Pal. I doe not think it possible our friendship
Should ever leave us.
Arc. Till our deaths it cannot.
Enter Emilia and her Woman.
And after death our spirits shall be led
To those that love eternally. Speak on Sir.
This Garden has a world of pleasures in't.
Emil. What Flower is this?
Wom. 'Tis call'd Narcissus, Madam.
Emil. That was a fair Boy certain, but a fool,
To love himself, were there not Maids enough?
Arc. Pray forward.
Pal. Yes.
Emil. Or were they all hard-hearted?