me.

_Jasp._ Sir, still I'le pawn my Life, that what I said,
Appears e're long a truth Infallible,
And your own Eyes will bear me witness of it.

_Anto._ Well, pitch upon a private stand for us,
That you know most convenient.

[Ex. _Jasp_.
Strange it is,
If this should prove a falshood after this;
I've threaten'd him with Death upon the failer,
Yet still he has persisted to affirm it,
Besides, I climb'd the Garden Wall before him,
And that way gave him time for his escape,
If he'd design to make it: These Circumstances
Do half perswade 'tis true. Oh, apprehension!
So terrible the consequence appears,
It makes my brain turn round, and Night seem darker.
The Moon begins to drown her self in Clouds,
Leaving a duskish horror every where,
My sickly fancy makes the Garden seem
Like those benighted Gro