Flor.
These, your unusul weeds, to each part of you
Do give a life; no shepherdess, but Flora
Peering in April's front. This, your sheep-shearing,
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen of it.

Perd.
My gracious lord, to chide at your extremes,
It not becomes me: O! pardon, that I name them!
Your high self, the kingdom's rising hope,
You have obscur'd with a swain's wearing;
And me, poor humble maid, most goddess like
Prank'd up.

Flor.
I bless the time, when my good falcon
Took her flight across thy father's grounds;
Celestial guide, to where my treasure lay.

Perd.
Now Jove afford you cause! To me, the difference
Forges dread; your greatness hath not been us'd
To fear; ev'n now I tremble to think your
Father, by some accident, should pass this way,
As you did: O! the fates! how would he look
To see his work, so noble, vilely bound up:
What wou'd he say? or how should I, in these
My borrow'd flaunts, behold the sternness of his presence?

Flor.
Apprehend nothing but jollity. The gods
Themselves, humbling their deities to love,
Have taken the shapes of beasts upon them.
Jupiter became a bull, and bellowed:
The green Neptune a ram, and bleated: And
The fire-rob'd god, golden Apollo,
A poor humble swain, as I seem now.
'Tis our bridal day! Th' assembled gods,
This day, show'r roses down, to deck thy virgin couch!
And love shall lend the down of his soft wings,
To smooth thy pillow with eternal joys!
Speak to me, love, and charm me with thy voice.

Perd.
No, let me only answer you with blushes:
If I should speak, you'd think I were too fond;
My tongue's asham'd t'interpret for my heart.

Flor.
Hence with reserve; it is a foe to love—
What you tell me is whisper'd to yourself.
Virtue and love may harmless sport together,
Like little Lambs that wanton on the plain;
While, like a faithful pastor by their side,
Honour keep off each ravenous desire.

Perd.
I think you love me, and think there is
Such virtue shines about you, that I dare
Intrust mine honour to your faithful love.
Oft, oft, I wish thou wer't some peasant swain,
Born lowly as myself; than should we live
Unknown, unenvied in our humble state,
Content with love beneath the cottage straw.

Flor.
By heav'n! there's such a charm in all thy words,
I wish I were just what you'd have me be,
Distinguish'd only from the rest by love.
The guest are come; let's in and entertain
Them chearily, nor think of ought but jollity and love. [Exeunt.

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