So may the heavens preserve from hurtful food
Thy harmless flocks; so may the summer yield
The pride of all her riches and her good,
To fat thy sheep, the citizens of field.
Oh, leave to arm thy lovely brows with scorn:
The birds their beak, the lion hath his tail,
And lovers nought but sighs and bitter mourn,
The spotless fort of fancy to assail.
O Rosalynde, then be thou pitiful,
For Rosalynde is only beautiful.
ROSALYNDE
The hardened steel by fire is brought in frame:
ROSADER
And Rosalynde, my love, than any wool more softer;
And shall not sighs her tender heart inflame?
ROSALYNDE
Were lovers true, maids would believe them ofter.
ROSADER
Truth, and regard, and honor, guide my love.
ROSALYNDE
Fain would I trust, but yet I dare not try.
ROSADER
O pity me, sweet nymph, and do but prove.
ROSALYNDE
I would resist, but yet I know not why.
ROSADER
O Rosalynde, be kind, for times will change,
Thy looks ay nill be fair as now they be;
Thine age from beauty may thy looks estrange:
Ah, yield in time, sweet nymph, and pity me.
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