' The place
Was knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses
A wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke
Thousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors,
That me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph
That feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made
Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke
The prettiest posies: 'Thus our true love's tide,'
'This you may loose, not me,' and many a one:
And then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh'd,
And with the same breath smil'd, and kist her hand.
2. FRIEND.
Alas, what pitty it is!
WOOER.
I made in to her.
She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav'd her,
And set her safe to land: when presently
She slipt away, and to the Citty made,
With such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me,
Shee left me farre behinde her; three or foure
I saw from farre off crosse her, one of 'em
I knew to be your brother; where she staid,
And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter
Brother, Daughter, and others.]
And hether came to tell you. Here they are.
DAUGHTER. [sings.]
May you never more enjoy the light, &c.
Is not this a fine Song?
BROTHER.
O, a very fine one.
DAUGHTER.
I can sing twenty more.
BROTHER.
I thinke you can.
DAUGHTER.
Yes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome,
And Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour?
BROTHER.
Yes.
DAUGHTER.
Wher's my wedding Gowne?
BROTHER.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83