See, here she comes, and looks, amidst her guards,
Like a weak dove under the falcon's gripe.
O heaven, I cannot bear it.
Poly. Maid, come hither.
Have you presumed so far, as to receive
My son's affections?
Palm. Alas, what shall I answer? To confess it
Will raise a blush upon a virgin's face;
Yet I was ever taught 'twas base to lie.
Poly. You've been too bold, and you must love no more.
Palm. Indeed I must; I cannot help my love;
I was so tender when I took the bent,
That now I grow that way.
Poly. He is a prince, and you are meanly born.
Leon. Love either finds equality, or makes it:
Like death, he knows no difference in degrees,
But plains, and levels all.
Palm. Alas! I had not rendered up my heart,
Had he not loved me first; but he preferred me
Above the maidens of my age and rank,—
Still shunned their company, and still sought mine.
I was not won by gifts, yet still he gave;
And all his gifts, though small, yet spoke his love.
He picked the earliest strawberries in woods,
The clustered filberds, and the purple grapes;
He taught a prating stare to speak my name;
And, when he found a nest of nightingales,
Or callow linnets, he would show them me,
And let me take them out.
Poly. This is a little mistress, meanly born,
Fit only for a prince's vacant hours,
And then, to laugh at her simplicity,
Not fix a passion there. Now hear my sentence.
Leon. Remember, ere you give it, 'tis pronounced
Against us both.